Forbidden Neighbor: A Contemporary Romance Boxset (Forbidden Saga Book 2)

by Summer Brooks

  “Sit on the chair,” he says, gesturing with his free hand, almost a courteous invitation. I do, because there’s nothing to do but obey. I sit, feeling like an idiot, not knowing where to put my arms. Or if I should cross my legs. I mean, when held at gunpoint what’s the protocol? Do you lean back in an offered chair? Do you kick off your shoes? Order a coffee? Hell. If. I. Know. It’s just not something I’ve had to think about before. I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, trying to slow my brain down. My thoughts are spinning out of control. I have to pull it together. Right. Now. I breathe, open my eyes, and all I see is a gun muzzle. It is as if my vision has shrunk to it’s small, round, beady size.

  For one thing, the gun is too close. For another, I can’t stop looking at it. It is mesmerizing in all of its cold, lethal potential. I work to slow my breathing and widen my attention to the man holding the thing. I don’t know how you’d disarm this guy. He is towering over me. The muzzle comes closer, closer, to rest in a pressing kiss against my temple. If it fires, I’m dead. I won’t even hear it before I drop. My body tenses of its own accord - my teeth gritting, my eyes scrunching shut, my breath catching somewhere between hell and heaven - I fight the urge to pee.

  The gun’s kiss evaporates, a fluttering shucking sound - I open my eyes to see his big hand shifting from placing his gun in his hip holster to flapping his jacket closed over it.

  “I take it you won’t give me any trouble?” he murmurs, sounding smug, intimate. I shake my head, looking up to actually see him, make brief eye contact. I’ve been so focused on my impending death that I can’t say that I’ve noticed many features or details of his face until now.

  His dark eyes are keen, filled with a strange mix of smugness and hatred. His hair is gelled back, too much, shining under the warehouse’s fluorescent lights. His lips sport a lazy smile, confident in his apparent full control of the situation.

  Which, granted, I really have no counterargument to.

  He bends down near a table, pulling out some rope.

  This is turning into an old-style gangster noir. I’m trying to think of something witty to say, but that’s also way easier to do in books and movies. Not so much in real life.

  “Hands behind the chair,” he orders. I nod and put my hands behind the back of the chair as far as they’ll go. He crosses behind me, staying away from my legs so I can’t kick him.

  He’s behind me now, and I can’t see him. I can see the end of the rope slither out of my view and I realize - this fucker is TYING ME UP IN A WAREHOUSE! OH MY GOD! I don’t think; I can’t - I leap up, kicking at the chair but he’s ready for any movement on my part, his hand clamps around my wrists and yanks me down into the chair, jarring my entire body.

  I yelp as he holds my wrists more tightly. He manages to hold both in one hand, and his other hand comes up around my neck, clamping around my throat. His breath is hot against my ear. His thick fingers squeeze, fingernails cut short but feeling like blades against my skin. His grip is like a vise around my wrists, and his fingers squeeze around my neck - not so much pressure that I can’t breathe, but enough that I’m aware of how truly vulnerable I am.

  He pulls my arms further back and tips my head and body back. My feet come up and off the floor, dangling helplessly - my right shoe slips off, clopping to the concrete flooring. His huge knuckles hinge more tightly and press up under my chin, shoving my teeth together with a snap and wedging my tongue against the roof of my mouth. My eyes close of their own volition yet again, and I try to hold the tears back.

  I’ve never felt so mortal.

  I wish for the gun; it would be quicker.

  “Do you feel how easy it would be for me to snap your neck?” the man asks softly - almost...gently. His giant mitt of a hand squeezes every so slowly - each finger tightening sequentially around my throat. His thumbnail burrows into the base of my skull.

  I give a tiny gasp as I try to catch my breath and keep my brain from falling out.

  “Well?” he asks, as though offering a follow-up question to a disinterested pupil.

  “I do,” I whisper, my own voice sounding croaking and weak in my ear.

  “Don’t try that again,” he says, pulling the hand away from my neck. I cough and nod. It’s not like he intends to give me another chance to break free anyway. Instead, he keeps a firm grip on my wrists as he binds them with the rope.

