Running Scared

by Velvet Vaughn

  “Impressive.”

  She smiled. “My short game’s pretty good. It’s my long game that sucks.”

  Jamal came barreling out and with a whoop, cannonballed into the pool, sending up a giant spray of water. He surfaced giggling. “Come in guys.”

  “I need to shower first.” He turned to Kenzie. “You’ll keep an eye on him?”

  “Of course. You don’t even have to ask.”

  He sidled closer. “Maybe after Jamal falls asleep, I can coax you into mutual skinny dipping.” With a waggle of his brows, he headed for a shower. He felt dirty, both inside and out. The gallons of river water he swallowed couldn’t have been great for his stomach, but there wasn’t much he could do about that unless he could dig up some liquor in the house. Alcohol killed germs, didn’t it? Even if it did, he wouldn’t imbibe when working. Though he wasn’t getting paid, he considered this a job. Probably his most important ever since it was his responsibility to keep Jamal and Kenzie safe and find out why the Eighty-Sixers wanted to get their hands on Jamal.

  After lathering up with the soap and scrubbing his hair with a bottle of shampoo on a ledge in the shower, he rinsed off and then stepped onto a fluffy white rug. He found his shorts and slid them up his legs. He left the bag in case Kenzie wanted to shower. Though she hadn’t gone under the water, she’d waded in and might want to rinse off.

  He finger combed his hair and opened the door. Kenzie was still practicing shots while Jamal was playing with an inflatable unicorn, if he wasn’t mistaken.

  With a roar, he joined Jamal with a gigantic cannonball that made the boy guffaw in delighted laughter.

  #

  “Maybe after Jamal falls asleep, I can coax you into mutual skinny dipping.”

  Declan’s words, issued in a low, husky rumble, kept replaying in Kenzie’s head, followed by visuals that sent her pulse skyrocketing. The man’s sex appeal was off the charts.

  As she lined up a shot, she watched the two playing together, enjoying the joyous squeals coming from the little boy. He’d been through so much and they still weren’t safe. But for this short time, he was blissfully happy. She aimed for one of the holes farther away. The ball rolled around the lip and stayed on the green. She walked over and tapped it in. As she reached for the ball, she tried but failed to keep her eyes off Declan. When he’d walked out of the bathroom without his shirt, her tongue almost hit the ground. She’d never tire of gazing at his naked torso in all its masculine glory. As her aunt Franny would’ve said, he was a dreamboat. Ripped with not an ounce of fat. His abs looked like he belonged on a billboard on Times Square modeling the latest in men’s underwear. And he was so good with Jamal. A natural. And the boy clearly adored him. Jamal had a serious case of hero worship going on. He emulated every move Declan made.

  She was terribly afraid she was becoming hopelessly devoted to him, too.

  As they frolicked in the pool, she showered and then made her way up the steps to the large kitchen and walk-in pantry. She found a bottle of Cabernet chilling in a stocked wine cooler and opened it to pour herself a glass while she put together a dinner of boxed macaroni and cheese, knowing it was Jamal’s favorite, along with a plate of sliced vegetables and dip. She wasn’t a great cook. Living alone in New York City, she survived on take-out food and microwave dinners when she wasn’t wining and dining a client. More often than not, she skipped meals altogether. Breakfast was usually a protein bar as she headed out the door or a smoothie at the gym. Unless someone brought her a salad or sandwich, she usually worked right through lunch hour.

  She’d loved her job. It was fast-paced and exciting, with the opportunity to meet creative and talented individuals. She never thought she’d be a casualty of the #MeToo movement, especially when she’d done nothing wrong except being born female. But now that she’d been away, she was stunned to realize she didn’t miss it anymore. She worked long hours with virtually no free time. She couldn’t even remember her last date. Mark, Mick, something that started with an M. He’d blabbered on through the entire meal about his portfolio and by the time the check arrived, she’d had enough.

