Hale on Earth (Arrangement Series Book 2)

by Francesca Penn

  Pivoting on my heel, I go climb into my SUV and peel out into traffic. I give the order to call Jagger the moment my Bluetooth connects.

  “Yeah!” He answers with all the attitude I’d expect from my moody best friend. It’s one of the many reasons we get along, matching low bullshit tolerance.

  “Apparently, I have a fucking fiancee now.”

  “You, too?” Jagger has been dating and is very much in love with a girl named Layla.

  “You proposed to Layla?” I ask wearily.

  She’s not in our social class, and it’s not allowed. He’d be in for one hell of an uphill battle. Also, marriage is for the insane. Still, I’d support him and fight with him because that’s what friends do.

  “NO! My parents kidnapped her and locked her up. If I don’t marry that crazy bitch Ainslee next week, she’ll disappear forever. This is bullshit on top of bullshit,” he rants. I don’t like it, but I can understand why him falling in love with someone out of his station would spur his family into action. But I was minding my own fucking business. “Why would they think I’d want to be married to that child!?”

  I understand our situations are fucked up, especially his with his missing love and having to marry his nemesis, but a laugh jumps out before I can stop it.

  “Jagger, you’re thirty-six and you are only seven years older than her. She’s a grown ass woman.”

  “She’s a whole child,” he maintains. “That psycho sent me a basket of peanut butter and strawberry cookies with a note that read: Just for you, future husband. She knows I’m allergic to both. We will kill each other.”

  “I hope you two don’t fuck like you fight.”

  “Fuck? Don’t make me ill. Who are you saddled with?”

  “No one. Once I get rid of the LeClaire chick. I’ll be single again.”

  “At least the LeClaire sisters are hot. I’d still be mad if I had to marry one, but I’d plan to do dirty shit to her sexy body. Which one?”

  “The oldest according to her.”

  “Oh. Karessa.”

  “That’s her name?”

  “Yes, and I like her ass the best. I’d bite the hell out of it. She always has on something that shows it off like she knows she has a fuck hot body that make men’s dicks hard.”

  My hands grip the steering wheel; it surprises me that his words bother me. I feel capable of punching him and it makes no fucking sense.

  “Aren’t you super in love with Layla? How did you have time to come to these conclusions?”

  “In love doesn’t mean I’m dead. You know me, if you flaunt it, I’m looking. Karessa has given me plenty to look at, too. God bless her birthday parties.”

  “Shut the fuck up about my fiancee.”

  “You just said you were getting rid of her,” Jagger points out.

  “I am,” I grit out, equally confused. “Don’t mean you have to sing odes to her fucking body like a teenager either, asshole.”

  “Anyway. If I have you suffer, you’re suffering with me. Congratulations, you’re the best man at my funeral. We have tux fittings tomorrow.”

  I huff to release a breath as I pull into a storage facility near my home. “This shit all seems so surreal. We’re too old for this. Aren’t marriages usually arranged earlier, like just out of college? We’re pushing forty.”

  “Speak for yourself. I’m nowhere near forty,” Jagger murmurs. “Good luck with your sexy ass betrothed. I’m being forced to have an engagement dinner with the demon and her family. If I die you know who to suspect.”

  With a snort, I hang up and dismount from my vehicle. The rental office is small and dank, like my future. My burden follows me inside, looking confused. The balding guy with a beer belly and a worn shirt greets us.

  “Hi. We need a big storage,” I inform him to my trophy’s surprise.

  “Wait. What?” She looks at me for answers.

  “You’re crazy if you thought I was putting all your shit in my house. Grab your essentials and store the rest.” I demand as I give the guy my card. “Do the paperwork and hurry the fuck up.”

  Stepping outside, I take a few deep breaths to calm my nerves. If I smoked anything at all, now would be the time I’d pull it out. The setting sun purples the sky and I’ve never felt so connected to this natural occurrence. My life is becoming bleary and will soon be dark as the night if my fate will be like Jagger’s. The cars pass on the streets as I examine my life to pinpoint what my dad would try to do to get his way. I’m not in love, so there’s no one to threaten or kidnap. I have accounts in banks Mr. LeClaire can’t control; I own my home outright so I can’t be evicted. I can’t figure it out, but I know he has to have something on me.

