by Shandi Boyes
Bound: Book Three in the Bound Series
Shandi Boyes
Edited by
Mountains Wanted Publishing
Illustrated by
SSB Designs
Contents
Title:
Want to stay in touch?
Also by Shandi Boyes
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
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Afterword
Also by Shandi Boyes
Acknowledgments
Title:
Bound
By
Shandi Boyes
Dedication
To Ashley Clark,
If all readers were like you,
authors would be grinning ear to ear.
* * *
Shandi xx
Want to stay in touch?
Facebook: facebook.com/authorshandi
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Instagram: instagram.com/authorshandi
* * *
Email: [email protected]
* * *
Reader’s Group: bit.ly/ShandiBookBabes
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Website: authorshandi.com
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Newsletter: http://eepurl.com/cyEzNv
Also by Shandi Boyes
Perception Series:
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Saving Noah
Fighting Jacob
Taming Nick
Redeeming Slater
Saving Emily (Novella)
Wrapped up with Rise Up (Novella - should be read after Bound)
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Enigma:
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Enigma of Life
Unraveling an Enigma
Enigma: The Mystery Unmasked
Enigma: The Final Chapter
Beneath the Secrets
Beneath the Sheets
Spy Thy Neighbor
The Opposite Effect
I Married a Mob Boss
Second Shot
The Way We Are
The Way We Were
Sugar and Spice
Lady in Waiting
Man in Queue
Couple on Hold
Enigma: The Wedding
Silent Vigilante
Hushed Guardian
Quiet Protector
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Bound Series:
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Chains
Links
Bound
Restrained
Psycho
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Russian Mob Chronicles:
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Nikolai: A Mafia Prince Romance
Nikolai: Taking Back What's Mine
Nikolai: What's Left of Me
Nikolai: Mine to Protect
Asher: My Russian Revenge
Nikolai: Through the Devil's Eyes
* * *
RomCom Standalones:
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Just Playin'
The Drop Zone
Ain't Happenin'
Christmas Trio
Falling for a Stranger
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Coming Soon:
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Skitzo
Trey
Copyright
Copyright © 2018
No part of this eBook 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 written permission from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Any names or characters, businesses or places, events or incidents, are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Editing: Mountains Wanted Publishing
Cover: SSB Designs
Photograph: Shutterstock Account
Some photo edits were made to the photograph.
1
“Come on, Cleo, open up. I know you’re in there.”
My eyes snap to the carved wooden door of Marcus’s office as sick alarm makes itself known to my stomach. Even with blood roaring in my ears, I can't be mistaken. Richard's deep voice didn't just rumble through Marcus's dead-quiet palatial mansion; it boomed out of the computer speaker as well. He is here. In Florida. Knocking on the door of the man our joint employer is actively investigating. Goddammit!
In a tizzy, I drag my mouse across the screen and disconnect my FaceTime chat with Richard. It might seem immature, but when I'm clutching at straws, irrational ideas are the first thing to pop into my head. When the quiet amplifies Richard's repeated requests for entry, my fists firm into balls and a long curse of expletives muffle out my mouth. Why can’t anything ever be easy for me? Why can’t I catch a break from my miserable existence? Why did I fall in love with the man I was assigned to investigate?
The dread making my skin a sticky mess intensifies when Abel’s distinctive voice calls out, “Just a minute.”
My pupils widen as my breathing turns labored. I completely forgot Abel was here.
“Don’t open the door, Abel!” I strive to project my plea through the thick walls positioned between us. Aiming for my voice to come out unrecognizable to Richard, I sound like a lady in her late eighties who smokes three packs of cigarettes a day.
I level my breathing and prick my ears, praying Abel heard my request. When my screamed plea is met with silence, I push off my feet and head for the door. A loud thud booms into the hallway when I throw open the door with so much force it smacks into the drywall, leaving a significant dent. Pretending I didn’t just damage Marcus’s property, I race into the corridor separating the open-plan living rooms from the private sleeping quarters.
The entire house is so eerily quiet that nothing but my feet padding against the wooden floor sounds through my ears. When I cut the corner at the end of the hall, my ballet flats fail to gain friction on the highly varnished flooring. I lose control of my footing, sending me crashing into a large wooden side table. My back molars grit when fiery pain rockets through my body, but I continue with my mission, my desire to protect Marcus too strong to allow something as weak as pain to slow me down. For how determined my steps are, you’d be none the wiser to the throbbing ache impinging my right wrist. It's nearly as painful as my horribly twisted heart.