  A few weeks ago, she’d have said she loved living in New York City, the most electrifying, vibrant, diverse and dynamic city in the world. But she didn’t miss her tiny apartment that was barely big enough for a bed but cost an arm and a leg each month. Nor did she long for the crush of people on the streets and subway, the commute, or the endless traffic.

  Misogynistic Jared had actually done her a favor by having her canned for speaking up about his unwanted advances. The door closing on her old life opened a window into a new one. She wasn’t sure what it would be yet, but she was the architect of her own life. It was hers to do as she pleased.

  Pickens Publishing wanting her back was flattering, but she’d made up her mind. She wasn’t going back to her old job or accepting either offer from the rival publishers. If the company folded, it wasn’t her fault. She’d simply stood up for herself. Jared made his own bed, now he and his father had to lie in it.

  She’d clear out her meager belongings in her teeny apartment and then decide what she wanted to do next. It would’ve been nice to spend a few weeks at her aunt’s condo to write, but that wasn’t possible now. What she really wanted to do was to stay with Declan and Jamal. They’d become a trio. A team. When they discovered why the gang was after Jamal and stopped them, it would devastate her to walk away.

  She set the table in the breakfast nook with a wraparound bench and when the mac and cheese was ready, she called for the boys. When Declan and Jamal appeared, they sat down and proceeded to inhale the pot of pasta. Declan did a good job on the veggies, too. She’d nibbled as she cooked, so she wasn’t hungry. Her stomach was still unsettled to realize she was the one who brought the gang to their motel room door. Though Declan and Jamal both tried to relieve her of the guilt, she hadn’t forgiven herself yet.

  Declan and Jamal each retreated to a bathroom to shower off the chlorine and then they gathered in the great room to watch television. With hundreds of channels to choose from on the satellite dish, Jamal finally settled on an animated movie about dogs. Kenzie offered Declan a glass of wine, but he declined.

  Five minutes into the movie, Jamal was out like a light. Declan carried him upstairs while she turned off the television and made sure the doors were locked and the alarm set. When she went upstairs, Declan had placed Jamal in the center of the bed and stood at the open balcony doors leading to a small deck. She was drawn to him like a magnet.

  Two padded lounge chairs were arranged to take advantage of the view. Once they were seated, she wished she’d brought her drink. It was a paradisiac setting to enjoy a glass of wine with the man of her dreams.

  #

  Declan glanced over at Kenzie. He’d spent two days with her and slept with her, but he didn’t know anything about her except that she was so good with Jamal and she was strong and brave and heroic. And phenomenal in bed. He had the sudden urge to find out everything about her, from the name of her first-grade teacher to her favorite color.

  “What brought you to Detroit from New York?”

  “My aunt. She owned the condo next to LaTonya and Jamal. She died a few weeks ago.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Kenzie was silent for a moment, her gaze trained on the lake. “Me, too.”

  “You were close?”

  “Very. She was remarkable. She raised me after my parents died.”

  “What happened to her, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Brain aneurysm.”

  “That’s tough.”

  More quietness settled around them. He finally broached the subject he’d been meaning to bring up with her. “I appreciate what you’ve done for Jamal. You kept him safe and I can’t tell you how much that means to me.”

  “He’s an amazing kid.”

  “He is. But now that I’m here, if you need to get back to New York, I can take it from here.”

  She glanced over
at him. “Trying to get rid of me again?”

  “No, absolutely not. But I don’t want you losing your job or anything.” He didn’t even know what she did for a living.

  She laughed bitterly. “Too late.”

  His brows lifted. “They fired you for being gone? Where did you work?”

  She shook her head. “No that wasn’t the reason. I was an editor for Pickens Publishing. They fired me before I left. I was a #MeToo movement casualty.”

  His hackles were instantly alert. “You were sexually harassed?”

  “I was. I spoke up about my boss’s unwanted, inappropriate advances and they canned me.”

  “Isn’t that illegal?”

