“My wife just kicked me out,” he says.
Yech. I don’t want to touch him, but if I do this right, if I win his trust, I won’t have to. “So you’re lonely and need a little companionship?” I slowly let my lips part. “I’m lonely, too.”
“No, I’m broke, so unless you have money stuffed up your snatch…” He laughs. “It’s just business.” He slams the trunk lid in my face.
~ ~ ~
The trunk is dark, and it’s uncomfortable. It smells like the bottle of detergent that leaked everywhere a few months ago.
I wish I had my cell phone. I wish…
I shake my head. Focus, I tell myself. It’ll be a hard day’s drive—night’s drive—to my grandfather’s mansion. My new best friend will have to stop, get gas, feed me. Or at least feed himself.
Each of those will be an opportunity to escape.
I’ve talked myself out of trouble before. Maybe it was never quite this dire, but I’ll figure something out.
The tears start slowly. I brush them away, my trembling fingers cold against my cheeks.
All the ways I imagined it ending… but never like this. All because I got comfortable, and I got sloppy.
It’s impossible to keep track of the time, but I estimate that only ten or fifteen minutes elapse before the car—my car—stops.
A truck rolls by, my car shuddering in its wake.
Then we’re moving again, but not for long. Just a few minutes, then a stop. The engine shuts off.
It’s quiet here. A place to dump a body? But my grandfather wouldn’t have me killed. He believes that if something happens to me, all my accumulated evidence will land on the desk of an honest policeman.
But that was a bluff, something I got from a movie. Who knows if it’s even possible in real life. Maybe my grandfather decided to call my bluff.
If I die, what will happen to my sister? She doesn’t know the truth about our grandfather, that he’s a murderer. And that’s my fault. I should have gone back for her.
My next thought is about Bandit, my cat. I hope one of my bosses will go to my apartment before Bandit starves. Slade would go looking for me. I’m sure of it.
The kidnapper gets out of the car. Footsteps approach.
“Sir,” I plead when he opens the trunk.
To my surprise, he holds out my phone. The screen is illuminated with an unfamiliar number.
I stretch out my hand only to have the phone jerked away. “Talk,” the man mouths. He brings up his other hand. Light glints off the gun’s barrel.
“Hello?” I say. My throat is raw, and the word comes out lumpy and unconvincing, but it’s hard to be calm when I have a gun in my face.
“Lindsay,” Slade says, “Sorry to call so many times in a row. I heard you were working late, and I was going to come by the office with dinner, if you’re hungry. Where are you?” Slade is surely wondering who answered the phone, but he’s too polite to ask.
My kidnapper taps the mute button. “You’re going to put his mind at ease,” he says. “I don’t want any cops looking for us. And in case you have any ideas, you should know that you’re worth the same to me dead or alive.”
My hands begin to tremble, and my throat turns parched.
I try to tell myself he won’t hurt me, that he’s playing tough, that surely my grandfather wants me back alive.
But I know better than to believe my own lies.
“Understood?” the man asks. “You fuck with my money, I’ll fuck with you.”
“Lindsay?” Slade is saying. “Are you there?”
“He can pay you,” I say quickly, my eyes darting to the phone. “My boyfriend. He’s rich. Really rich. Whatever my grandfather offered, he’ll double.”
The kidnapper is holding his head at a strange angle. From my awkward position, I can’t quite see his eyes, so I have no idea if I’m getting through to him.
“Please,” I say. “It’s just business, right? That’s what you said.”
He hangs up the phone.
“How much do you want?” I ask. I start to sit up, but the man shoves the gun into my chest.
The phone rings, and I assume it’s Slade. But then I see the photo I assigned to Hawthorne—of a cactus wearing a sombrero—on the screen.
If only it were Slade or Romeo… anyone but Hawthorne. He and I… there’s a lot of friction there. It’s technically my fault, but he does seem to take special delight in being a jerk. He, at least, won’t be sad if I disappear.