“Don’t open the door, Abel,” I plead again, more quietly this time since I am near the entrance of Marcus’s house.
All the air in my body leaves in a brutal grunt when I enter the main foyer. It isn’t my bull-like charge that has me wheezing for breaths; it's realizing my pleas came too late. Abel has already opened the door.
I take a step backward, cowardly hiding behind a thick wooden pillar. Like a missile assigned to its target, Richard spots me in an instant.
“Hello, Cleo,” he greets me from his position on the front porch of Marcus’s residence, his tone as haughty as ever.
When my head pops out from its conspicuous hiding place, the shit-eating grin on Richard’s face turns as blinding as the midday sun. He shrugs off his thick wool business coat as he steps into the foyer, not bothering to wait for an invitation.
“You’re good,” he says with his eyes arrested on me as he fo
lds his coat over his arm. “For a microsecond, I truly thought my assumptions were wrong. But, here you are, exactly where I suspected you’d be.”
He thrusts his other hand into the pocket of his dark blue trousers as his eyes take in the wonderment of Marcus’s property. If I weren’t consumed by unbridled panic about how he managed to find me, I’d verbalize my annoyance at his failure to acknowledge Abel standing at his side, offering to take his coat. Richard completely snubs him, acting as if he isn’t even in the room with us as he saunters further inside.
“What are you doing here, Richard?” My voice is rickety with an equal amount of nerves and anger.
As my Garcia fighting spirit emerges, so does my irritation at having my privacy once again invaded. Even though this property is owned by the man our company is investigating, Richard has no right to arrive here unannounced, much less to interrogate me as if I am under investigation. He isn’t even a journalist for crying out loud. He is a security officer.
Richard pretends he didn’t hear my question, but I know he did. The tightness of his jaw firmed the instant my mouth opened. Once he’s moved far enough into the foyer to unblock the doorway, Abel closes the sizeable Balinese door, then pivots around to face me. From the unease tainting his face, I can tell his spikes are also bristled by Richard’s unexpected arrival. It isn’t that Abel doesn’t appreciate visitors. From the stories he shared, and the way he welcomed me, he usually greets guests with open arms. But he seems confused by Richard’s presence. I can understand his response. To someone unaware of Richard's difficult personality, his demeanor can be a little hard to gauge. At first, his no-hesitation approach reveals a man who exudes a lot of confidence. It's only once you peel back his layers do you realize Richard uses his confidence and good looks to shield his less attractive attributes—mainly his lack of personality.
My attention diverts to Richard when a wolf whistle sounds out of his O-formed lips. He is standing at the edge of the entranceway, drinking in the enormity of Marcus’s residence. From his vantage point, the opulence of the property is showcased in the most brilliant light. If he didn’t already know he was standing in an extremely wealthy estate, the view from the entranceway ensures there is no doubt. The clifftop ocean scenery streaming through the large Constantine doors replicates sights I've only ever seen in movies, and the quality of the furnishings is so refined it almost seems royal.
“Wow, nice place you have here, Cleo,” Richard mutters under his breath, his smug tone telling me he knows all too well this isn’t my residence. “A little different from your New Jersey home, but I guess we’ve all been known to splurge when we’re not the one footing the bill.” He adds a brazen wink to his last sentence.
He gallops down the three steps of the foyer before moseying towards me. His entire composure screams of cocky arrogance, setting my nerves on edge.
“Where’s Marcus?” he questions as his icy blue eyes meet mine.
Just hearing Marcus’s name strengthens my desire to protect him. I roll my shoulders and stand tall, vainly trying to portray I’m not put off by Richard’s unexpected arrival. It's all a ploy. I’m shaking so much on the inside, the glass of milk I consumed at breakfast is churning into butter.
“What are you doing here, Richard?” I repeat, more forcefully this time. I inwardly sigh, grateful my voice comes out with the confident tone I was aiming for. It was determined, yet free of the fear clutching my throat.
The smell of bottled cologne filters through my nose when Richard stops to stand in front of me. “I thought I’d pop in and make sure you’re okay. The last time I saw you was when you were attacked in an alleyway, then you up vanished without a trace, leaving everyone baffled.”
I crank my head to the side, pulling away from him when he lifts his hand to brush the back of his fingers over my bone-dry lips. Five days have passed since my assault, meaning the split in my mouth is nearly healed, and the bruise on my cheek is nothing more than a faint blemish. There is no reason for him to touch me in the manner he did when completing first aid on my injuries last Saturday.