  “Yeah, but when the perp is the son of the founder, he can apparently get away with anything.”

  He hissed. “That’s not fair.”

  She smiled. “It’s not. Nepotism at its finest, but they offered me a generous severance package.”

  His fists clenched. “Did he physically assault you?” Because if he did, after Declan made sure Jamal was safe from the Eighty-Sixers clutches, he was hopping on a plane to NYC to kick some serious ass. He was a Marine. He could make the man hurt in ways he’d never dreamed.

  “Not really. Suggestive language and innuendos, scheduling late meetings where it was only us, some groping.”

  He sat up. “He groped you?”

  “He tried. Most of the attempts were brushes that he called,” she made air quotes, “accidental or incidental contact.”

  “You shouldn’t have had to put up with that.”

  “Believe me, I know. I avoided him as much as possible, but he grew bold and grabbed me under the table when we were meeting with a client. That was the last straw. I marched straight to human resources and filed a complaint. They fired me the next morning.”

  Yep, he was booking a flight to the Big Apple. The pervert would be wearing casts on both hands, possibly one or two of his legs, for the next few months.

  “When my clients found out I was gone, they bailed. Now the company is reeling. Authors whom I didn’t work with are leaving, too. They heard about the mass exodus and didn’t want to be a part of a sinking ship. The company is trying desperately to lure me back.”

  “No way,” he said vehemently. “If anything, you should sue them.” He paused. “Are you going back?”

  “Only if the devil and Osama Bin Laden ice skate down Broadway holding hands.”

  He smiled and translated, “When hell freezes over.”

  She smiled back. “Exactly. They didn’t stand behind me when I needed them, so I feel no obligation to bail them out now.”

  “Good for you.”

  “The last message I read indicated that they would have to file bankruptcy.”

  “Serves them right.”

  They sat in silence for several minutes. He really wanted to carry her to the big bed and strip her naked before kissing every inch of her smooth skin. But this was nice, too. Just talking. Getting to know her. The more he discovered, the more he liked. She captivated him.

  “When do you start your new job?” she asked.

  “In a couple of days. I wanted to spend some time with my brother Eric before I moved away. We haven’t seen each other much the last few years.”

  “How come?”

  “I was in the military. When I was honorably discharged, I planned on spending time with him but that’s when I hooked up with Noah Addison and COBRA Securities.”

  “What does Eric do in Chicago?”

  “He’s an accountant and amateur stockbroker. He’s a genius with numbers.”

  “You sound proud,” she said with a smile in her voice.

  “I am. Very proud of him.”

  “Is he older or younger than you?”

  “He’s younger. He came to the foster home I was living in when he was about Jamal’s age. I was two years older but already a veteran of the system.” Why did he tell her that? He needed to change the subject. Talking about his childhood wasn’t something he did—ever. He tried to block out as much as possible. Thankfully, Jamal saved him.

  “Declan? Kenzie?”

  He sat up and turned around in the chair. “We’re here.”

  Jamal blinked sleepily at them. “I woke up and you weren’t there. I was scared something happened to you.”

  “We’re coming now,” Kenzie said as she pushed up from her chair.

  The bathroom featured double sinks, so they each brushed their teeth at the same time like a married couple. Jamal was sitting up in bed when Declan crawled under the covers. Kenzie followed him a few minutes later and he turned out the light.

  “Can you finish the story about the prince and the queen and the ogre?”

  “Sure,” Kenzie agreed.

  Declan settled under the covers and listened to the rhythm of her voice until the world faded away and a striking black-haired queen invaded his dreams.

  #

  Eric Bishop parked in his designated spot in the condo lot and turned off the engine. The drive home had been a long one with an accident stopping traffic on the freeway for over an hour. He used the time to catch up with emails and the overseas markets. Still, he was getting tired of the long commute. His condo was a sturdy, dependable stone building in a decent part of town. Nothing fancy, no bells or whistles. He didn’t need them since he worked so much. Declan had been trying to get him to move to a nicer building for years, but he liked his place just fine.

