Stolen Love (The Wildheart Duet Book 1)

by Murphy Wallace

  Once I’m standing I look up at the red-brick facade of the restaurant, I don’t recognize it. The gold lettering mounted to the front of the building says Serenata. I turn and look at Marshall, giving him a slight smile just before we’re greeted by a young man in a maroon suit coat.

  “Ah, Benvenuto Signor Trent! Come stai?” He says to Marshall.

  “Bene, Tony, e tu?” Marshall responds.

  “Bene, grazie. È bello rivederti”

  “Grazie, anche tu.” He hands Marshall a manila-colored ticket with numbers on it and, in turn, Marshall hands the young man the keys to his car.

  “Grazie,” Marshall answers. Beautiful and he speaks Italian? Swoon.

  As we walk up the steps to the door of the restaurant, Marshall takes my hand. I’m caught off-guard, but I let him lead me to the entrance.

  “Have you ever eaten here before?” he asks.

  “No.” I say as the doorman opens the door for us. Marshall leads me into the foyer onto the deep burgundy carpet. The walls are forest green, but the deep color is broken up nicely by the floor-to-ceiling, vintage style, gold flaked mirrors. I look around when we get inside and I notice that there is a coat room off to the right of the foyer and what appears to be a parlor off to the left. There are quite a few tall wing-backed chairs with a dark green colored fabric on the each of the cushions. They are surrounding parlor tables with a black marble top that has a thick gold border around the edges.

  The hostess greets us, “It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Trent,” she looks between Marshall and I. “Will it just be the two of you today?”

  “Hi Cassie. Yes, just the two of us. Thank you.” He answers.

  “Right this way.” Cassie smiles before directing us through a maze of different sized tables draped in white table covers. We pass several booths full of business men and women out to lunch and stop at a fairly secluded booth near the back of the dining room. The giant table is round and the black leather booth curves around it in a semi-circle. Marshall directs me to sit first and then he scoots his way in beside me.

  Once we’re settled in, Marshall says, “I love coming here. It reminds me of going to my grandmother’s house every Sunday for dinner when I was growing up. Back in the seventies, it used to be a favorite restaurant of the head of the mob, so it can get a little touristy at times, but it’s worth the seldom rush of people.”

  “Oh, wow.” I say. “That’s really neat. I had no idea.”

  “Yeah, history is kind of a hobby of mine.” He says as he picks up his menu.

  I smile at him and ask, “So, what’s good here? I’m assuming that they make a mean bowl of spaghetti?”

  “You can’t really go wrong with anything, however my personal favorite is the Spaghetti alla Puttanesca.”

  “Hmm, I’ve never tried it.”

  “Well, that settles that then.” He says, putting down his menu.

  “What settles what, exactly?” I ask as he holds his hand out and gestures for my menu.

  “You’re going to try the puttanesca today. You won’t be disappointed, I promise.” He hits me with his classic smile that has me melting in my seat.

  “Sounds wonderful.” I say with a slight grin. I have to admit to myself that this is way better than going to class, but I’m still worried about my car. It’s a piece of junk, but it gets me from point A to point B. There is no way that I can be without transportation. I need to be able to get to-and-from class and work. “So, do you think that your friend has had enough time to decide whether or not my car is totaled yet?”

  “I’m not sure, sometimes it can take a while. If we don’t hear from him before we’re ready to leave, I’ll give him a call.”

  “Okay, thank you. I really appreciate all of your help. Can I please pay you back for some of it by buying you lunch?”

  He smiles the most handsome smile before responding. “Absolutely not.” And then he winks at me.

  “Fine, have it your way.” I shake my head and roll my eyes playfully as our waitress comes over to take our drink order. “Just water for me please.”

  “I’ll take a water as well. We’ll also both have the spaghetti alla puttanesca as well as a glass of the Tormaresca Negroamaro.” He hands the waitress our menus and she lets us know that she’ll be right back with our drinks.

