by Kira Blakely
I had to find Meghan and I knew Collin, or one of his people, had her. I was far more scared of the latter. I didn’t think Collin would let anything happen to Meghan, but he couldn’t guarantee that from the people he owed money.
I held in my hand the phone number of the person who had Meghan. The only question was, which one was it and how would they make their move? It was coming. I was scared shitless.
My cell buzzed. My answer had come.
“Hey, there, bro,” came the voice I hated and loved.
“Where is she?”
“Who?”
“You know who, god damn you, Collin.”
“The girl? Sure. She’s right here next to me, aren’t you, darlin’?”
“Let me talk to her!”
“Sure.”
“Hello?” Her voice sounded normal, even excited.
“Meghan? Are you okay?”
“Sure, why wouldn’t I be? Uncle Collin and I are headed for Paris, just like you said. I can’t wait. Thank you so much for saying I can go.”
“Meghan, listen to me. I want you to keep in touch with me, no matter what, okay? You have my email and my phone numbers. I’ll see you soon, sweetheart. Now give the phone back to Uncle Collin.”
“So, bro?”
“What do you want?”
“I’ll be in touch. We’re about to head over the water and be out of cell range. Hang in there.” The line went dead.
I stood there with the phone in my hand and wanted to throw it across the room, but I knew it was the only connection I had to Meghan.
I touched a number. “I want the jet ready to go. Paris. I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” I ordered our pilot.
A text was coming through. It was from my security detail. BOTH FOUND ALIVE BUT UNCONSCIOUS IN GARDEN SHED
I had more answers now. Everyone was, for the moment, safe. I had to get to Paris ahead of Collin. It was my only chance. I checked the flights departing from Miami. The only flight out to Paris had a short layover in LaGuardia. I was in luck.
I was in the car on my way to the airport. I sent Harper a text. I HAVE TO GO. TAKE CARE. I’LL BE IN TOUCH.
Chapter 23
Harper
My first sense was pain. My head was aching and not like a normal headache, but like someone was pounding a spike into it. The atmosphere of the room felt unfamiliar. I took a minute to adjust before I tried opening my eyes.
There was a strange man sitting in a chair at the side of the bed. It wasn’t my bed. I squinted from the pain and raised my hand to block the light from a lamp at my side.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“Harper? Honey, are you okay?” It was Steph’s voice and I finally made out that she was sitting in the dark corner of the room.
“Steph? Where am I? What’s going on?”
The man took my wrist, and he checked my pulse. “Are you feeling any pain?”
“Who are you?”
Steph intervened. “He’s a doctor, honey. Brayden found you passed out at your little cottage. He thinks someone drugged you.”
“Collin.”
“What? Collin what?”
I stopped there. If she didn’t know, I wasn’t going to fill in the details. “Brayden?”
She got up and crossed the room, holding out my phone to me. It hurt like hell but I read the message. He’s left me again. Did he catch Collin on top of me? I had no idea what happened after that needle went into my arm. Maybe Brayden came in and found him. Maybe Collin raped me. I wanted to puke. Whatever happened, it was bad enough that Brayden had thrown me out of his life.
The doctor stood, packing up his case. He looked at Steph and said, “She’ll be fine. Sleepy for a while, yet, but otherwise, fine.” With that, he left.
I looked at Steph. “Please leave.”
“What? Leave? Why?”
“I need to be alone.”
“But you shouldn’t be alone. I came to sit with you.”
“Tell them at the desk to give you another room, Steph. I need to be alone for a while. You heard the doctor, I’ll be fine.”
She shrugged, picked up her purse and slung it over her shoulder. At the door, she turned and asked, “What do I tell Brayden?”
“Whatever you want. He’s dead to me. Take him if you want him.”
Steph’s eyebrows raised. “Really?”
I turned over and put my back to her. I heard the door close.
I cried for a while and then, with resolve, put Brayden out of my mind. Just as I’d expected, I was back to being on my own. He’d found someone or something more important and left with nothing more than a text. If Collin had been involved, he should have known me better than to think I’d have anything to do with that son of a bitch. I was angry now and that drove away the tears.
I managed to sleep again, trying to regain my equilibrium. I rolled out of the bed and even though I was still dizzy, I showered to wake myself up. I was still wearing the sleepshirt and it gave me the creeps so I looked into the closet and realized it was Brayden’s. I found a t-shirt and slid it on over my jeans. Somehow my purse was in the room; I imagined that Brayden had grabbed it on his way to get me off his property. I slipped downstairs and out into the pre-dawn air. Staff was carrying cleaning equipment in and out of the ballroom, and I vaguely remembered Brayden mentioning a charity event. I was supposed to have been there. Oh, well.
There were taxis waiting for guests who had stayed over to leave. I convinced one to take me to the garages where my car was kept. I found a restaurant and had a long breakfast, trying to shake off the remaining effects of the drug. After stop at the bank and then a moderate shopping spree to get clothes and some luggage, I had a plan. Soon, I was on my way north, to Cleveland. There was plenty of cash in my purse and I had the credit cards and checks Brayden had given me. Let him think of it as my fee for sleeping with him. He wanted me to be a whore? No problem. It was probably what I did best.