  She reappears, hips still swaying from those stupid heels. Jagger was right. Those tight pants and the cut of her blouse shows off her curves. Curves I would’ve never seen if our parents weren’t assholes.

  The silver from her key and lock shimmer under the overhead light once she draws near.

  “He says I’m slot eight,” she tells me like I care.

  “Good for you.”

  Her eyes flicker with challenge. “You’re not going to help me?”

  “I helped, I’m paying for the storage. How you get your stuff inside of it isn’t my problem.”

  I put my hand out palm up and wiggle my fingers at her, silently telling her to unhand my credit card.

  She slams against my palm as she calls me an asshole under her breath. I have her by her ponytail before she can whip all the way around. Twisting it, I pull her to my chest, breathing in her sweetness once more. The curve of her lips and the widening of her eyes tells me there’s still so much innocence ripe for corruption. I think of so many ways I can break her and shatter her manicured control. Karessa struggles, trying to break from my hold, but it’s useless. Sliding my card in my pocket, I use my now free hand to wrap it around her throat. My thumb rests on her pulse. The skittering excites me in ways I haven’t considered in a long time.

  “Let me go,” she demands with authority she doesn’t feel. We both know who’s in control.

  “You’re not sounding very grateful.” I lean in unnecessarily close until we’re breathing each other. “I suggest you shelf the attitude. You still need to eat and a place to wash your ass and go to sleep. Do you want to sleep in your fucking storage container?”

  Her eyes blaze with hurt and anger, but I find it arousing.

  “Why are you so mean?”

  “I’m just being myself. If you want my help, you take what I give you, understand?”

  She focuses on my lips for a moment before giving me her full attention. The air between us crackles. I want to tell it to mind it’s fucking business. I need to get rid of her. She nods as much as she can in her position. I would hold her to me until she gives me a verbal acknowledgement, but my overactive dick grows harder with each breath her soft body takes. I release her before she notices and gets the wrong idea.

  “Now, hurry the fuck up.”

  Chapter 3

  Karessa

  After a good shower, I pace in my hotel room trying to figure out how to get out of this mess. Attractiveness can only go so far. Oran or as I like to call him, Hell, is twisted. He takes pleasure in making my life hell and I’m not sure I can marry him without trying to kill him. I’d be moving from one cell to the other. Plopping down on the adequate bed, I rub my weary feet as the memory of him leaning on his vehicle, watching me move piece by piece of my belonging into the unit. He’d only lift a hand for the big items that were impossible for me to move alone. That is no way to treat a lady.

  Although my family is rich, I’ve never elevated myself to a spoiled socialite. The scene wasn’t for me and my sisters were entertainment enough. I don’t have a lot of friends outside of my family who’s now barred from speaking to me until I follow through with my father’s wishes. I’m being put through hell because he’s bad at poker. Why was I a bargaining chip, anyway? Tears prick my eyes, but I refuse to shed th
em. There has to be another way. Maybe if my dad knew how Oran treated me, he’ll change his mind. It’s worth a shot.

  Dondi LeClaire picked up on the first ring.

  “Hey, Ressa. Did you go meet your fiance?”

  “You and Mr. Hale left me no choice.”

  I know the saying about catching things with honey, but I can’t keep the bitterness out of my voice.

  “Darling, I told you I’d unfreeze your accounts once you’re married.”

  “What about your accounts? You’re the one making irrational decisions. You bet your own daughter and put me through hell to make good on a promise that wasn’t yours to give,” I hiss. “Just passed me off like a slave or a two-bit whore-”

  “Watch your mouth, young lady.”

