Stolen Life
Beauty in the Stolen (Book 2)
Charmaine Pauls
Published by Charmaine Pauls
Montpellier, 34090, France
www.charmainepauls.com
Published in France
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Copyright © 2021 by Charmaine Pauls
All rights reserved.
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Photography by Wander Aguiar Photography LLC
Cover design by Okay Creations
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ISBN: 978-2-491833-10-7 (eBook)
ISBN: 979-8-747968-64-6 (Paperback)
ISBN: 979-8-749774-79-5 (Hardcover)
Created with Vellum
Contents
Foreword
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Afterword
Also by Charmaine Pauls
Book Blurbs
About the Author
Foreword
Dear reader,
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Stolen Life is Book 2 of the Beauty in the Stolen trilogy. To follow the story, Stolen Lust (Book 1) must be read first.
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Read Stolen Lust now.
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Ian Hart is the most notorious criminal in the country. Like the thief he is, he came in the dark and stole a night of my life.
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He left me with souvenirs. Disaster and fear are my new realities. I’ll forever look over my shoulder, terrified he’d return, because when he took me, he stole more than just a few hours of my time.
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His crime has consequences neither of us could’ve imagined. If I’m to escape the nightmare of my life, I have to outsmart him. If I’m to survive, I have to outwit every enemy he’s turned against me, including Ian himself, the most dangerous and cleverest man I know.
Chapter 1
Ian
Some will find it strange to see a man carrying an unconscious woman in his arms. Not so if that man is me. I’m a criminal, the most wanted man on the continent, and this time I stole myself not money or jewels but a woman.
My woman.
I knew she was made for me from the moment I laid my eyes on her at Sun City while the heist was going down. I told her so in no uncertain terms when I claimed and marked her even as I prepared to leave her, because a man like me is forever on the run.
Then I went back for more. I couldn’t stay away. Lusting after her cost me. I paid a heavy price for a night with her. I got myself shot and left DNA behind. The police have photos of us. They know my identity. They no doubt scared her shitless when they took her in for questioning, but I told her I was coming for her. I’ll never throw her to the wolves. Yet she outsmarted the biker I commissioned to bring her to meet me at the airport, stole his bike, and tried to run from me.
It’s not going to happen. I thought I could let her go, but when I stood in front of the door of the hotel room in which she was hiding, I could only do what was always destined to happen. I could only steal more, not simply a few more hours of her time but her life.
I’m taking her home with me.
The pilot is waiting and the plane ready for takeoff when we arrive at the Wonderboom Airport outside Pretoria. Cas passed out sooner than I hoped, but it’s already dark outside, and there’s no one around to see me carry her unconscious form to the plane.
It’s the drug I gave her after she fought me like a lioness.
Walter, the guy I paid to keep an eye on her, leaves after dropping us off with my promise that payment will be in his bank account in twenty-four hours. He knows I’m good for my word. It’s not the first time we do business.
“She okay?” the pilot asks, shooting a worried glance over his shoulder as I secure Cas’s safety belt.
“She will be.”
The look I cut him tells him to mind his own fucking business, and he turns away quickly.
I let her limp body rest against my side and support her with an arm around her shoulder for the takeoff.
“There’s a storm building,” the pilot says over the noise of the engine, not looking at me this time. “Do you want to divert?”
I tighten my arm around Cas. “How bad?”
“We should be able to make it if the current weather prediction holds.”
It takes a second to make up my mind. “Go for it.”
“If it gets worse, we won’t have a choice but to divert to Polokwane.”
I acknowledge with silence but pray the weather will play in our favor. Every minute we’re on South African soil is a minute closer to getting caught. There won’t be any deals for Cas. Not any longer. She’s chosen sides, as per my making. Wherever I go now, whether it’s up or down, I’m dragging her with me.
Peeling back her eyelid, I check the pupil. The black is dilated, but not overly so. I move her handbag that’s pressed between us to make sure she’s comfortable.
A good hour into the flight, we hit the thunderstorm. Lightning cuts open the sky and raindrops the size of four-carat diamonds pelt the windscreen. A thin trickle of water runs underneath the glass onto the dash. The pilot tears paper towels from a roll and sticks them against the windscreen to stop the leak.
For the first time in my life, I fear in spades. Not for me, but for the woman I’m towing along. The plane rattles as lightning crashes on the left. I see the flash three seconds before I hear the sound. That means it’s close.
I don’t bother the pilot with meaningless questions. His knuckles are white from how hard he’s clenching the yoke. I let him concentrate on navigating the storm while I rub a hand over Cas’s arm. I take her hand in mine. Her skin is cold, too cold for my liking. It bothers me, even if I know it’s a side-effect of the tranquilizer.