  Now that Declan was leaving again, Eric felt at loose ends. It’d been nice to have his brother living with him again, even for a short time. He wasn’t lonely, per se. He dated. He went for drinks with coworkers. But Declan was his family. His only family.

  He could do his job from anywhere and had even been considering striking out on his own. He knew of several clients who’d follow him. Maybe it was time for him to leave Chicago behind and move with Declan. They hadn’t talked about the possibility, but he didn’t think Declan would mind.

  He noticed the light over the door was broken out again as he approached his unit. It happened from time to time, usually from kids throwing rocks. He was just about to insert his key in the lock when footsteps behind him had him turning.

  “Are you Eric Bishop?”

  “Who’s asking?”

  “Me.”

  He didn’t have time to react when something slammed into his head and the world went black.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Eric came awake slowly, his head pounding like the jackhammer that had been running outside of his office for a week. He hadn’t felt this bad since he arrived at the foster home where he’d met Declan. The man of the house had beaten him so badly the first day, he didn’t think he’d survive. He’d been a runt, short for his age and skinny. The man used him like a punching bag until he passed out from pain. When he woke up, he found another boy standing over him. Eric prepared for him to take a few shots at him, too. That’s how it seemed to work. Everyone beat him, even his biological father and mother. But instead of hitting him, this boy was patching him up and tending to his wounds. He fed him, watched over him and became his protector, his best friend, his brother. He wasn’t sure he’d have made it to his next birthday if not for Declan Elliot.

  From that day on, no one picked on him again. If they tried, his brother stepped in and that’s all it took. Even the man of the house left him alone. He was able to finally concentrate on school and for the first time in his young existence, he felt hope of a better life.

  He cracked a lid open, the bright lights making the pain pound harder in his skull. He couldn’t remember what happened, but he recognized his surroundings. He was in his condo, though it looked like a tornado had swept through. The room had been tossed. Trashed. Cushions had been shredded, pictures ripped off the walls, drawers overturned. Had he walked in on a burglar?

  He tried to move, only to discover he was sitting on a hardback chair from his kitchen nook, his hands tied behind his back and his feet bound. />
  “You finally awake?”

  He blinked up at the two men in front of him. One’s head was shaved, and a brown goatee covered his face. He had numbers tattooed beneath one eye. The other wore a bandanna and the same eighty-six on his face.

  “You sure this is the right guy?” Bandanna asked. “He’s black like me. Elliot’s not.”

  Eric and Declan had been dealing with the same questions since the night they slit their thumbs open and pressed them together, declaring themselves blood brothers for life.

  “You Declan Elliot’s brother?” Baldy questioned.

  “What’s it to you?”

  Bandanna slugged him in the gut and Eric wheezed out a breath. “Answer the question.”

  “Yes,” he pushed out between gritted teeth.

  “Where is he?”

  “I have no idea,” he rasped.

  Baldy held out a phone. “Call him.”

  “I’ve been trying to reach him, but his phone is turned off.” There was no way he was telling these men about the other cell, the one Declan called him from yesterday. Declan had warned him to keep an eye out for trouble and he didn’t listen. He should’ve paid more attention to his surroundings. He recalled the broken light over the door and then the men approaching him. If he’d been more aware, they might not have caught him off guard.

  “Then you better hope he answers this time.” Baldy wiggled the phone.

  “How is he supposed to dial, dumbass?” Bandanna mocked. “He’s trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey.”

  With a disgruntled look, Baldy whipped a knife from his pocket, the blade clicking into place. “Try anything and you’re dead.” He cut the rope from around Eric’s hands. He’d lost feeling so he had to shake them out to get the blood circulating. Baldy waved the knife menacingly in front of his face as he attempted to dial Declan’s old number. When a recorded voice clicked on, he held the phone for the men to hear.