“Sure.” Her tone is way too calm so I annunciate more clearly so she gets the seriousness. “I said, DO…YOU… UNDERSTAND?”
She clears her throat and in my mind’s eye, I see her swallow hard, eyes filled with fear. “I got it. You can count on me, sir. Just, ah, don’t hurt Isabella.”
Hurt her? Hell no, I’m going to fuck her.
“Keep me apprised. I want an update, hourly.”
“Yes sir.”
That’s more like it. I hang up quite pleased with my excellent management skills. By day’s end I will personally shoot Grayson Patten III and take his wife for my own. She will get me access to the fucking source code and I can get those Uzbeks off my back. Then, if she’s nice, I might let her live.
No, wait. Better I force her to marry me and take over Patten Securites. A sweet plan forms as I sit and wait for Jeannette to call.
Way after midnight, my patience is all but gone when my phone rings. “We have their location, sir. I’m sending a driver who’ll bring you to the airport and drop you off in Nassau. From there, you’ll be driven to a dock. A boat will be waiting for you along with two locals with the special skills you requested.”
“Perfect. Get yourself to Nassau, I need you there.” Good thing she came through, otherwise I’d need a new assistant and she’d be pushing up daisies.
It’s morning when I duck out of the Cessna, open my umbrella and exit onto the tarmac of a small, private airport.
“I’ll be back this evening around five. Make sure you’re ready to go.” This, I say to the drug-runner pilot with shifty eyes, beard and a stupid looking man-bun.
He spits, takes a drag on his cigarette, then smashes it into the ground with the heel of his cowboy boot. “Don’t expect me to wait one minute longer.”
A guy like him needs to be on the move and I respect that, so I won’t have him killed, at least not yet.
Thunder booms, lightning flashes, and tropical rain comes down in buckets but I don’t give a shit. It’s the perfect weather for what I need to pull off. Ignoring all other distractions, I cross the tarmac to the waiting sedan where a local man in jeans and t-shirt stands by an open passenger door.
This better go down the way I planned.
I sit, the driver slams the door, and races to the front.
The dark man with a gold front tooth glances in the rearview. “I’ll have you at the docks in about ten minutes.”
“Make it five.” We need to get moving.
On the way, we stop at a shack with a rusted tin roof, walls patchworked with rotted boards. An older woman in a bright yellow slicker rushes forward and the driver leans over the front seat to let her in.
Her eyes dart between the two of us, she turns, and holds out a hand to where I sit behind her. “Da money, sir, if you please.”
“Like I explained, you’ll get it when I verify it’s the right couple.” What is it with these people?
Finally, we arrive at the docks where a white speed boat waits. Before we hop in, the professional holds out a hand.
A different set of rules applies for him so, one at a time, I count out twenty, one-hundred-dollar bills. “You’ll get the rest when we finish the job.”
Silently, he stuffs the cash into his front jeans pocket and we all jump in the boat. Without waiting for us to don life jackets, he presses down on the throttle, the boat jerks, and I fall back into the wet seat, heart racing.
I’m coming for you, Patten.
Chapter 11
Isabella
I glance at the clock and moan. Oh my God, it’s only six in the morning.
“Everything okay?” Grayson barely stirs as I slip out of bed, the bump on my head reminding me of yesterday’s disastrous outing.
“Yeah. Can’t sleep. I’m going to get up and maybe read for a while.”
What a night. After the kid went back to Slate’s guest house, I tried to fall back asleep but was too wound up.
“Shit!” I jump a mile when thunder cracks somewhere nearby.
My naked husband sits up, grabs my hand, and pulls me back into bed. “Come here, beautiful. What’s bothering you?”
“Nothing. Just feeling bad.”
Except during sex, he’s never called me beautiful. Is he just saying it now because I flirted?
“Bad about what?” His warm hand cups my cheek with a thumb tucked under my chin and forces my eyes to meet his.
It bores a hole into my soul. “I don’t know… everything, I guess.”
