Mad Love

by Ashlyn Mathews

  He stares off and shakes his head, his jaw locked as though remembering anew the talk he had with my sister that got him nowhere.

  “I begged her to listen to reason. She didn’t. Finally, I had enough. I sent my men in to extract her. They were staying at a cabin near a river swollen with heavy rain. She threw herself into the river. Maya wasn’t a great swimmer. We looked for her. Now I know he found her first and took her body. Buried you with her. Mark my word, he will pay with his life. He won’t get the chance to take you from me again.”

  “You said he has an obsession with me. He says he knows me intimately.”

  “You let him fuck you?”

  Geez, he’s crass and tactless. My cheeks heat. The driver’s eyes lock with mine in the rearview mirror before he returns his attention to the road. What is it with his intense checking out of my reaction? He should mind his own business. Otherwise, Cillian might have the inkling to skin him or shoot him in the back.

  “No. But I think he’s someone from my past. Someone I saw on a regular basis.”

  “Like a boyfriend?”

  I shrug. “Maybe. He said I gave him the gift of time.”

  Then there’s the riddle. God, what was it again? I wrack my brain, and finally, what he said lights up bright in my mind.

  “He also said something else. My enemy is my enemy, or is he my friend in disguise, drawing me out from beneath my guise?”

  “What the fuck?”

  “Cillian.”

  Cillian grunts. “My apologies, sweetheart. I’ll ease up on the language.”

  “Thank you.”

  The SUV stops in front of a gated estate. The driver doesn’t roll down his window. He brings out his cell phone and taps something on the screen. The gate opens, and after setting his phone down, he drives down a long driveway before parking in the circular driveway. The other SUVs park behind us.

  I open the car door. Cillian stops me with a hand on my arm.

  “My estate is well-guarded, but anyone can take a shot at you. Wait for my men.”

  The door opens, and the driver extends his gloved hand to me.

  “This is Hale. He’ll be your personal bodyguard. Where you go, he does too.”

  “Bathroom included?”

  “Yes.”

  “For my safety or am I a prisoner?”

  “You can come and go as you like so long as Hale and the rest of the men I’ve assigned to guard you are along for the ride.”

  “And where will you be? I thought we would talk.”

  “Daughter, there’s a lunatic after you. Once I put him down, we’ll have all the time in the world to catch up on this thing we call life.”

  “What about the men who have more firepower and manpower than you do? Won’t you have to deal with them, too, before we get to the catching-up part?”

  “Nah, sweetheart. Those threats are long gone.”

  As Granger would say, Cillian wasted them all.

  God, what have I done, agreeing to spend a night and a day with my mob father?

  I wish I were anywhere but here. Most of all, I wish I were wrapped up in Maddox’s strong arms. Where is he, by the way? I’ll know soon enough.

  23

  Blaise

  I wake up drenched in sweat. The room is dark. There’s no light. Of course there isn’t. I’m not in my room at Maddox’s penthouse. I’m at Cillian’s sprawling estate, tucked inside one of the master bedrooms. Outside my door is Hale, my personal bodyguard.

  Swell.

  Needing a glass of water, I climb out of bed, open the door, and pad to the kitchen in my satin tank top and shorts. Hale follows close behind me.

  We’re alone, but not. Cillian says there aren’t cameras inside his place. Only on the outside. There might not be cameras, but I can feel the other guards’ gazes following my movement. Do they think I’m a freak too? If they do, I doubt they would ever voice that thought. Otherwise, my father will dole out swift punishment.

  It happened earlier. One of the servers gawked and stared a little too long for my father’s comfort. The guy was fired, then escorted out. It’s no wonder Cillian has so many enemies, and the reason he is feared.

  Inside the kitchen, I reach for the glass way up high. Does a giant live here that everything is placed high above the reach of my arms?

  A body brushes up against mine and grabs the glass for me. His warm breath coasts over my hair. His arm is muscular, wrapped in a tight, black long-sleeve shirt. Hale fills the glass with water from the tap and puts the glass in front of me. His fingers are bare.