  The bindings bite my flesh, but he’s quick to finish his knots. Probably lots of experience.

  That thought hardly makes me feel better.

  My wrists are bound behind me, and my shoulders hurt from the strain. There’s no wiggle room with the ropes. I remember reading once that you could make your limbs harder so that you’d get wiggle room when you relax your limbs.

  I didn’t think of doing that, of course. Even if I had, I doubt it would have made any difference.

  It’s not his first rodeo, though it’s certainly mine.

  I realize his face is beside me again, and I jump. I try not to look his way and ignore his breath on my ear and my neck. It’s like he wants to lick me, or maybe even bite me. His intensity washes fear through me, and I don’t think I would move even if I wasn’t bound.

  He moves to my right leg, staying beside me as he binds it to the leg of the chair. Next is the left. He walks behind me running his hand under my hair along the back of my neck.

  My fear is turning to anger.

  “Stop that,” I spit out somehow, surprising myself.

  He looks at me in surprise and kneels beside me, holding my left leg firmly as he ties it down. Once done, he looks at me. He’s tall and broad-shouldered, imposing even when kneeling beside me.

  “What do you want from me?” I finally find the strength to ask, even though I know what he’s going to answer. I’ve read books like this before, and the plot almost feels predictable.

  Terrifying, yes, but also predictable.

  I’m still alive, so it’s not murder they’re after. At least, not murder yet. That’s nice. In a way.

  But that also means I’m probably bait for Chris. The thought makes my breath catch in my throat. Chris, with his caring gaze and touch. Chris, who loves me wholeheartedly. Chris, a dedicated father.

  Chris, a lawyer who’d vanished for months, due to a dangerous court case.

  “I hope your husband doesn’t take too long,” the man says, looking at me from on his bended knee, as though he intends to propose, which is something Chris hasn’t done yet. That part’s fine, I mean, we have a lot on our plate. But to have this man here, now…

  “He’s not my husband,” I whisper. Maybe if I’m seen as less important they’ll let me go? It’s a desperate gambit, but I’m pretty damn desperate.

  “He might as well be,” he says as he stands. He’s hovering beside me, then vanishes behind me.

  It’s like having a cobra behind you, ready to strike. I can’t see him, and can’t hear him over the sound of my own labored breathing. He’s not wrong, though. I might as well be Chris’ wife. I wish I could tell Chris how I feel, right now. I wish he’d noticed me earlier, or I’d have had the guts to chat with him when we were teens.

  I’m still amazed by my life - with Chris, and Jane - yes. But, most of all, I’m in love with my life. I have everything I could ever want.

  Which is why my heart hurts at the thought of losing it all. Now, when everything is finally so right.

  “I like them feisty, myself,” the man says, leaning beside me once again. His hand pushes my hair away, his fingers drawing the circumference of my neck, stopping to feel my pulse. His fingers tremble a bit, as though unable to contain the excitement of the thought of strangling me.

  I close my eyes and wait for his hand to squeeze or release. His touch feels like a metal clamp, like a vise closing around my whole body, ready to snuff the life out of me.

  I’m scared, terrified in a way I’ve never been. I focus on a place away from here. My mind’s eye wanders away from my terror and into memory, remembering
the tender look on Chris’ face as he held Jane for the first time, staring at me as though I’d managed a miracle as I’d brought this small, perfect life into our world.

  We’d created this small life together and had found each other again, despite everything.

  That finding was amazing in and of itself. We’d found each other again, before.

  And we would again, once more.

  His hand releases my neck, and he stuffs a gag in my mouth. It’s a rough fabric, and it threatens to block my air flow if I panic or cry and am unable to breathe through my nose.

  It’s okay. I can handle it, but only if I stay focused on the thought of seeing Jane and Chris again. My breath comes easier, and I find myself less afraid.

  Suddenly, I don’t feel so alone.

