by Sierra Hill
“Boss will be back soon. You’re to stay here until he arrives.”
“Oh goodie.” I roll my eyes insolently.
He nudges me forward with a hefty finger at my shoulder blade, pushing me in. I stall a few feet inside, checking for any possible exits and wondering how the hell I was going to get out of the ties still binding my wrists.
I lift my hands behind my back, flailing like a roped calf at a rodeo.
“I haven’t used the bathroom since before I left the airport today. I really need to pee and can’t without the use of my hands. Unless you want to wipe my ass.”
He grumbles and sighs, considering the verity of my request. Instead of a verbal response, he simply rummages through his front pants pocket, takes out a small tool, and unlocks the bindings that fall to the floor.
My wrists throb and fingers tingle from being bound and unable to move for that long, so I roll them around to restart the flow of blood supply.
“Thank you,” I offer quietly.
My stomach rumbles just then, and it seems to echo across the cavernous room. “I’m really hungry, too. Can I get something to eat? I had some granola bars in my bag, but your boss kept that.”
His face seems to soften just a little but then he seems to reconsider, the compassion disappearing in an instant.
“Don’t know, don’t care. Bathroom is over there,” he points to the far side of the room, which I now see is just as luxurious as the rest of the apartment. “I’ll see about some food.”
He turns to go, my mind racing as I try to figure out a way out of this situation.
I don’t know why my father put me in this position, but he damn well better make it right. And if this Boss guy doesn’t see fit to let me go, I’ll need to devise a plan of my own.
Because pickpocketing isn’t my only skill.
I’m also a damn good lock picker.
Chapter 7
I can’t be sure how long I’ve slept, but the last thing I remember after Hulk brought me some food and left me alone again was curling up on the large four-poster bed and then it was lights out.
With the cross-continental travel and time change, the stress over the meeting and the adrenaline rush of being kidnapped, I was exhausted, mind and body.
A loud commotion outside the door stirs me awake, my brain in a foggy state and far from clearheaded when I jump from the shouting. Voices of at least two men, maybe three irritated men, arguing over something.
Fear kicks in and starts to niggle at the bottom of my belly. I slide out of the bed, realizing I’m no longer wearing any shoes, which startles me further because I never removed them myself. At least, not that I recall.
A quick perusal of the rest of my body confirms that I’m still fully clothed, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I must’ve been out cold from the jetlag. Unless the food that was brought in was drugged.
I consider this possibility as I pad quietly over to the door and place my ear up to the wood grain. Although there’s a chance something could’ve been slipped in my food, I don’t feel lethargic or hungover, my head not swimming in thick confusion. I’m just tired.
The voices are now hushed, but loud enough that I can hear garbled portions of the conversation, identifying a few words from each response.
“…what the fuck…prisoner here? Faron, she’s….a kid.”
“West…remind you…she’s in…con…Mudd…dirty work…daughter…I will not…beautiful girl...I want…promised me…use her as leverage.”
Staggering back a few steps, my hand instinctively covers my mouth on a gasp.
What has my dad done? Did he screw this guy over, along with me, by not delivering what was promised? But why? What would motivate him to do something like that?
I pace back and forth as the men continue talking. But I’ve given up trying to hear them clearly. They must be in a closed room down the hall so it’s frustrating only obtaining a few words at a time and trying to make sense of them. But what I have heard has given me enough insight to know I’m in trouble.
Big, big trouble, unless I can find a way out of this mess. Unfortunately, I don’t know how I can do that and until I do, I’m stuck.
Literally, I’m a sitting duck.
I check the latch on the large window once again and find it won’t budge. Banging on it or screaming for help is useless because I’m too high from the ground and no one could hear my cries for help, anyway.
With my back toward the door from my perch at the windowsill, the snick of the lock and the door opening behind me causes me to stiffen up. I remain still, counting to ten, breathing in and out, knowing I need to keep my composure and remain in control.
Although I will myself not to move, my body still reacts wildly the minute he places a dominating hand on my shoulder. I jump with a startled scream as he captures my arms, pinning them to my sides and spinning me around to face him.
It has only been a few hours since I last felt the intensity of his dark eyes boring through me, but now up close in the small confines of this room, they burn darker than before, coal-colored and fuming. As if they had been on fire, the embers now smoldering from whatever has caused his agitation.
He drops my arms as we lock eyes in a battle of wills. My posture suggests I won’t cower, even though inside I’m scared shitless. I remain silent, waiting for him to say something.
“What the fuck are you trying to pull here, Gemma? Did you not think I’d find out?”
My mouth drops open incredulously.
“I-I don’t know what you mean.” I shake my head, suddenly feeling a lightheaded wooziness descending over me.
He glowers as a hostile laugh leaves his mouth, his eyes flashing with annoyance. “Playing the innocent card won’t let you off the hook with me, beautiful. I won’t fall for that.”
“First of all…” I stop midsentence because I want to address him by his name, yet I still don’t know it. “What the hell is your name? All I know is that Hulk calls you Boss.”