“As you can see, I’m fine,” I inform him, pretending I can’t see the anger in his eyes doubling from my rejection. “As for leaving everyone baffled, those important to me know of my location, so your concern is utterly unnecessary.”
I peer into Richard's aloof eyes, ensuring he can't miss me calling out his worry as a ruse. You don't travel this far just to check on someone who isn't even the equivalent of a work friend. I can smell a rat from a mile away, and considering the scent of desecration is leeching out of Richard by the bucket load, it doesn't take a genius to realize where the smell is coming from.
“If you were truly concerned about me, you could have just called me or sent me an email, then your worry would have been erased in an instant. You didn’t need to travel all the way here to check on me.” I fold my arms over my chest, successfully concealing my erratically heaving lungs from his avid gaze before continuing, “So cut the crap, Richard, and tell it to me straight: what are you doing here?”
Richard’s eyes flash as the corners of his full lips pull into a broad grin. “There’s the Cleo I remember. I was beginning to wonder if the rumors were true.”
“What rumors?” I ask with a huff, feigning disinterest.
Hearing a snip of panic in my voice, Abel moves closer to our gathering. His steps are so discreet, I don’t even hear the slightest tap of his hard-soled shoes as he spans the distance between us. When his eyes question if he should call Marcus, I shake my head. I don’t need backup when it comes to taking down a man like Richard.
I’ve been battling him for so many years I’m considering putting “arrogant asshole combatant” on my resume as a qualification. I'd also prefer to leave Marcus out of the equation. For all I know, Richard could be running on pure speculation, and he has arrived here solely with the hope I’ll slip up and expose Marcus's secret identity. Clearly, he doesn't know me very well. When it comes to protecting the people I love, nothing stands in my way, not even an arrogant man who is five seconds away from having his crotch reintroduced to my knee.
Abel’s worldly eyes bounce between Richard and me for several moments before he nods. I can tell by his eyes he wants to say more, but he graciously trusts my intuition. After bidding farewell to Richard with a dip of his chin, he leaves the foyer.
Richard waits a beat before stepping closer to me, bursting the invisible bubble I’d prefer to keep between us. He is so close, a waft of cinnamon lingers into my nose. Considering it has been hours since I ate breakfast, I can only assume the scent is coming from Richard.
Not wanting Abel to get the wrong impression about my relationship with Richard, I take a step backward. Richard may believe we are alone, but I know we aren’t. I can feel the warmth of Abel’s gaze on my back as he eyeballs our exchange from the wings. Usually, I'd find his intrusive stare annoying, but since it's Abel, my hackles remained sheathed. His prying watch has more of a concerned grandfather vibe than a Nancy-nosey feel.
My jaw muscle tightens when Richard uses my distraction of Abel to his advantage. He runs the back of his fingers down my right cheek in a long, dedicated sweep. Under different circumstances, I could take his gesture as innocent, but the lusty gleam in his eyes ensures I can’t mistake it as a friendly gesture. If he is hoping his amorous move will mollify the uncomfortable tension bristling between us, he needs to try another tactic. My heart melts when Marcus does a similar gesture, but coming from Richard, my skin is crawling, and the air grows stuffier.
Don’t get me wrong, Richard is a handsome man. He has a well-carved face and fit body that would tempt any woman with a pulse, but over the past five years, I’ve seen his insides—they are nowhere near as pretty as his exterior.
I exhale a deep breath, eradicating the nerves from my body before locking my eyes with Richard. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, as I truly appreciate the assistance you gave me last weekend, but you're way out of
line arriving here unannounced and without an invitation.”
My already teetering attitude veers to the negative when Richard has the audacity to throw back his head and laugh. I'm not talking a slight chuckle; I'm talking a full-hearted, using-every-inch-of-his-body-laugh. If my heart weren't a conflicted mess, it would be a hard laugh to ignore. It has that contagious quality, one you can't help but laugh along with.
“Unannounced?” Richard jeers. “I figured as much. That’s why I got creative with my endeavor to reach you.”
My heart leaps out of my chest when he nudges his head to the security panel at the side of the entranceway. The granulated image of Marcus’s front gate that usually beams out of the monitor 24/7 has been replaced with a plain black screen.
When my eyes rocket back to Richard, it's the fight of my life to keep my knee in its rightful place. Pompous arrogance beams out of him in despicable abundance. “You tampered with the security system? Are you a complete idiot?! You could be arrested!”