  Just then, his phone starts to ring. “It’s Ritchie.” He says before answering. “Hey Ritchie, what’s the verdict? Hello? Ritchie?” he hangs up the phone and says to me, “Service isn’t the best in here. I’m going to go over there and call him back.” He points to an area just inside of the dining room, closer to the foyer.

  As he stands there, talking on the phone, I can’t help but stare. His body is out of this world. He’s tall, handsome, great skin, and has an amazing personality. The more I stare at him, at the way his mouth and chin moves as he talks, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he laughs, the more I feel the desire within me grow. It’s very unlike me, but what I wouldn’t give for one night with him. I start to feel warmth spreading up from deep within my belly at the thought of him running his rugged hands all over my skin. The thought of him behind me, his lips on my shoulder, kissing me all over my upper back and my neck. One hand on my breast and the other between my legs. His erection pressed up against me…

  Marshall

  “Hey Ritchie, it’s me. We’re at lunch and this place doesn’t have the best cell service. So, what’s the deal with the car?”

  “It’s definitely totaled. The front bumper fell off into two pieces, the front passenger fender, axle, and tire are all jacked. The hood is beaten up pretty badly. By the time I got it to the shop, the airbag had deployed and it was leaking radiator and power steering fluid. It’s a ‘99 and it has over two hundred-thousand miles on it. I don’t know how she’s kept it running this long. The KBB states it’s only worth $2300, but that was before all of this happened.”

  “Okay, thanks for taking it in and having a look at it. Can you do me a favor and text her address to Steele? I’ll have him drop a car off at her house.”

  “Yeah, sure thing.”

  “I appreciate it, Rich. See ya.”

  “See ya, Trent.”

  I shoot a quick text to Steele with an update of the situation.

  I turn to go back to the table. As I approach it, I see that Adrienne has her eyes closed. “Everything okay?” No answer. “Adrienne?” Nothing. “Earth to Adrienne…” Her eyes shoot open and is instantly red from embarrassment. “You know, I’m becoming more and more fond of that shade of red.”

  “Uh, yeah. Sorry, I was out of it for a moment. What did Ritchie say?”

  “It’s totaled. But I’ve arranged a car for you until you can get a new one.”

  “Oh my god, I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t afford a rental. I guess I could go through insurance, but then my rate will sky rocket…” she drifts off and places her head in her hands. I go around to my side of the table and sit back down. I put my hand on hers, and pull it away from her face. She looks up at me and I placed a hand on her cheek.

  “I’m going to take care of it.” I assure her. She opens her mouth to object, but I beat her to it. “It’s already done. I’ll cover everything until you find a new ride. A reliable and safe ride.”

  “This is all too much to take in. I don’t understand, why would you do all of this for me when you don’t even know me?” she asks as a tear rolls down her face. I wipe it away, and pull her face toward mine to make eye contact with her.

  “We may not know each other yet, but I plan to change that. Soon.” And then I kiss her.

  Present Day

  Lana

  “Wife!” I can hear Lock calling me from the entryway downstairs. He is usually out of the house by 6:00 every morning. Long before I wake up for the day. The sound of his voice this early in the morning is worse than nails on a chalkboard. “I expect to see you down here, ready to go in ten minutes. We need to leave here by 7:00.”

  He doesn’
t wait for me to answer before walking back down the marble hall toward his office. I sigh; for whatever reason, Lock has this notion that we should have a baby. Seeing as how Lock is an impatient asshole, after we were unsuccessful for over six months, he decided that we needed a medical intervention. So now, every month, he sends me to the best OB/GYN in the city, Dr. Liza Bradley, for fertility treatments.

  It would be awful, except for the fact that she and I have become wonderful friends. My monthly appointments are the one consistent pleasure that I have in my life. How sad is it that the thing I look forward to most in the world is the thing that the majority of women my age absolutely dread? Lock used to be at every appointment, putting his two cents in, thinking he knew everything, as usual.

  Finally, during my third appointment, Liza told Lock that she didn’t become the top obstetrician in the city by letting people question her every step of the way, and that he was no longer allowed in the exam room during my appointments. While he didn’t like it, it wasn’t a good use of his time to make the long trek into the city, sit through the appointment, and then the long return trip back to his estate.