I’m torn. On the one hand, I would’ve preferred not to drug her. On the other, I feel better not submitting her to the stress of being abducted to a different country and a place she doesn’t know.
The plane drops as it hits an air pocket, startling me from my thoughts. The aircraft hits a second pocket, the drop significant enough to make my stomach climb into my throat. Only the seatbelts prevent our heads from bumping against the ceiling. Another few minutes, and we break through the cluster of clouds and hit a clear night sky.
The pilot wipes his brow. One more hour to go.
Cas moans next to me. I push two fingers on her wrist. Her pulse is strong. Keeping an eye on her, I let the steady tempo of her pulse reassure me.
The rest of the flight continues without hiccups. We land just after eight. The air is warm and the airport building stuffy. The last commercial flight has landed at five. There’s no one except one security guard who doesn’t lift as much as an eyebrow as I walk underneath the buzzing overhead lights with Cas in m
y arms. The pilot follows with our bags. He dumps them in the back of the Jeep I’d left in the parking while I lower Cas into the seat and fasten her safety belt.
He refrains from looking at her when he says, “Will you need me anytime soon again?”
I take a stash of cash from my bag and hand it to him. “I’m good for a while.”
“In that case, I’ll be heading back tomorrow.” He grins. “I’ve got an airhostess waiting for me in Johannesburg. Her flight landed this morning.”
I nod. “I’ll let you know if anything changes.”
With a salute, he walks off.
Cas moans again when I start the engine. She either has a strong system or she’s used to taking drugs. The tranquilizer should’ve lasted for another few hours.
It’s a bumpy ride to the lodge, but I take it easy, making it home in forty instead of twenty minutes.
The lights burn in the entrance, but the staff has already retired to wherever they choose to spend their evenings, either at the shebeen or at their respective bungalows.
A fire burns in the pit on the front lawn by the river. Leon and Ruben get to their feet when I exit onto the deck with our bags slung over my shoulders and Cas in my arms.
“What the fuck happened?” Leon asks. “Is she…?”
“Drugged.” My tone is clipped. “Cas tricked Walter. She managed to get away. I had to go after her.”
Ruben’s smile is wry. “Let me guess. She didn’t appreciate your effort to save her hide.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I say, my jaw tight. “Her hide wouldn’t have needed saving if it weren’t for me.”
They don’t say another word as I make my way past them to my bungalow. I don’t bother taking a rifle as I still carry my pistol.
At my room, I drop the bags and go through the usual routine of checking for reptiles and scorpions before laying Cas down on my bed. She looks pale on the white linen, all the color gone from her cheeks. I put her handbag on the chair next to the bed and take off her jacket and shoes. Her ankle is a little swollen from when she twisted it, but it doesn’t seem too badly banged up. I check her pulse one last time, and, reassured that her heartbeat is strong and normal, I cover her with a blanket.
I stare at her, laying there in my bed, this stunning woman I’ve stolen. I’ve stolen many things in my life, a lot of money and jewels and cars, even food and books when I was younger, but I’ve never taken a person. I should be feeling a lot of things—guilt, remorse, and disgust—but all I feel is the sweet taste of possession.
Chapter 2
Cas
It’s dark when I wake. I stretch and burrow deeper under the soft, warm blanket. I’m cold, and my muscles ache like when I have flu. I’m not sick, am I? The cobwebs lift a bit, and everything comes rushing back.
Gasping, I push the blanket aside and jackknife into a sitting position. I’m in a huge bed framed by a mosquito net on all sides. A lamp burns on a nightstand next to the bed. The lampshade is made of ostrich feathers and the base is a monkey cast in bronze. Next to it stands a copper ornament, a ring box shaped like a fly. The wings open to give access to the box. I’ve seen trinkets like these at the African flea markets. A carafe of water and a glass have been left on the nightstand. The carafe is covered with a doily to keep out the insects. The doily has colorful beads around the edge, just like the ones my grandmother crocheted.
The golden glow of the lamplight doesn’t reach far into the room, only far enough to make out the polished red clay floor covered with a zebra skin next to the bed. The smell of hay and grass tells me the roof is thatch, but the ceiling is much higher than the cabin at the Kloof. I swipe a hand over the blanket. It’s mohair. The bed linen is white. The side next to me is undisturbed, the sheets smooth and the pillow undented. I’ve been sleeping alone. I’m still wearing my clothes.
Untying the strings that keep the mosquito net together, I brush the ends away and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. My ankle throbs. It’s going to take a while before I’ll be able to put my full weight on it.