My redirection seems to confuse him, as his tight mouth slowly loosens and curves up slightly at the corners for a second, snickering a deep and throaty sound. “Who the fuck is Hulk?”
I shrug, flapping my hand toward the doorway. “You know, the big guy. The bodyguard or whoever he is that does your dirty work. Seems fitting, if you ask me.”
Boss nods appreciatively. “Yes, it does. As for me, you can call me Faron.”
Through an exaggerated cough, he adds, “Or Sir when you’re on your knees.”
Lifting a brow at the suggestive tone, I scoff. “I’ll stick with Faron.”
He pauses, arching his own eyebrow in question. “I guess I assumed your father would have mentioned my name as your contact.”
Averting my eyes away, I cross my arms to prove my frustration. “You’d think so, but that isn’t the case. I was given as little detail as possible, probably because my dad…”
He prompts me with the cock of his head. “Your dad, what?”
“He doesn’t trust me. Or rather, he doesn’t trust anyone, for that matter. But he kept things vague on purpose, probably knowing I would object if I knew he was trying to scam you.”
Faron considers this bit of information, nodding his head reluctantly.
“So you’re saying you didn’t know you were carrying a fake?”
His eyes bore into me with such intensity, flashing darkly as they roam over me, that my nipples tighten in response. Inexplicably, my panties dampen between my legs, a pulsing heat forming low in my belly.
Faron, in all his broody bluster, has an effect on me. My body seems to have awoken like the snowy white princess in the fairytale. But he’s certainly not a Prince Charming. More like a Prince of Darkness.
“Listen, Faron,” I enunciate clearly. “Like I said, I had no idea who you even were, or that I brought a fake. All I know is what Mudd told me. He gave me your address, the code word and gave me strict instructions to give the diamond only to you and no one else. That
’s it.”
He taps a long finger against his lips, a silver ring glinting off the band.
“Then I can only conclude your father did a bait-and-switch, with both the delivery method” – he gestures between us at me – “and the product.”
I crinkle my nose and forehead. “I don’t know what motive Mudd has to send me with a fake. Why would he do it?”
“Excellent question. And if he’d return my call, maybe we’d find out.”
I’m about to suggest that I should try to call him when he reaches up and strokes my cheek with a rough thumb. It’s clearly not meant to be gentle.
It’s meant to suggest whatever he decides to do, I’m part of his plan to get what he wants out of Mudd.
“And what, little girl, shall I do with you in the meantime.”
Chapter 8
The entire atmosphere changes as he leaves the room, presumably to ruminate over his options, as I remain locked behind closed doors. It had been charged and electric as he stood close, towering over me, touching my face with his thumb.
And now I feel cold and alone, wanting to be the object of his attention again. And for him to call me little girl.
I should be offended by the way he keeps calling me little girl, which is indecently patronizing. But in some weird way, I like it because of its suggestive connotation.
And frankly, it reminds me of who he is and who I am not. And I like that power dichotomy.
Technically, I’m not his equal. Far from it. I’m naïve in this world where he’s had years of experience. And his knowledge of this business gives him insight into the reasons behind Mudd’s motives for doing this and why my father sent me and not someone else.
My father could have sent any of his underlings. Men with far more practice and familiarity in this type of transaction.
When Mudd assigned me to this deal, he said it was to keep things on the downlow. That no one would look twice at me flying to Europe. It would keep the Feds off our scent. Mudd couldn’t afford to attract any more attention to his wheeling and dealings because he was already going through a trial for extortion and various other federal crimes.
The logic seemed reasonable to me at the time. But now I’m questioning everything he said to me before I left, rewinding every conversation leading up to my departure and peeling back the onion layer strip by strip to figure out what he has up his sleeve.
But nothing is clear to me, and I’ve not come to any conclusion.
Before Faron left, I’d suggested he let me call Mudd directly to see if I could get him to come clean about the product. Considering my father’s nickname, coming clean is obviously an oxymoron. Mudd is as dirty as they come.
Regardless, my father owes me an explanation and I want to know why he did this to me. My father has never loved me, and he treated me with the same care as he would anything he owned and managed. But I was mistaken when I thought he’d given me this opportunity because it meant he trusted me and had faith that I’d come through for him.
Instead, he put me in a dangerously compromising position. One that could jeopardize my safety if Faron sees fit to hurt me. He’s technically already kidnapped me and holds me prisoner against my will. What’s to say he won’t dispose of me if I don’t get him what he wants?
I pace the room, running everything through my head as I notice my beautiful surroundings. The silk of the comforter over the massive king-size bed, the rumpled sheets where I’d fallen asleep. There are certainly worse places I could be held captive, and the accommodations here are far better than anything I’ve ever slept in before.
Aside from the handcuffs and unnecessary hooded cover, I haven’t been mistreated in any way. And both of those restraints were promptly removed. I’ve been fed and given water, and Faron even said he’d send for some new clothes to be sent up for later. Every possible creature comfort I could desire was provided to me. And on the plus side, I’m as far away as possible from the man I call my father.
My hope is that once this matter is resolved and the deal is complete, I can return home and begin a new life out from under Mudd’s thumb. With the promise that I’ll be free from him and all the sorted, criminal elements associated with this family and life.