  After he was dismissed to the waiting room that day, Liza asked me how long I had been in an abusive marriage. I had no idea how she knew, and at that moment I didn’t care. I started bawling. She embraced me and let me cry for the next several minutes. From that point on, her office became my solace. This time, however, Lock will be coming along because he is pissed that we’ve been seeing Liza for over a year now and I still haven’t been able to get pregnant.

  I get up from the chair in my room, the same black wingback where I first remember seeing Lock, and make my way into the long, cream-colored marble hall that overlooks the entryway.

  The front, inside of the main house is completely open, all the way up to the gaudy chandelier that hangs from the 40-foot ceiling. Everything, from the floors to the walls, to the stairs, is the same shade of marble as the second story hallway that my bedroom sits off of. The long staircase that rises up each of the side walls, curve in, making an oval shape, mirroring the layout of the second floor. I turn right and head for the stairs. All of a sudden, I’m pulled into the bedroom next to mine. I almost scream out until I see that it’s just Owen. “Jesus! You scared the shit out of me!”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I just wanted to see how you were doing. I was sent out on assignment right after your brutal rape by Lock and his cronies. I’m sure that Lock didn’t want me around because I tried to stop it, but I feel terrible that I couldn’t be there for you.” He stands there with his hands firmly planted on my upper arms. His straight black hair hanging down almost covering his espresso-colored stare. The olive skin covering his forehead is wrinkled. His eyebrows are tense with worry, furrowing the skin between them.

  The attack had been just a little over two weeks ago. I still have some bruising and scabs where my skin had been scratched or bitten. The bruise under my eye from where Lock backhanded me was the worst. It still has greenish/yellowish coloring. “I’m almost back to normal.” I pause, “physically, anyhow.”

  “I’m so sorry that I wasn’t around to help you following the incident,” he replies. “It broke my heart. I hope you know that.” He removes his strong hands from my shoulders and flicks his hair out of his eyes.

  I shake my head and quietly mutter, “I know.”

  “Listen, while I was out on assignment, I was put in contact with someone who is an expert in counterfeit documents. We haven’t spoken yet, and it will take a little while to see if I can trust him, but if everything checks out, I am going to look into getting some for you. Then I’m going to get you out of here.”

  “And go where? I don’t have any other family. I have no friends other than you, Norah and Liza. Lock knows you guys. I wouldn’t ever put any of you in the kind of danger that you would face if he found out where I was.”

  “I’m going to get documents for myself too. You and I will go somewhere together. I’ve wanted out for a couple of years now, but could never bring myself to leave you behind.”

  “Look, Owen, you’ve been a wonderful friend to me. You’ll never know how much that means, but I can’t leave. Even if we come up with a plan, and then try to get out, if Lock finds out and we’re caught… I can’t even think about what he’ll do to you. I can’t have that on my conscience.”

  “So, what? You stay here? Let him continue to hurt you? He will kill you eventually and that’s something that I can’t have on my conscience.”

  “Owen, I’m sorry, but I’m done discussing it. Please don’t pursue this. I’m begging you!”

  I can tell that he’s angry, but I know he isn’t angry at me. I also know that he isn’t going to back down that easily. I just hope that he doesn’t get caught. Lock would absolutely kill him, and it wouldn’t be quick and painless. He sighs heavily and storms out of the room. I close my eyes and take a few breaths. I need to calm my nerves before the hour long car ride into the city.

  I exit the bedroom and start down the stairs to the entryway. Within minutes, Lock is there and he’s escorting me out to the car, his hand on the small of my back. The soft touch devastates me. I have no idea how he can be so cruel and violent, yet also have the ability to touch me so delicately. It’s a move that used to tear me apart with feelings of need. Need for his love. Hopefulness for a brighter future where Lock would come to treat me with love and tenderness instead of hate, aggression, and cruelty.