“Does that include me?” When his brows crease and his mouth purses like that, I know I’m in for an argument so I shake my head, no.
Unfortunately, my gaze shifts out of his lock and down to the dresser, a dead giveaway.
That’s his invitation to hone in on my lie. “Look at me Isabella.”
I can’t. I don’t want to see the disappointment in his eyes. I should never have admitted I liked the Australian’s attentions. What does that make me?
“Please, gorgeous?”
I smile at the second endearment he’s never used and glance back up at his face where tiny lines crinkle by his eyes.
He grins and adds, “Was that too much? How about stunning? Lovely? Attractive beyond all measure?”
I can’t believe how shallow I am when my face heats to the tips of my ears. Where is this coming from?
Oh, now I get it.
There was a page open on his computer last night, 7 Things Women Want to hear from Their Man. The Google search was Why do women flirt.
That is so sweet.
My husband tugs my back to his chest, wraps his arms around my waist, and kisses my neck. “I want you to know. I’m going to take care of things and listen more often.”
Hmm… so far, that’s four out of ten on the list. “Keep going…”
He chuckles into my ear. “Let’s see. I appreciate you, I really do. Damn. Oh yeah, this one is easy. You are my one and only.”
I giggle as the shell around my heart cracks open. “Oh my God, you memorized the list?”
“Several lists. C’mere.” He lays down on his back and pulls me onto his chest.
Then, his tongue demands entrance as his fingers thread through my hair. Brows creased almost in pain, his cock jumps to attention.
“Dammit, Isabella, I love you so much it hurts but I never know the right things to say.”
When his hands slide down to the hem of my t-shirt, it goes over my head, and he tugs me up his body so my breasts are in his face.
“Beautiful, fucking beautiful.” He takes one and sucks until the tip is hard.
My clit swells when his hands run up and down my sides. Then, he pauses from his play, reaches his mouth to my lips, and kisses me so intensely, I can barely breathe. His tongue takes command, thrusts in and out, and his fingers alternate between caressing and pinching my breasts.
When I moan, he whispers into my ear, “I fucking love the sound of that.”
I want him equally mindless and out of control so I reach between us and wrap my fingers around his cock.
The centers of his eyes widen and his length twitches as my thumb presses on the silkiness of his tip, leaking for me.
“Damn, Isabella.”
I want more so I slide down and hold him at the base while I kiss the tip, lick his length, and slide my mouth around him. When his head falls back onto the pillow, I take him in fully to show him how much I love him. He is my soul, my heart, and my deepest desire.
I don’t just suck, I adore him with all I have until his body goes still, about to explode into my mouth.
“Ah, hell. I want you to cum with me.” He pulls my hair until I let go with a pop, drops to the floor on his knees, and opens my legs wide with my feet dangling.
The tip of his index finger slides the length of me and yet avoids my nub. He teases while I squirm. When I try to touch myself, he takes my hand and kisses it to hold me back.
“I got this covered.”
“I need…”
“I know what you need. You need your husband fucking you slowly, thoroughly, until you beg.”
His tongue slips by my core, his fingers play around everywhere but the one most needy place I need to be touched.
“Please…”
“Nice.” He kisses my nub and pats it gently but nowhere near the pressure I want.
“Dammit Grayson.” I struggle onto my elbows and watch that smug, male look he has.
Oh, two can play at this. My toe stretches and I point until I press against his cock. His brows raise, he grabs my ankle, and spreads me wide.
With his mouth over my clit, he inserts one finger in and out. Gently, he places my nub between his teeth and bites. His digit curves into a spot that makes me coil tight. Then, he removes his finger, releases my legs and puts me onto my hands and knees. His slick tip presses on my clit, keeping me on edge.
I reach under and try to guide him into me but he pulls my hands forward to the headboard.
“Stay.” His command is so sexy, so exciting, I push my butt toward him, spread my legs and wait for what’s to come.
He fingers my other hole with his cock right at my opening.