Chapter 24
Brayden
There were advantages to owning your own jet. You didn’t have to wait in line for tickets, for take-off and you didn’t have to stop for a layover in New York. We touched down at Charles De Galle just as the sun was rising. I went directly to the terminal where Collin’s plane would land.
I watched him come through the gate with Meghan tripping along behind him. They still needed to go through Customs, so I had to time this well. I tailed them like the wolf on my shoulder.
They finally emerged onto the concourse, bound for the exit. I came up behind them and was about to grab Meghan’s hand when someone seized me from behind.
I tried to turn but burly arms held me back. There was a man with sunglasses on either side of me and their expressions were not welcoming. I tried to calmly shake loose, but they weren’t having it. I couldn’t afford to alert the security—I would lose track of Meghan.
It was too late. I turned back. Collin was pulling her into a taxi and I’d lost them. The arms let go then and I was left standing alone and watching the taxi pull away.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
All that, only to lose them a finger’s breadth away. I was re-strategizing and the only way to go was forward. I claimed a taxi and ordered it to take me to a hotel. The only thing I could do was wait.
I was in my room, my gut churning from the tension. My cell buzzed.
“That was close, bro,” he said, snickering. “Lucky for me I had a few friends backing me up.”
“What do you want?” I wasn’t wasting any more time.
There was a hesitation on the line. “It’s not me, it’s them.”
“Damn you, Collin! That’s what I figured. You couldn’t take the golden offer I made you and just disappear? You had to get Meghan involved? You dirty fucker!”
“Sorry, but it’s a me-or-her situation, bro.”
“How deep are you in?”
“Deep.”
“What do they want?”
“You’re not going to like it, bro.�
��
“How much?!”
“Utopia.”
“What? Are you fucking kidding me? How the hell did you let it go that far, Collin? You’ve always been selfish and stupid, for the record. Now you’ve brought in an innocent child and lost something that didn’t even belong to you.”
“What’s the answer, bro? They’re in a hurry.”
I had no options but I knew the priority. Nothing, absolutely nothing, could jeopardize Meghan’s health. “Take it. But so help me God, if I ever see you again, you’re dead. Bring her back to the airport and I’ll sign the papers.”
“See you there in three hours.”
The line went dead, and I barely made the bathroom before I puked. I laid on the bed, my stomach churning and tried to rationalize any way out of it. I was out of options. It didn’t have anything to do with Utopia. I didn’t need it and had even considered selling it now that Harper was in my life. I sure as hell didn’t need any money. I just… wanted… out.
Three hours later, I was signing a document that cost me a lifetime’s work and I didn’t blink an eye. Meghan and I were back on my jet and in the air in under a half hour. I called Harper from the jet, but she didn’t answer. My next call was the front desk, who reported they’d seen her leave just before dawn. I was trying not to panic, but I put in a call to one of my contacts at the Miami police department and gave them a description of her car. A few hours later, we landed. They’d found her and were holding her, so we diverted to Cleveland.
Chapter 25
Harper
For the first six hundred miles, I berated myself for having gotten involved with Brayden. The next six hundred miles were sad and lonely feeling. I was on the outskirts of Cleveland when the flashing red lights behind me demanded I pull over. I was exhausted and might have been weaving as I drove.
“May I see your license and registration, please?”
“Was I speeding?”
“Your license and registration, ma’am?”
I handed them over.
“Please exit the car, Miss. Face the car and put your hands on the roof.”
“What? What for? What did I do?”
“This vehicle has been reported as stolen, and you’re being charged with car theft and transporting stolen goods over several state lines.”
The bastard!
I’d never been in a jail cell before, and certainly not on the inside. There were two other women in the holding cell and neither one wanted anything to do with me. I was scared and panicking, hoping I could start up a conversation and figure out what to do next. Aren’t I allowed a phone call or something?
They called my name and an officer unlocked the door, pulling me out by the arm before he slammed it shut. I was escorted through a couple of locked doors and then my cuffs were removed. Someone handed me my purse and a paper to sign. I didn’t care what it said, I just wanted out.
There was a man waiting in the front area. “I’m Brayden’s attorney. Just follow me,” he said bluntly, and I had no choice but to do exactly as he told me. We drove to a small airport, and he motioned for me to precede him up the steps of a small, private jet. Inside, I found Brayden.
“Harper?” he called, coming to take me in his arms.
I fought him off. “Get away from me, you bastard! Who do you think you are?”
“I’m the man who loves you.”
“Yeah, right. I saw how much you loved me when you left me unconscious on a bed and went carousing again.”
He was shaking his head. “No, you’re not understanding. You don’t know what happened, Harper. Look, sit down and buckle in. Let me explain, if I can even remember it all. It’s been a helluva couple of days.”
I sat as requested and he buckled me in, but I wasn’t giving in that easily. “Where is Collin?” I wanted to know where my enemy was.
“I can’t give you a definite location, but he’s somewhere in France.” He went on to tell me all that had transpired from the moment I’d awakened to find Collin straddling me.
“Is Meghan okay?” I asked quickly.