  “Thank you.” I take the glass from him, holding the glass from the bottom. I don’t have my gloves on. “Please step away from me,” I say over my shoulder. “I don’t like to be touched.”

  He does as I say. I slowly turn around, my parched mouth forgotten. Hale peers down at me through eyes hooded. I glance up at him. He’s taller than Maddox by at least three inches. My gaze never leaving his, I take a drink of my water. What’s with the intensity in his eyes?

  After I drain my glass, he sticks his hand out, palm up. I raise a brow. He smiles and dips his head at his palm.

  “You want me to set the glass there?”

  He nods.

  Why didn’t he just say so? Irritated, I hold the glass by the rim and set it on his palm. He puts my glass on the counter and does something else that irks me. He points at the bedroom door.

  I cross my arms and tip my chin at him. “Ask nicely, please.”

  He does something with his hands. Huh? Then it hits me. He’s signing.

  “You’re mute?”

  He nods. Smiles. Hale reaches into his back pocket. In his hand is his cell phone.

  “Oh, you want my number so we can communicate?”

  Another smile and a nod from him.

  Everything makes sense now. And here I thought the other guards didn’t talk to him because they didn’t like that Hale’s eyes were glued to his cell phone the entire time Cillian and I talked over dinner. He wasn’t not doing his job. He was—checking messages from the other guys. What were they texting back and forth about?

  I step around his large frame and walk over to the bedroom. I find my small clutch and fish out my cell phone. Grabbing my phone by the bottom end, I hand it over to Hale. He dials, and his phone rings. He hands me back my phone, being careful our fingers don’t touch.

  He’s a fast learner and a gentleman, though I wouldn’t want to meet him in a dark alley. His dark hair is cut high and tight. What Granger would call a military cut. His brows are thick and frame intense brown eyes. His lips are on the fuller side, making me wonder if his mouth would be as soft as Maddox’s.

  Goodness, why am I having these thoughts? I shouldn’t be thinking of another man. I’m married. Except what Maddox and I have is a business arrangement.

  My phone chirps. I glance at the screen. It’s a text message from an unknown number. One word.

  “Hi.”

  I type back a response. “Hey there.”

  Hale’s phone dings. He glances at the screen and smiles.

  We text back and forth.

  Hale: Would you like to get in bed?

  “Nope.” I pop the P. “I’m a married woman.”

  He shakes his head. Smiles. I glower. He points at my phone. I missed the chirping, too caught up in my annoyance.

  Hale: I meant so you would be more comfortable

  Ah, okay. I climb onto the bed and slip under the cover. Hale brings a chair from the corner of the room and sets it on the side of the bed. He sits, and I swear the chair creaks under his weight.

  “Can I ask a personal question?”

  Hale: Sure

  “Were you born mute?”

  Hale: Accident when I was nineteen.

  “What happened?”

  Hale: Explosion

  “I’m so sorry.”

  Hale: Me too.

  He glances away. His jaw is clenched. His hand is balled on his lap. Poor guy. To be robbed of
the ability to speak and voice everything that’s inside him, it’s got to be hard. My phone chirps. I draw my gaze away from his handsome face and look down at my screen.

  Hale: I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but your husband is living it up at his favorite nightclub.

  Another chirp and my phone fills with images upon images of Maddox. Hale is right. My husband is living it up all right. He’s got a drink in one hand, and his other arm is slung possessively on the small of Evie Lawson’s back.

  Hale: Would you like to go clubbing? Surprise him?

  I shake my head. “I can’t dance.”

  He doesn’t send me a text, but I can read his mouth.

  “Seriously, I have no coordination at all.”

  Hale: Dancing is easy.

  “Easy?” I scoff.

  Hale: Put on your gloves and follow my lead

  O-kay.

  “Promise you won’t touch me?”

  He makes an “X” over his heart.

  “Cross your heart and hope to die. Nice.” I give him the thumbs-up sign. Chuckling, he rises from the chair, strides to the door, and opens it.