“No, not this time.” His breath catches when I rock against him, craving him but it’s not enough, not even close. He enters my vagina so deep his pelvis presses into my butt.
Warm hands slide up my body, cup my breasts, and when he pinches, I gasp, about to burst.
His hard cock pushes in a little further, balls at my ass.
“Ah, oh shit. I’m, I’m…” My eyes close when he squeezes my tits with both hands, slides in fully, pauses to grind, then pulls out.
“Gray…”
He slowly ups the pace until a super nova forms behind my eyelids. I press back into his lunges, wanting, needing more. When he doesn’t move fast enough, I clench my inner muscles, press my thighs together, and buck back with all I got.
Holy shit! I cum and see stars, everything quivering, shaking.
“Isabella!” He thrusts, curses, and spends himself so deep that I have to brace my palms against the headboard.
While he finishes, my inner muscles still twitch, neither one of us able to stop. Finally, fully spent, I collapse on my stomach, outstretched in a star, him on top.
“Holy fuck, wife.”
“Nothing holy about it.”
He chuckles. “I guess we know how we feel about each other?”
“Mmm… “
“No more flirting?”
“If a man dares to flirt with me again, I will toss him overboard, especially if you’re two stories in the air.” I smile over my shoulder at his warm grin.
How is it that sex makes everything so right?
“Are you really going to buy his company?”
“Already did.”
“Good. It sucked to fall out of his boat.”
He reaches under the pillow and puts a fuzzy little box in my hand. “Open it.”
“What’s this?” I scramble out from under him and sit cross-legged on the bed.
He knows I don’t like fancy jewelry so I’m afraid to open it. Slowly, I crack the box and see a familiar set of rings.
His smile is a bit unsure. “Do you like them? I had a jeweler make duplicates. The originals are still ready for when you lose weight, okay? I need you to wear your rings. You’re mine, babe. I don’t want anyone thinking differently.”
I am about to call him a sweet Neanderthal when a motorboat sputters and stops nearby.
“That must be for Thomas. My God, it’s early.” With a yawn, I slip off the bed, pull on some clothes, and pad down the hall.
On the way to the kitchen, I glance in on the sleeping Skye. She’s fine. At the sliding glass door, through the downpour, I make out a sleek modern speedboat, maybe twelve feet long. There’s a man tying it to our dock.
Grayson joins me, his face guarded until a gray-haired woman wearing a bright orange slicker turns and signals.
“Stay put.” Mr. bossy-pants grabs a raincoat, his phone, and steps out onto the deck in his bare feet. From there, he descends to the top of the hill where young Thomas and Slate join him.
Careful not to fall, they make their way down the steps in the rain. Once on the sand, the boy slips out of Slate’s grasp, runs to the end of the dock, and hugs the old woman tightly.
Now I’m really glad we didn’t let him go home last night. She would’ve been worried silly.
That sweet feeling of doing a good deed changes to horror when Grayson shoots his hands up in the air. His fists clench when one of the men knocks Slate to his knees.
Before I can rush to help, a low voice from behind, scares the shit out of me. “Take it easy missus. Don’t move and this will go easier for you.”
I turn to face a dark man of at least six-foot-two with long natty hair. Like serial killers you read about, his eyes are completely devoid of emotion, his mouth tight.
I have no doubts Slate and Gray can take care of the two below but how many more are on the island? How can I warn the guys?
“Outside, now.” Mr. Dreadlocks pokes me in the back, I step toward the sliding glass doors, and glance around the kitchen for a weapon.
I am badass with an iron fry pan but it’s still on the stove with leftover bacon in it. Picturing this man with his head bashed in makes me feel a whole lot better. Just you wait, you fucking bastard. No one, but no one, messes with me and my family.
Thankfully, he can’t hear my thoughts as he pushes me to the railing. “Shout at dem.”
“Hey! Hey!” My screams are useless over the wind and waves so I turn to the idiot. “They can’t hear me.”
“Fine. We wait.” Massive forearms cross over his white t-shirt; a black, frowny, Mr. Clean.