  22

  Chris

  I follow my GPS to the address provided to me. It’s an abandoned warehouse. Of course, it is. It’s exactly as it should be. And it’s probably rigged in some way. I hope that Shorty wants a face-to-face meeting. I’m led to believe that he does. He’ll want to give me his grievances, and then he’ll probably shoot both Laura and I, execution style.

  I grab my phone in my hand and clutch it. It’s my only defense here. I have a gun in my glove compartment but that won’t help me. Not against a trained mob killer. My only hope is that he wants to drag us away from civilization so that he’ll have us alone for a while - to talk or torture.

  I don’t want to think about that. Regardless, he doesn’t want to kill me right away, of that I’m sure. And as much as it pains me to think of it, he probably wants Laura to suffer in front of me too. Shorty’s reputation precedes him and it’s not a pretty one.

  I take a deep breath of fresh air before I step into the darkness of the warehouse. The ground turns to concrete and I walk forward as silently as I can. My eyes begin to adjust to the darkness. The warehouse is mostly empty, with a few conveyor belts left here and there - some sort of manufacturing equipment.

  At the back of it, I see Laura tied to a chair and gagged. Her eyes wide and filled with relief at the sight of me.

  I make eye contact with her. There’s so much I want to tell her. To thank her for everything she’s done for me. For the home that she’s provided for me and Jane. To tell her that I love her, and I always will. That I wish I’d gotten the chance to marry her. That I’m carrying a stupid engagement ring in my front pocket and have been for a month now, justwaiting for the right moment. That I want to save her, and I’ll do my best.

  But I say nothing, walking slowly towards her. Keeping an eye out for where Shorty might come out. It doesn’t take him long to appear from the side of the warehouse, stepping out of the shadows like a great snake waiting to strike.

  “Let her go,” I whisper. “It’s me you want.”

  He gives me a wry smile, his eyes dark and filled with hatred, “You’re right. It is you I want. But I want you to suffer… and to make you suffer? I need her. It’s too bad she didn’t come out with that pretty baby of yours. Oh, we’d start there.”

  My hands form fists. I want to hurt him. I want to break every bone in his body.

  “Let...her...go,” I repeat, biting off each word. I take a step towards him, but he pulls out a gun, pointing it lazily in my direction and then in hers.

  “I’d stop there if I were you,” he says it conversationally, as though we’re just two friends hanging out having a coffee. I stop and I hold up my phone. I’m not willing to bargain with Laura’s life. I’m not going to prolong this any longer than necessary.

  “Are you going to call someone?” he asks, a slow smile forming on his lips. “If you call anyone, I’m going to shoot her.”

  “I’m not going to call anyone,” I say, “but I do have a message for you.”

  I hit play. I already have the volume at maximum. A familiar voice rings out over it. Shorty blanches at the sound of his father’s voice, “I gave my word to this man that he and his family would be safe, son. You either back up now, or you’ll have me to contend with. I’ll not tolerate this disobedience. No more, Sebastian!” I’d never heard Shorty’s Christian name spoken out loud. His father must be pissed. “Heed my words, boy. If I need to use you to send a message that even from behind bars I am not weakened, then I will do so. Don’t test me.”

  The message stops. I’d called the jail as I’d driven here and spoken to Lucky in the hopes that he was true to his word. It seems that he is, but only because he has ulterior motives, of course. Don’t draw too much attention to himself by going after those who had put him in jail… and he would be able to run his own empire from behind the jail’s walls. I had no intention of stopping him or interfering. I’d given him my word on that. It wasn’t my battle to fight anymore. Some other lawyers and law enforcement officers could take care of him from here on out.

  Me? I had a family to worry about.

  Lucky had his reputation and his own empire to rebuild and to worry about. If Shorty stepped too far out of line by destroying the lawyer who’d put his father in jail? Well, that wouldn’t support Lucky’s plan at all. I don’t know what Lucky has planned for Shorty, but I can see that Shorty is considering it.

  “How’d you get my old man to say that?” He squints his eyes at me. “D’you promise him something good?”

  “No,” I shake my head. “I just told him what you are doing, and he offered to do this to stop you. You’re getting in the way of whatever your father’s planning next. I don’t think that’s such a wise idea.”