  Once we’re in the car, an extended black Lincoln that also serves as a mobile office, the driver starts down the two mile long driveway and Lock speaks up. “Lana, as you know, CPLI’s 3rd Anniversary Gala is coming up.” He shifts in his seat to face me and he drapes his arm over the back of the seats. “I thought that it would be nice to go shopping for a dress while we’re in the city today. Maybe we’ll do lunch? Would you like that?” He doesn’t look at me when he asks this. Instead he’s looking down at my breasts, fondling the buttons of my blouse.

  No. “Sure, whatever you want to do.” I say with a forced half-smile. He leans in toward me and removes my sunglasses. I continue to look straight ahead.

  “The bruising is almost gone.” He touches my chin and turns my face here and there, examining his dirty work. Then he turns my face toward his before moving in for a kiss. It’s hard, but not violent. Sometimes, after a violent encounter, Lock gets like this. It used to mess me up really bad, like a game of emotional ping-pong. He used to apologize and make promises that it wouldn’t happen again. I believed him every time for the first year. He doesn’t apologize anymore, but he tends to leave me alone for quite a while afterward.

  I weakly kiss him back and turn my head back to face the driver’s seat. He continues his assault, kissing the corner of my mouth. He moves his hand down my neck, over my collarbone, latches onto my breast, and he squeezes. I whimper in pain and I can both feel and hear his laughter at my soft cry. His tongue darts out and licks over my bottom lip as his hand moves from my breast and down to my thigh. He starts trailing his fingers up and down my leg. Softly at first, and then harder the closer he gets to the apex of my thighs. His hand finds its way under my skirt and I jump a little as his fingers try to burrow their way under my panties and into my slit.

  I grab his wrist tightly to stop his progress. “Lock, please, I’m still sore. I’ll make it up to you, but can I please have a little more time?” I ask, shakily. I’m sure he can see the fear on my face as much as he can hear it in my voice.

  “Are you sore anywhere else?” he asks

  “Well, I mean, just from when you…” I look down in shame and my eyes mist over slightly.

  “I understand. But, that does leave your mouth.” His eyes narrow and his tongue slithers over his bottom lip like the snake that he is. He takes me by the shoulders and moves me slowly to my knees in front of him. “So, why don’t you help me pass the time like a good girl?”

  April 2012

  Marshall

  I
t’s been one week since Adrienne crashed into my life. Any other girl would have long been forgotten at this point. But Adrienne, she’s not any other girl. We spoke the day after the accident when I called her to let her know that I had a wonderful time at lunch. I also asked her if she was sore anywhere due to the accident. Then, I called her two days later to ask how she was feeling once more. I shouldn’t feel the need to reach out to her again for a while, but uncharacteristically of me, I can’t stop thinking about her. I pull her number up on my phone and hit the send button. It rings seven times before a very winded-sounding Adrienne answers.

  “Hel-hello?” she barely gets out.

  “Adrienne, its Marshall. Is everything okay?”

  “Yes, I’m fine.” she promises. “I was working out and I didn’t hear my phone at first. What’s up?”

  “I wanted to call to check in. See how you’re doing and make sure that you’re not having any aches or pains?” I was reaching. If she was going to feel any pain, it would have set in by now. But, I needed something to talk about.

  “No, I’m still feeling good. I don’t think there is anything to worry about.”

  “That’s good, I’m really glad to hear it.” I wait for a beat before continuing, “Listen, I also wanted to see how the car is working out for you? Any problems there?” I ask.

  “No, the Mercedes, um, APB, or whatever it’s called, is just fine. I can’t believe you consider that thing a rental! It’s very nice of you and I really appreciate your help, but honestly, I’ve been too scared to drive it.”

  “Well, that would explain why it hasn't moved since Steele dropped it off. Why are you afraid to drive it? Are you nervous because of the accident?”

  “No, I’m scared that I’m going to trash an insanely expensive car. Wait a minute. How did you know that it hasn’t moved?” She doesn’t sound accusatory, but there’s a hint of concern in her tone. ”Are you watching me?”