“Triple,” the man says. “You tell your boyfriend that. And I want it in cash. Tonight. Or no deal.”
I nod and blink away tears. Hawthorne wouldn’t give the lint in his pocket to help me. The day we met established that loud and clear.
But what can I do except bluff and hope for the best?
The man quickly glances around, and something about the way he does it tells me that we’re well isolated. It’s not comforting.
He hits the answer button. “Are you little Lindsay’s boyfriend?”
“Who the hell is this?” Hawthorne’s deep voice is dripping with frigid superiority, and I see my mistake. I should have told the kidnapper that it was a different person calling, but I’m so panicked that I’m not thinking clearly. My circumstances are already volatile, and Hawthorne is like a barrel of kerosene and a lit match.
“Let’s talk about your girl,” my kidnapper says.
“What about her?” Now Hawthorne is guarded.
“I’ve got her,” the man says. “You want her back, you’ll want to pay.”
I know what’s coming next. Hawthorne saying he doesn’t want me back, saying it’s a good riddance.
“Let me talk to her,” Hawthorne says.
“Say hello, sweetheart,” the man says. He holds the phone a few inches from my face.
“Please, Hawthorne—”
He yanks his hand back. “I want three hundred thousand. Cash.”
“Who are you?” Hawthorne demands. He’s arrogant and hates being challenged. How unfair that he’s my only hope.
“Call me Joe,” the man says.
“Fine, Joe. I’ll get your money. Just tell me where.”
They discuss the details, and I listen closely, waiting for Hawthorne to laugh, to tell us to go screw ourselves.
He doesn’t, but I’m not sure he’ll show up. And the money? He can’t get that much this late at night.
“You might as well sit in the front,” Joe tells me. Kidnapper Joe. Giving him a cartoon villain nickname makes him less scary.
It’s a potentially dangerous illusion, but I have no intention of doing anything crazy. Meek and obedient, that’s me.
Kidnapper Joe moves to offer me a hand and I jerk away.
“You wanna stay in there, then suit yourself,” he says, and even though my tight skirt makes it difficult, I scramble out of the trunk without his help.
Chapter 3
Half an hour later, we pull into a mall parking lot. I’ve never been here before, but I’ve only lived in this area for a few months.
There’s already a sleek car waiting. The engine is running and the lights are on. A tall man in an elegant suit is leaning against the hood. His arms are crossed over his chest.
As we pull up, he watches steadily. The headlights roll across his face as my captor turns the car, and I catch a flash of Hawthorne’s ice-blue eyes.
He looks pissed.
Already I’m trying to come up with a believable explanation for why I was abducted.
Kidnapper Joe leaves my door locked, and he gets out of the car, taking the key with him.
The second he moves away, I dive across the seat and disengage the master lock, but it’s no good. He’s got the gun out.
Can’t outrun a bullet.
When he turns away, I snatch up my wallet and phone and stuff them into my snug waistband.
“Let me see her,” Hawthorne demands.
Joe steps aside. Hawthorne’s eyes barely flicker to me. “Come out here, Lin
dsay.”
“The money first, pal,” Kidnapper Joe says.
Hawthorne bends down, and that’s when I notice the crumpled black plastic trash bag at his feet. He tosses it at Joe, who takes a quick look inside, then gracefully moves out of the way. I unlock the door and I’m already spilling onto the blacktop, then sprinting toward Hawthorne.
“Get in,” he orders, his voice icy.
Somewhere deep inside, I’m irritated and offended by his tone, but it’s buried under layers of embarrassment and fear… and relief, so much relief I can hardly breathe.
I get into his car. Almost immediately my entire body begins to shake so hard that I think I might actually puke. Tears gush down my cheeks.
I’m alive. And I’m free. Somehow.
The man is pulling away.
Hawthorne gets in, and my leg jiggles nervously.
“My car,” I say. I’m nasally and congested, and I hate appearing weak in front of Hawthorne.
“Not a priority right now.” His voice is less cold, but it’s not what I need.