  “You got in the way of his plans,” he spits on the floor. “He didn’t stop you.”

  “True. But I think that once your father realized he might be going to jail, he started shifting his plans, and I was just a part of it,” I hate saying that. It’s true though. Lucky has played us all. At least I’ve got him behind bars. That still felt like a victory. I’ve saved Miriam and Ruth. That’s enough for me. Until this. Until now.

  “Why wouldn’t he tell me what he was planning? I’m his son!” he shouts. I see Laura flinch from her seat where she’s still tied.

  “I don’t know. You could ask him yourself, if you want.”

  Shorty pulls out his cell, looks at it and then shoves it back in his pocket.

  “You know what? It doesn’t matter. I wanted to do this to restore our family name and protect it. Either way, your death isn’t a bad thing. You’re just getting in the way.

  Before I can move or say anything, he lifts his gun and points it at me. I have a split second to hope that he’ll only kill me, and not Laura, when a shot rings out.

  I jump, but I’m not hit. Shorty looks stunned, his eyes wide, as he drops the gun and falls on the floor, dead.

  I look back towards Laura, who’s looking as shocked as I am. I look around but see no one there. I keep my hands up and visible as I walk slowly towards Laura.

  There’s someone else here with us, and they don’t seem to be too friendly. Even if they just saved me, it doesn’t mean that they’re not also here to execute us, to get rid of any witnesses.

  I take off her gag. She stays quiet. She’s still looking around, keeping calm and collected even in the face of ridiculous danger. The knots on her wrists are tight, but I manage to free her. I help her stand. She takes my arm and we’re both looking around, trying to figure out what exactly just happened.

  “Let’s go to the car,” I say. She nods, and we hold hands all the way to the car. I make sure she’s safely in and go around to the driver’s side. I look into the back seat, just in case. There’s nobody there.

  My phone buzzes with a text message. I look down, You’re welcome, Mr. Heed.

  And that’s it.

  I turn the car on and we drive away. I’m half expecting a bullet to come flying through the window and take us out, or the car to explode, but nothing happens. I drive until we’re well away, and then I pull off on the side of the road. I turn to Laura, “Are you okay?”

  “I am now,” she says. She throws her
arms around me and holds me tightly. I hold her right back.

  “We’re safe now.” I tell her. “We’re safe.” And I know that we are because whatever vendetta Shorty had is now at an end.

  Lucky was true to his word, and I would be true to mine, and never interfere with their business again. I had greater things to worry about right now.

  And all I wanted to do was go home and be with my daughter, and hopefully, my soon-to-be wife.

  23

  Laura

  By the time Chris calls the cops and the FBI and directs them to the warehouse, whoever shot Shorty in the head is long gone. They take statements. I feel like I’m in a cloud still. Like I’m in a fog. I can’t believe I’ve been kidnapped. Honest-to-goodness, story-worthy kidnapping! That doesn’t actually happen to people, does it? Not in real life! And yet, there I was, tied to a chair. Which is hard to break out of - even though they make it look so easy in the movies.

  And best of all, who saved me? My hero, my knight in shining armor, Chris. Without flinching or hesitation, he’d faced down Shorty. He didn’t have weapons and didn’t punch Shorty, no. That wasn’t his strength though. His brains were his strength, and I love that about him. I love it so much, as I watch him talking to the officers calmly, explaining the situation to them, his suspicions from the beginning… I’m only hearing snippets from where I am.

  Dan suddenly arrives in the warehouse, looking frantic. He sees me and heads my way.

  “Are you alright?” He hugs me. I hug him back and sit back down on the bench. He sits beside me.

  “I am,” I give him a little smile. “Chris saved me. He was so brave.”

  Dan glances towards Chris, “I’m glad he did. Jesus, Laura, I can’t believe you got yourself kidnapped! You’re so dramatic!” I laugh. It echoes in the warehouse, and I stifle it, which only makes me giggle more. Nerves are finally getting to me, but it feels good to laugh and to let some of it out.