  “Wait, you want to practice out there? All the guys will see my epic fail.”

  My phone chirps.

  Hale: I won’t let you fail, Blaise. I promise.

  What can I say to that?

  He pulls out his gloves from his back pocket and slips them on. I follow him out to the main room. The guards stand with their hands clasped behind their backs. How they stand reminds me of my men’s stances. God, I miss them. My phone chirps.

  I glance at the screen before setting the phone on the arm of a couch.

  Hale: Any preference for music?

  “Anything but rock music.”

  He scrolls through his phone. Seconds later, a song comes on over his phone. I recognize the tune. “Save Your Tears” by the Weeknd.

  He extends his gloved hand to me. I set my hand in his. His other hand cups my hip. Our gloves don’t stop me from feeling his heat. He tugs me close but not close enough we touch. He steps forward, forcing me to take a step back. Forward. Back. Side to side. I sway my hips in time to his. Step forward as he steps back.

  We’re in tandem, our bodies in tune. I smile. Laugh. My heart soars. The hand he’s not holding goes to his chest. Beneath my fingers, splayed on the spot over his heart, I swear I can feel the thump, thump, thump of his heartbeats.

  Something flares in his eyes. Possession. Desire. Longing. Hale tips forward the same time he pulls me to him, his hold on my hip gentle but firm. He dips his head. I know what’s coming, and I turn my head. His mouth presses on my cheek. I push at him but not hard enough that the others will come rushing in. I can’t go through again someone being beat near death for something I did.

  “Please,” I say, my voice low, “I’m married.”

  He clenches his jaw. Drops my hand. Points at the door. How dare he boss me around. I storm to the door and slam it shut behind me. I pace in the room. Maddox is out with his lover and I am stuck wallowing in my past.

  When will I get over my fear of being kidnapped again? Will I ever let him touch me skin to skin? Evie sure has no problems with touching or going out. If she can do it, I can too, right?

  My eyelids grow heavy. I crawl under the satin sheets, and tired of fighting the fear in my head, I close my eyes and fall asleep.

  24

  Blaise

  The next day is worse than the night before. There’s an awkwardness between me, Hale, and the other bodyguards that wasn’t there before.

  Finally, after a full day of their curious stares and whispering, I march to Cillian’s office. He’s been holed up in there with this Six guy and his wife since they arrived at the estate late afternoon.

  No introductions were made. I was given a terse, “Stay in your room. I will come for you,” before Hale, with a tip of his head, bossed me to my room.

  God, I’m not a kid, but if they’re treating me like one, I’ll act like one. Goodness, Granger will surely accuse me of being a brat.

  I rasp my knuckles on the door. No answer. I turn the knob and barge inside Cillian’s office. The man and woman seated across from him turn in their seats. I suck in a breath at her beauty and his handsomeness. Like Granger, the scar transecting Six’s face doesn’t lessen how good-looking he is. His scar lends him a dangerous don’t-fuck-with-me look.

  “Can I help you, Blaise? Or can this matter of yours wait?”

  Six and his wife wait for me to say something. I shift from foot to foot. Being a brat sucks. I back out of the room.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt. What I have to say can wait.” I’m ready to shut the door, when Six’s wife speaks up.

  “Blaise, pull up a chair and come sit with us. We’re working on your kidnapping case.”

  That gets my attention. I hurry inside the office, shutting the door behind me. I grab the closest chair and put it next to Six’s wife. She introduces herself.

  “We haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Emilia Shanahan, and this is my husband, Six.”

  “It’s nice to meet you.” I clasp my gloved hands in my lap.

  Emilia and her husband aren’t gawking or peppering me with questions about my life and growing up a Lexington. Instead, they give me a friendly smile. I relax into the chair.

  “Blaise, have you heard from any of your bodyguards?” Six asks.

  “Shaw, Owen, and Marco text me every day.”

  “That’s nice. What my husband meant is the ones assigned to you when you were thirteen.”