What I do need?
Romeo. Slade.
Anyone but Hawthorne.
Hawthorne pulls out his phone and makes a call. “I’ve got details on the vehicle,” he says. He describes my car and gives the license plate number.
When he hangs up, he faces forward, his palms on the steering wheel, his fingers outstretched and spread wide. The tension in his body is like he’s trying not to strangle someone.
That someone, I imagine, is little Lindsay, his ersatz girlfriend who just cost him several hundred thousand dollars. I know he’s worth a few billion, so the money itself is negligible… except this is the guy who gave me a hard time about a nail salon charge to the credit card of a company that he doesn’t even own.
I also know he hates me, and if he didn’t before, he sure does now.
He doesn’t say anything.
I don’t say anything.
I can guess what he’s thinking. Two weeks earlier, I told my bosses—was forced to tell my bosses—that I’m in hiding from my grandfather because he used me and my sister to mount lawsuits.
It’s true, but it’s only a small part of the story. Hawthorne realized that immediately; I saw it in his eyes. He didn’t call me on it. Right about now, I bet he wishes he had.
The silence continues to stretch. I guess he’s waiting for me to say something.
“How does one acquire an enormous sum of cash on such short notice?” I ask.
“Not your concern. Do you have anything you want to tell me?”
“Thank you for helping me.”
He jerks the car into drive. “What happened?” he demands.
I start to tell him about Kidnapper Joe showing up at my desk, but he cuts me off.
“No, Lindsay. That’s not what I’m asking. Why would someone abduct you? What did he want?”
My fingers pressed to my lips, I silently apologize for the lie I’m about to tell.
“For you,” I whisper. “The whole thing was a scheme for ransom money. Surely you’ve been targeted before—”
Hawthorne slams his hand onto the steering wheel and the horn blares. I jump.
“You’re fucking lying,” he says. “And I’m so fed up with the bullshit!”
Hawthorne is the coldest, least emotive person I know, but right now he’s so angry that I can feel it pulsing off him in sharp waves.
Why wouldn’t he be furious? All that money he just paid and he doesn’t even know what’s going on.
He’s shaking his head. “I promised myself I wouldn’t yell,” he murmurs. “Please accept my apologies.”
“It’s fine,” I say.
“Listen closely, Lindsay. Whatever’s going on here, I’m involved now. It’s become my problem, too, and I fix my problems.” He’s still angry, but not at me. I don’t think.
“There’s nothing to get involved with,” I insist. “As soon as I can, I’ll reimburse you. I really am deeply sorry—”
“Don’t.”
We drive in silence.
I don’t ask where we’re going, if he’s taking me home.
Because one thing is clear. This city? It’s not home, and I was stupid to forget that.
Chapter 4
As it turns out, we’re heading back to work. It’s the second-to-last place I want to be at the moment. The last place being in my apartment, alone.
Hawthorne stays close as he escorts me through the halls. His body feels stiff against mine.
He turns on the light in Romeo’s office. I go in. Hawthorne motions for me to sit on one of the plush chairs, but I lean against the wall, my arms folded across my chest.
I feel awful. Physically, but in my soul, too.
It’s not just about the money, though I have no idea how I’m going to reimburse him. All I can hope is that the police pull over Kidnapper Joe and get it back.
“You know I’m sorry, right?” I ask. It’s pathetic and weak, but I feel so slimy, so disgusting. All I need is a little lie from him, a superficial declaration that it’s no big deal.
“This is your fault,” Hawthorne says, reaffirming his title as King Jerkwad. “If you’d been honest, none of this would have happened. None of it.”
He practically slices me in half with a sharp stare. He’s daring me to deny it’s my fault, to lie to him again.
Normally, I’d have no problem doubling down, but… I feel like I’m going to pass out.
There’s the sound of someone coming down the hallway.
Romeo walks into his office, and my eyes go to him like a drowning woman thrown a lifebuoy. I have never been so relieved to see anyone. Ever.