First things first, though. In order to be a free woman back home, I have to gain my freedom from Faron.
The touch is feather soft, gliding over my cheek as a cloud whispers through the sky. I lean into it, pressing my face closer to its warmth, a sigh passing through my lips to acknowledge my gratitude.
My heart begins to race, pulse quickening with every velvety touch. My limbs quiver as the touch lowers, tracing petals of indulgence over my skin, making its way over my collarbone. My sigh turns to raspy moans, my breasts heavy with need as the agile finger outlines the shape of my breast before flicking over a hardened nipple.
The craving to be touched is so great that my body instinctively moves into it, reaching like a flower to the sun. I flip onto my back, allowing for more area to explore…wanting the caress to continue wherever it’s willing to go.
Like a math equation that’s found its answer in the sum of its parts, my body yearns to be filled and completed by this roaming hand. To make me whole. To complete the puzzle with the missing piece.
The greedy desire manifests itself in a drenched wetness between my legs, the throbbing ache that begs to be satisfied in a way it’s never known.
Touch me, touch me, touch me.
Is that my voice? My needy voice spoken through dry lips and a parched mouth? A husky desire vocalized into the darkness?
“Yes,” I plea, as the touch finds its way over the swell of my belly, floating further until it hovers between my legs.
The heat from the hand penetrates the material of my panties, as I burn with excitement. It’s so hot in here, like a furnace burning me up. The touch stops, and it’s torture to be refused like this.
“Please.”
I struggle to move, as something pins me in place, but I punch my hips forward, desperate to reach that elusive connection. But it vanishes and vaporizes in an instant and in a panic, my eyes fly open…
As if stepping out of a fog into bright light, I squint, blinking several times as I gain hold of reality. Was I dreaming? Did I fall asleep and have the most erotic dream of my life?
The room is dark and drafty, the covers thrown off my legs where tingles still linger between my thighs. I dare a glance down the bed and notice my legs are spread apart, my panties still damp, and my shirt rucked up to expose my belly.
But that’s not the most startling aspect of this scene.
What’s far more frightening, and arousing, is to find Faron standing at the edge of the bed, watching me through lowered lashes.
I scramble up the bed, moving swiftly to a sitting position, fumbling with the sheet to cover myself to avoid any further embarrassment.
“Did you have a good night sleep?” His voice is flat and stretched tight, but there’s inflection in his tone that resembles amusement.
“Um, yes. I think. Were you…how long have you been standing there?”
He looks down at his chest, plucking at a piece of lint from his gray sweater, the contour of his biceps shaped solidly against the material. I’m somehow delighted and enthralled by the flex of his masculinity.
“Long enough to enjoy it.”
A crease forms in my brows.
“What does that mean?”
He stifles a laugh. “It means, I like the way you beg.”
Oh. My. God.
The humiliation swallows me whole, and I sink back down and duck my head under the sheet to hide from his scrutiny. But no sooner is my embarrassment hidden when the cover is ripped from my hands and I’m exposed once again.
“I spoke with your father.”
I check the clock on the nightstand to see what time it is and how long I’ve been out. It’s after four p.m. here, which means I’ve slept over fifteen hours and it’s mid-morning back in Jersey.
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Faron sits at the edge of the bed near my hip.
“I’ve been in this business since before my father’s death. Over twelve years now and I’ve met and worked with some pretty despicable associates in my time. Slimy, shady criminals. Men who would do just about anything for money,” he says, running a hand over his chin stubble. He’s close enough for me to reach out and touch him, but he’s untouchable.
He continues. “But never in my career have I encountered someone like your father.”
His gaze lands on me – sympathetic, but mostly pity. I glance away, ashamed by my upbringing. Cursing the blood that runs through my veins and the family I was born into.
I cringe. “Yeah, he’s not a nice man.”
“I should have listened to the rumors about his reputation. But I was greedy, and I wanted that diamond, so I gave into his demands and thought we negotiated a pretty damn good deal.”
He looks off thoughtfully into the distance. “Not only has he reneged on his end by sending you with a counterfeit diamond, but he’s changed the terms and is now demanding a higher asking price.”
I stammer with my words, incredulous, yet not surprised by my father’s deceit.
“But you told him you’re holding me until he sends you what he promised?”
Faron clenches his jaw, pursing his lips in an angry glower, the dark stubble over his lips and chin joining in response.
“Indeed, I have. And his bargaining chip and part of this new price increase is actually you.”
He scans my face waiting for a response to this claim. But all I have is confusion.
“I…I don’t follow.”
He chuckles humorlessly. Ominous to a cynical degree.
“Hmm…that says a lot about your, shall we say, inexperience.”
Yes, I’m inexperienced in this business, but it shouldn’t be to my father’s benefit. Why would it be? What does that give him as an advantage in this situation?
“Um, okay. What did he say?”
Faron crosses his arms over his chest, one hand scrubbing over his scruff. I notice his stance, his long, tapered legs hip width apart, the strength clear underneath the tailored material and fit.