  “After my parents’ deaths.”

  “Yes,” Emilia says.

  “I haven’t. Roman said they were given security positions elsewhere.”

  “Did your great-uncle notify you of your grandfather’s toxicology results?”

  “He didn’t. I read about my grandfather’s cause of death in the papers. He died of a heart attack in his sleep. The tox screen was negative.” I wring my hands. What point are they trying to make with this line of questioning?

  “After your rescue, did your kidnapper make contact?”

  “No. He made a deal with my grandfather. Grandfather upped the ransom to five million from a million. The guy gave him the promise he would leave me alone.”

  “At any point in time, did you send men to locate your kidnapper?”

  “No. So long as he kept his promise, I was supposed to keep mine. I would never search for him. That’s what my grandfather promised in my place.”

  “Yet he made contact on the morning your grandfather died.”

  I rise out of my chair so fast, it tips over.

  “How do you know that? No one is supposed to know. Did you contact the authorities? He’ll kill me.”

  I pace. Jam my fingers inside the pockets of my trousers. Emilia rises from the chair and sets her hand on my shoulder.

  “I hacked into your great-uncle’s e-mails as well as his financial accounts. He’s been communicating with Jeff Tenant about your life. Are you familiar with that name?”

  “No.” I shake off her hold. My uncle isn’t guilty of anything except oversharing.

  “A quarter of a million dollars was deposited into your great-uncle’s bank account the day after your grandfather’s death.”

  “So? That’s a drop in the bucket for Arthur.”

  “Another quarter million was deposited yesterday, Blaise.”

  “What are you accusing him of, may I ask?”

  “Nothing yet. We thought you should be aware.”

  “I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about that prick,” Cillian interjects. “Go back to what you said earlier, sweetheart. What do you mean he’ll kill you if you contact the authorities?”

  I tell them what happened that morning. Of how Rylan found the note taped to my third-floor window and the bag of clothes found beneath my window.

  “Why wouldn’t your grandfather put cameras on that side of the house?” Six asks in disbelief.

  I gi
ve them Rylan’s explanation.

  “Can you get us a list of the men who helped set up the security system?”

  “Yes.” I address Emilia. “My men and Maddox’s are also working to find him. Would you like me to get you in touch with them? I don’t want you to duplicate their work.”

  Six rises from his chair and slings his arm around his wife’s waist. “We work alone, Blaise. Less of a chance of egos getting in the way.”

  Emilia rolls her eyes. “His is so big, there’s no room for anyone else’s.”

  “Not true, babe. You wear the pants in our family.”

  Her eyes light up. “Make sure you remember that, big guy.” She tips her head back and bats her long lashes at him.

  His eyes darken with desire. His gaze hangs on her mouth. Oh my. I resist the urge to fan my heated face. Those two have it bad for one another.

  “If you love birds will quit acting like hormonal teenagers for a second, how about we deal with this secret shit Blaise is speaking of. Do we tell the world?”

  “My advice is to wait until everything blows over, Cillian,” Emilia responds. “Then the decision has to be Blaise’s. Is she a Lexington or is she a McCabe?”

  “Neither. I’m a Stassi.”

  Huge grin on Cillian’s face.

  “That’s my girl. Claiming what’s hers. Now you go out there and bring him to heel.”

  “Bring him to heel?”

  He stands and walks over to me.

  “The guys sent me this. Does she look familiar?”

  The video is of Maddox with his old flame, Kristine. They’re inside a diner. He says something. She laughs and glances down at their clasped hands on top of the table. Pieces of her hair fall forward. Maddox reaches up and tucks the strands behind her ear. I don’t miss his fingers grazing the curve of her ear.

  First he spends the night with Evie. Now, he’s spending time with his ex.

  This morning, I woke up to a text message from Hale and none from Maddox. Maddox didn’t go home after a night of clubbing with Evie. He checked into the same hotel Evie is staying at. She lives and works in New York. Did he fly her over on his private jet for a quickie?