  “It’s too late for that, dad. You sold me to a guy who doesn’t want to get married. Who thinks I’m the bane of his existence. Who literally placed me on the cabinet with the rest of his trophies because that’s all I am. Something else his daddy bought for him. I hope it was worth whatever you were trying to get.”

  I was on speaker or yelling because I can hear my mom sobbing in the background. Save your tears, lady, he’s not changing his mind. The damage is done. Hell didn’t become ruthless all by himself, he had to learn it from someone; his dad will not let mine back out of this agreement.

  “I-I know sweetheart,” my dad softens his voice and I know there’s a “but” coming. “It was stupid, but it’s done. Our lawyers are discussing your prenups. I’m working on an easy out clause for you. I just need to fulfil my part.”

  “It would have been easier to have never sold me at all!”

  “We’re past that now. You have to tough it out at this point.”

  “He made me unpack my entire apartment from the moving truck by myself in heels. He only lifted the heavy stuff.”

  “See, he helped.”

  “He also gave me a drive-thru meal, handed me one-hundred dollars for the next two weeks, and checked me into a mid-range hotel. He told me to be happy it has a breakfast buffet included with the room.”

  “But you’re not in danger.”

  I shrieked my frustration and hung up on him. He’s no fucking help. Falling back on the bed. I stare at the ceiling and weigh my options. Run with no car or access to money. That’s insane. Kill myself. Hell no. Or marry Hell and hope with all my might that I have an excellent escape clause. I cover my face with my pillow I bought with me because I have no idea where their pillows have been, and scream until I need to suck in air to breathe. This is so unfair.

  * * *

  Oran

  I study myself in my floor-length mirror, trying to remember the last time I wore a tux. With our families being the founding families, we have plenty tux-appropriate events, I’m just never in attendance. I’m either too busy or all around not fucking interested. If I weren’t the best man in my best friend’s shotgun wedding, I wouldn’t be going. Adjusting my bow tie, I take one more look and decide I’m good to go. It’s been a week since I’ve seen or heard from my so-called fiance and I prefer it.

  I still haven’t found a way to get out of it, but I’ve also been avoiding my dad and his bullshit. My main goal is to figure out his angle to find a way around it. I’ve pored over my affairs and haven’t found the vice grip on my balls.

  My phone rings, the vibrations cause it to dance on my nightstand. Who the fuck is calling?

  I don’t recognize the number, but in my line of business, I cannot ignore unknown numbers.

  “Oran Hale,” I answer as I triple check that I have the rings although I know Jagger would love it if I’d lost them.

  “Hi. I need a ride to the wedding.” Her silky tone seeps into my ear, warms my body, and shoots straight to my dick.

  How would it sound if she moaned my name?

  “How is that my problem?” I ask, my irritation with my reaction to her voice is laced in my tone.

  “Because our dads made you my fiance, asshole.” I’m supposed to be offended, but my brain conjures up all the dirty things I’d want to make her say.

  “I don’t walk around calling you a bitch, don’t call me an asshole.”

  “Well, I’ve also haven’t given you a reason to call me a bitch, but you’re racking up those asshole points at lightning speed.”

  “Why don’t you get an Uber? Oh yeah, you don’t have a fucking credit card! Watch how you talk to me.”

  “Ugh!” Her groan has my mind back in gutter creating rough sex senarios that’ll make her scream.

  “Stop all of that huffing and puffing unless you’re playing with your pussy. And if you are, I’ll talk you through fucking your fingers until you’re gushing and cuming harder than you’ve ever achieved.”

  Karessa’s sharp intake of breath has me rubbing my hardening dick through my trousers. If she were here, I’d have her on her knees testing out how well those pouty lips suck.

  I’m about to ask her that when she finds her voice.

  “I’ll get a ride from someone else.”

  “Guess again, Trophy. I own you. I’m the only thing you’re allowed to ride. Have your ass outside. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Be prepared to move fast. I’m slowing down, not stopping.”

  Hanging up on her, I grab my keys and whistle on my way out of the door. I may not want to get married, but I can have fun with her and her body.