He nodded. “She’s pretty confused and I know she will suffer some trauma from all this. She isn’t sure who is who, but I have plans to fix all that.”
“What kind of plans?”
“I want you to marry me, Harper. You know you love me, and I love you. I want us to take Meghan and move. Somewhere, anywhere, I don’t care. You can build your website business, and I will sit nearby adoring you. Will you marry me, Harper?”
Here was the man who literally had occupied my dreams from high school and he wanted me to marry him. It was everything I’d ever wanted and thought I would never get.
I nodded. “Yes.”
Epilogue
Harper
I became Mrs. Brayden Campbell just two weeks later. Meghan was my maid of honor and Stephanie my only bridesmaid. We were married on Vermillion Key, at sunset, and I wore a crimson gown that blended with the sunset behind us. The hundred or so guests dined on lobster and caviar, magnums of champagne and we made the society pages as the hottest ticket in the wedding schedule. We had a certain operatic tenor sing “Ave Maria” and Mrs. Sims and Captain Bob sat in the front row as the groom’s family.
My least favorite guest, Ripley, pressed a fat envelope into my hand and then turned to Brayden and asked if there was any chance he could buy Utopia.
“It’s not mine to sell, Ripley, but I happen to know the guys who own it. They really aren’t very good in the hospitality business, so I think if you make them a really good offer, they’ll probably take it.”
“Really?” he replied, unable to believe his timing and good luck.
“Sure thing,” Brayden said, patting him on the back. “Tell you what. Check in at the front desk and ask to speak to the new owners. In fact, tell them I sent you.”
Ripley drifted away, his dreams of grandeur already filling his head.
“That was mean, Bray,” I told him, “but his just dessert.”
Brayden laughed and hugged Meghan.
I asked, “Do you think Collin will ever show up again?”
Brayden shook his head. “Not if his life depended on it, and it probably does. Anyway, who cares what he does. This family is moving to California, and we’re going to build another house on another ocean. I thought we might let Meghan name this one. What do you say, Megs?”
“Sure, but you have to promise that I get a car like Harper’s as soon as I get my license. That will be my fee for getting you two together.”
We both looked at her.
“Well, you sure did a lousy job of it on your own. Somebody had to pull this thing together,” she said, making a joke of the entire kidnapping adventure. I thought she had a great sense of humor and a healthy perspective of what she’d been through.
“And you, Mrs. Campbell?” Brayden turned to me. “Will you love me forever?”
“Only if I get a new car, too. Mine is still sitting in that police impound lot in Ohio.”
“You shall have whatever you like, my sweetheart. As long as I have you.”
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Throttle
BY KIRA BLAKELY
*Amazon Top 100 Best-seller, 4.7 stars, 345 reviews!*
I’m a boss with my hands.
Right about now is when I mention how big my… wrench is.
No need.
It speaks for itself.
My story is simple: Michelle comes to my body shop and can’t pay for the repairs.
I give them for free. I guess that’s a turn on.
We crash against my desk both wanting it like fucking animals.
Then poof, she’s gone.
6 months later, I punch a crooked cop, and Michelle is assigned
as my court appointed lawyer.
One problem.
The crooked cop in question will do anything to have her.
Fuck that. She’s mine.
Prologue:
I’m Not This Kind of Girl
My mother always used to say that I snap under pressure. Stack a ballet recital on top of a math test, and I’d pee my pants. So, what happens when your whole life is in boxes, traveling from Ohio to Texas, and then your Volvo’s heater pops– in January?
You take it to the shop, naturally.
I hadn’t done anything mind-numbingly reckless yet. But I was about to.
My eyes tracked the mechanic from behind my box-framed glasses. I sat cross-legged in the waiting room, an open magazine on my lap, but there was this broad window peering directly into the garage. And the mechanic was dangling some metallic coil into the engine of my shabby wagon. It must have been heavy. His abdomen flattened and hardened from the strain. A band of muscle running from his back to his hips stood out beneath his skin.
I knew because he was shirtless.
In January.
With the bay doors wide open, like a maniac.
The mechanic shoved at my fender with his hips, forcing the hood down with a thrust.
The sound of Stone Temple Pilots’ “Half the Man” seeped through the window.
His mid-length hair was the color of pepper and void of any rhyme or reason. No comb, no product. It stayed wherever it landed. He moved around the garage as if the entire place was an extension of his body. Juicy biceps—
“You aren’t wearing sunglasses, you know.” The teenaged receptionist interrupted my moment with a joyless grin.
I tore my attention from the glass and cleared my suddenly tightened throat. “I was—looking at my reflection.”
“Yeah, a lot of women do,” the girl replied with a smirk, returning to the task of texting someone.
I focused on my dim reflection in the glass, critiquing the sloppy bun at the nape of my neck, overflowing with thick, dark hair. I’d been forced to wear clothes I wouldn’t normally wear: a white blouse a few touches too tight, a black pencil skirt with a small rip along the hem, wool stockings, a green plaid parka, and Converse sneakers. Boxes still lined the halls of my new place, and it was hard to find my good panties, much less a matching pair of heels.