His eyes narrow as he looks from me to Hawthorne. “What’s going on?” he asks.
Romeo Wood Bison is sex in a suit. He’s built like a prizefighter… like the animal suggested by his surname. I’ve seen the sweat glistening on his muscles.
I’ve felt his powerful body moving underneath me, on top of me…
His dark eyes cut my way. It’s difficult to look away from him, even as ashamed as I feel. I’m tired of being tough, of having to battle the universe for every fleeting moment of peace. I want him to wrap me in his arms and block the outside world.
“What happened?” he asks, this time directing it at me.
I lick my lips. “There was—”
“Someone got through security,” Hawthorne interrupts. “We’ll need to examine the surveillance tapes.”
Romeo’s jaw tenses. “What happened?”
“It’s fine,” I say. “Really, not a problem.”
The look Romeo gives me… He knows I’m hiding something. And I have to say that it’s awful to realize that neither of them really trusts me. Slade might even feel the same way.
I might have made an art of being attractive to men, of glossing over problems with a smile, but I always intended my shield to be a facade, nothing more. Somehow it seems to have become the whole of my value. They keep me around because they like fucking me, not because they like me. The realization eats into my already damaged confidence like acid.
“It was a random attack. We’ll discuss it later,” Hawthorne says.
I almost gasp.
Romeo clears his throat, and his eyes are dark. He seems confused. Hell, I was there for the whole kidnapping, and I’m not sure what’s going on now. Hawthorne didn’t believe my story about the abduction being motivated by ransom.
He’s lying, but why?
To protect me?
That doesn’t ring true. These men share everything. They made that clear the night I met Slade and Romeo, which was also the night all three men stripped me bare and filled me, back and front, top to bottom, with hard, thrusting cock.
They don’t keep secrets from each other. So why is Hawthorne doing this? It’s not like he’s turned all sweet and tender and protective of me.
Shaking his head, Romeo leans over the desk and picks up the phone. He pushes a button. “Get security up here
immediately,” he barks.
He’s hanging up when Slade enters. “What the hell is going on?” Slade asks.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Hawthorne says. “That way I don’t have to tell the story twice.”
He doesn’t want to tell the story twice? It’s not his story.
“I was on the phone with Lindsay, going over the final eval numbers for Food4Life, when she said a strange man was walking toward her. Then we were disconnected.”
Romeo and Slade both turn my way. Slade’s hazel eyes scrutinize me. Romeo’s face is impassive.
Hawthorne continues. “He forced her to take him to her car, and he briefly held her hostage to get out of the garage. I saw Lindsay on the street just then, and we came back up here.” He pauses. “I got a fleeting glimpse of the guy.”
My eyebrows have climbed so high that they’re probably dizzy with vertigo. For someone who professes to despise untruths in all forms and variations, Hawthorne is a smooth liar.
But I’m not convinced that Slade and Romeo believe him. They’re his best friends, and if he’s got a tell, they’ll know what it is.
The four of us stand there silently. It’s… awkward.
Romeo and Slade are probably wondering why Hawthorne is lying. I wonder if they think Hawthorne and I made up the entire story.
“How are you?” Romeo asks.
“I’m fine,” I say, and even though my voice cracks, I mean it. I’m alive. And I’m free. I was lucky.
Romeo’s expression softens. “Do you want to file a police report?” he asks.
I quickly shake my head.
“You say you’re fine, and I respect that. We won’t push you. I promise we’ll find out how he got in here. It won’t happen again,” Romeo says sincerely. “You’ll stay with me tonight.”
“Why did you change your shoes?” Slade asks me before I can argue with Romeo about nighttime plans.
“Broke my heel,” I say. “But that was earlier today.”
Hawthorne’s phone rings, and from the way he formally says, “Yes. No. Correct,” I’m guessing it’s the police. He goes down the hall for privacy just as security arrives in the form of three ex-military types, all buzz cuts and square jaws.
Dangerously Big Page 2