  Chapter 4

  Karessa

  I’d expected him to only slow down as he promised because he’s a special kind of asshole. I made sure I was at least standing outside. Even with killing my crush on him right before high school, a crazy part of me kept tabs on him.

  It was an unconscious effort, and I didn’t realize I’d do it, but I’d paid attention to social pages in case an announcement of his engagement ever surfaced. I watched him take over as CEO for his dad’s real estate corporation seamlessly until he surpassed his old man’s legacy, and I watched the little light he had inside of him dim when his mother passed just after he finished college. Over the past twelve years since her death, I’d seen him retreat more and more, and never mingle willingly at any of the society functions. Had he taken part like the rest of the children of the founding families, he would have known me.

  I used to feel frustrated with our almost five-year age gap, often wondering if I were a little older or he younger if he would have really seen me. I would’ve been there for him when the last person who showed him love departed from earth. I could have shown him love. Now it’s too late. He’s bitter and set in his ways. This is a prime example of being careful what you wish for. My fourteen-year-old self used to write Mrs. Karessa Hale on everything. I wanted to be his missus, and in a sick twist of faith, it looks like I will be, except he adored me in my version.

  The hum of his purring engine announces his arrival before I see him fully. I’d be silly to think he’d be a gentleman, park, and open my door. His brownish-orange Jaguar F-Type pauses next to me, and as if hearing my thoughts and laughing at them, he lies on the horn and yells come on from the still rolled up window.

  Climbing in his car, I frown at the butterflies I feel being so close to him. Unlike his office, getting in his vehicle closes us into a small space not created by him grabbing me to inflict his special brand of torture. His sexual warfare. He has me so confused, constantly taking me from pissed to horny to pissed and horny.

  Making sure my dress doesn’t get caught in the door, I shut it and quickly put on my seatbelt since he’s already speeding into motion.

  “This is some bullshit, I’m on the way to be the best man for an arranged marriage that my friend doesn’t want with my fake ass fiance in tow.”

  His words rumble out of his mouth as if I’m not there and he’s thinking out loud. I’ve just gotten into his damn car and I already feel forgotten. Oran just talked all that shit over the phone and now I’m just part of his car interior.

  The feeling didn’t fade, but once we arrived at the wedding, I had other thin
gs to focus on. My trained eye rakes over the details. Checking out my sister’s handiwork. Since my dad left me incommunicado, my younger sister, Esme, had to take over my position and head coordinator to get the event done. She did a wonderful job layering the charcoal and wine in a way that had the deep reds popping off the gray. I’m glad to have a younger sister with similar taste and interests because Oran’s dad and mine could have fucked me over royally with this wedding. No one wants to be known as the person who tanked the Bishops-Hanlon wedding, even if the bride and groom have murder fantasies about each other.

  Esme’s light-brown eyes connect with mine from across the room. Her eyes are filled with emotion, but she gives me a secret smile before moving to the next item. I blink a few times to pull my emotions in check; I refuse to cry publicly. My dad knew that even if I decided to remain homeless, not being able to talk to my sisters would be torture. He was right. Esme wanted to fight him on it, but I told her to let me handle it. I did not want her meeting my same fate. She took my dilemma as a cautionary tale and is planning to not be shut down so easily as I was in case my dad gets another bright idea for his second daughter.

  I can feel my parents looking at me from their seats. Tilting my head, I give them my attention for a beat then opt to sit next to a crestfallen Eli. If I’m out, I’m out. No point in pretending all is well with the LeClaires.

  Oran stands at the front chatting with a stressed out looking Jagger since he’s the only member of the wedding party. Both men are wearing all charcoal with wine pocket squares. Jaggers rich brown hair contrasts with Oran’s almost black strands, but both look rakish and dangerous despite the stoic wedding.

  The music starts and Ainslee trudges in like she’s walking the plank to her death. Unconsciously, my hand flies to my chest in empathy, I may not be in love like she is with Eli, but I know how trapped she feels. My heart breaks with hers as she pauses to look at him through her veil but continues to her future husband.