Below, Grayson and Slate’s hands are tied behind their backs by the two intruders. Then slowly, they all make their way across the beach, and up the stone stairs. The boy and his grandmother, if that’s who she really is, follow.
And to think, I was so nice to that kid.
Chapter 12
Grayson
As me and Slate stand with the kid at the top of the hill, an alarm goes off in my head.
Something about this scenario smells off but I can’t put my finger on it. I see two guys, a woman, and a boat. There’s nothing unusual about that. The thicker of the two men, dressed only in a bathing suit, grabs the rope of the rowboat and throws it to the woman who ties it off.
“That’s my grand-mama.” Thomas flies across the sand, dashes the length of the dock, and hugs the woman with outstretched arms.
I can’t make out what’s said but she seems to scold him which, under the circumstances, I would, too.
“It seems harmless enough,” I mutter this more to myself than Slate as we make our way to greet the newcomers.
My friend grunts and it could be agreement but most probably not.
Suddenly, a tropical bird squawks and I jump when it swoops over our heads to take flight over the bay.
I really do need to chill out.
Down at the dock, one guy is already back in the boat, about ready to go but the other stays on the dock. I can’t see his face but he tousles the locks of the kid, laughs, and jokes. He’s not paying any attention to me and Slate.
Then, everything turns to shit.
The men turn with weapons pointed and a bright red laser dot appears in the middle of Slate’s forehead. No doubt there’s one on mine as well.
Ah fuck. Xavier Cross.
With an AK17 pointed at my heart, I should be scared but I’m too pissed off. He’s a dead man walking; just doesn’t know to lie down yet.
“Surprised?” The arrogant bastard balances with one foot on the boat’s railing while the boat bobs up and down in the rough waters of the bay.
I inch my way forward as I time the red dot bouncing on and off my chest. I may only get one chance at this so need to make it count. My hands clench by my side and my back teeth grind. I fully intend to knock him into the bay.
I spring but his accomplice sees it coming. So, instead of head-butting my nemesis into the ocean, my neck crunches and I drop to my knees on the dock.
“Hands behind your back.” Pistol to my head, the black man kicks out one of Slate’s legs and he falls beside me.
Then the thug motions to Xavier. “Watch them and for Christ’s sake, stand clear.”
Xavier takes a few steps back with his weapon swinging between Slate and myself while the thug pulls a couple zip-ties out of his pocket and squats behind us. Sharp plastic cuts through my skin as my kneecaps ache from the hard fall onto the wood.
I try to think. Dammit. How the hell did Xavier find us?
No doubt, when Isabella banged her head, word must’ve gotten out we were staying not too far from Nassau. Thus informed, it probably wasn’t all that hard to find us. I bet all it took was the promise of a reward.
Find the billionaire. No doubt, it’s a lot more lucrative than ‘Where’s Waldo.’
Slate’s hooded gaze reminds me we’ve rehearsed this worst-case scenario. The best thing to do is slow down and wait for the bad guys to make a mistake.
The kid and the woman get sent back into the boat, eyes wide, arms around each other. I doubt they’ll be much help but at least they’re not part of whatever Xavier has in store for me and my family.
At the thought of Skye and Isabella, my resolve hardens. If necessary, I’ll take a bullet rather than let him near my wife and kid. I get in Xavier’s face, ready again. This time I plan to knock him into the ocean with a kick to the groin.
The other guy must have a fucking sixth sense because he points his pistol at me and smiles, his gold tooth flashing. “Don’t even think about it.”
My chest tightens, I clench my fists, and imagine my fingers wrapped around this guy’s throat. I’ll do the same to Xavier but right now, I need to be smart, think strategically.
With Xavier, it’s not about money, it’s about revenge. Somehow, I’ll have to use his weaknesses to my advantage.
The first time I met him was at college. Even then, my former roommate was a little socially awkward but no more so than a lot of other freshmen. I never would’ve guessed we’d end up here.
Busted Play: The Series (Players, Books 1-6) Page 44