My eyes have adjusted enough to the semi-darkness to make out a huge armoire with animal carvings in the wood against the wall. The handles are copper hands. I sweep my gaze to the left and still.
Ian sits in an armchair, his arms resting casually on the armrests and his legs spread wide. He’s wearing a pair of jeans. No shirt or shoes. His hair falls over the side of his face, partially obscuring his features. His expression is emotionless, but his eyes are assessing. They miss nothing. The muscles of his abdomen make deep shadows in the dim light. The soft glow of the lamp plays over his chest, making more contours that highlight the strength under all that hardness. The words that commemorate his values are dark scribblings on his skin, unintelligible from this distance in the somberness of the room, but they’re engraved in my heart. Ian is a memory I can’t efface.
His deep voice carries softly through the room. “How are you feeling?”
My throat is scratchy. “Where am I?”
Getting up, he crosses the floor with easy but purposeful strides. Everything he does has a reason. He doesn’t waste energy on mundane tasks or emotions. “Vic Falls.”
“Zimbabwe?” I cry out.
He pours a glass of water and hands it to me.
I accept the drink mechanically. “So this is where you hide out.”
The corner of his mouth tilts. “Among other places.”
Thirsty, I down the water. He pours me another glass. I drink that too.
“Do you need to use the bathroom?” he asks.
I shake my head.
He walks toward the chair and deeper into the room until the shadows swallow him. The clink of cutlery sounds. A moment later, he’s back with a bowl and a fork.
“Here.” He places the items in my hand. “You need to eat something.”
I stare at the contents of the bowl. Fruit salad.
“You need some sugar,” he says, motioning at the salad with an encouraging nod.
Spearing a piece of mango, I bring it to my lips. I’m not hungry, especially not when my stomach is tied in knots, but he’s right. I need my strength. I chew and swallow. The fruit is sweet and velvety on my tongue.
Instead of giving me space, he towers over me with his arms crossed, watching me fork a cube of kiwi and put it in my mouth.
“What now?” I ask after chewing. “How long are you planning on keeping me here?”
“Eat,” he says, jutting his chin toward the bowl.
He lets me eat in silence. When the bowl is empty, I leave it on the nightstand and look up at him.
He runs his gaze over my face. “What happened with the cops?”
At the unpleasant memory, I blow out a shaky breath. “They accused me of being an accomplice and said they wouldn’t arrest me if I spied for them.”
He gives a wry smile. “Spy on me.” After considering me for another moment, he asks, “Is that why you ran? You didn’t want to spy on me?”
“Yes, and I didn’t want to be arrested either.”
“I wouldn’t have let that happen.” His tone is patient, but his brown eyes are ablaze. “I told you I was coming for you.”
My temper rises. “What option did that leave me? Being your prisoner?”
He continues in his infuriatingly calm tone. “How was this supposed to work? Were you going to wear a wire? Plant bugs?”
He’s not going to let the questions go. I sigh. “They wanted to know how and where you launder the money and who the other gang members are. The detective who questioned me said I was clever enough to figure out a way of finding evidence.”
“Motherfucker.” He narrows his eyes. “How were you going to get the information to him?”
The interrogation is making me nervous. Ian makes me feel like I’ve collaborated with the cops when I’ve done nothing of the kind.
“I haven’t betrayed you,” I say.
“How, Cas?” he asks in a sterner tone.
“I wa
s supposed to find a way to contact him when I had information.”
The muscles in his biceps flex. “What did you tell them?”
“I didn’t tell them anything, but like I told you on the phone, they had photos of us in the pool. They dusted the cabin for fingerprints. That’s how they figured out your identity.”
He drops his arms to his sides and clenches his hands. “I’ll fucking kill them just for those photos. Who saw them?”
I wipe my sweaty palms over my thighs. “I don’t know. I suppose whoever took them and the detective.”
The intent that sparks in his eyes is the deadly kind. “Who is he?”
Frightened of his intentions, I hesitate to give him the name.
“What is his name, Cas?”
I swallow. “Detective Wolfe.”
“Jim Wolfe. That bastard son of a bitch. Did he blackmail you with the photos?”
“He said he’d make them public if I didn’t cooperate.”
“He was bluffing,” he says through thin lips. “He was manipulating you, trying to scare you into complying. He wasn’t going to leak anything when he believed he had a chance of getting to me through you.”
He scrutinizes me. “You couldn’t know that though.” His expression turns calculating. “Why didn’t you agree to spy for him? Weren’t you worried about those photos being splashed all over the news?”
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