Take Me Series (COMPLETE BOX SET)

by Masters, Colleen

  “You stay,” I tell Harrison, turning toward the door, “I’ve got this.”

  As I look on, our personal paparazzo lowers his phone, looking smugly satisfied. He lifts a hand in a mocking wave, and dares to give me a little wink. That does it. I take off like a mad woman in pursuit of this douche bag. All glee drains from his face as I come flying at him, tearing across the hospital room like a bat out of hell. He disappears from the window, taking off down the hall. I wrench open the door and swing out into the hallway.

  The man is booking it across the linoleum tile, his smartphone clutched in his greasy paw. His white coat whips behind him like a cloak. I wonder who he stole it from to get past Andy? At the mouth of the corridor, I see Harrison’s best friend keeping watch. Our blackmailer must have told him that he was a doctor. More like a gigantic fraud, not to mention a criminal.

  “Andy!” I shout, racing after the photographer. “Andy, get him!”

  The burly man turns toward the sound of my voice, just in time to take in the scene unfolding in the hallway. In a second, he understands. He places himself in the center of the hall, balling his hands into fists. He’s like a solid brick wall—there’s no way anyone’s getting past him. Our stalker panics at the sight of Andy, scuttling to a sloppy halt. But I’m not taking any chances, here. Not with this monster of a person.

  I barrel on ahead toward him at full speed, lowering a shoulder. My entire weight slams into the guy as I tackle him onto the cold hard tile. His smartphone goes flying out of his grasp as I land on top of him, pinning his shoulders to the tile. The device slams against the wall, shattering into a dozen pieces. As the metal and plastic confetti from the broken phone scatters across the hall, I look down into the face of my own personal demon for the first time.

  He’s just a kid. There’s barely even any peach fuzz on his baby soft cheeks. I’d guess that he’s about twenty years old, and even that’s a generous estimate. His tanned skin, brown eyes, and mop of messy curls remind me more of a boy band member than a conniving blackmailer. The white coat he sports is clearly too big for him, a shabby disguise at best. I’d almost feel sorry for the kid if he wasn’t wearing such an ugly, cocky look on his face.

  “Who the hell are you?” I demand, as Andy comes running over to where I’ve got the kid pinned down.

  “Just a man who’s trying to do his job,” the youngster replies. His English is a bit accented, but I can’t place the inflection. Something European, to be sure.

  “You’re not a man,” I all but spit, “You’re just a kid. A kid who’s in way over his head, I might add. Do you have any idea who you’ve been messing with, here? What are you doing wrapped up in this bullshit?”

  “Enjoying myself quite a bit, at the moment,” he says, daring to move his hips lustily against me.

  I stand up sharply, disgusted. Andy takes the kid by the arm and wrenches him up to standing, pinning him none-too-gently against the wall. I stare at him, hands on my hips. It takes every ounce of willpower I possess not the clobber the kid for his insolence, but I refrain. We’ve already got a blackmailer on our hands. The last thing we need is an assault charge to really land us up shit’s creek.

  “Who’s this louse?” I hear Harrison ask from down the hall.

  I turn and see him making his way slowly toward us, still in his hospital gown. He’s moving slower than usual, clearly in pain at having stood up at all. I should have known he wouldn’t sit patiently as this asshole made a run for it. That’s certainly not in his makeup.

  “I’m not entirely sure who he is,” I tell Harrison as he comes to stand beside me, “Right now, he just looks like some punk ass kid making trouble for the sake of it.”

  “Give me a break,” the boy laughs, “If I was just some punk ass kid, you’d have no reason to come sprinting after me. Nice tackle, by the way. Your brother teach you that?”

  “Don’t talk about my brother,” I warn him, “Who exactly do you think you are? You think that stalking people is funny? You think blackmail is something that the law is going to take lightly?”

  “Which law, lady?” he laughs, “Last I checked, we’ve been in about ten different countries so far on this tournament. Are you really going to go through all that trouble to get me a slap on the wrist? Because that’s all I’ll get, and you know it. Those pictures of mine haven’t been published. I haven’t done anything seriously wrong.”

  “You threatened us,” I spit, “You stalked us and tried your best to intimidate us.”

  “Actually, my boss was the one who did most of the intimidating. I’m just trying to do the job I was hired for. Plain and simple. Surely you appreciate enterprise? Isn’t that what everyone wants of us millennials nowadays? You should be proud of me, if anything.”

  “Who the hell are you working for?” Harrison asks, taking a menacing step toward the boy. Even injured, he’s an imposing mountain of a man.

  “That’s not a very nice way of asking,” the boy says, clicking his tongue. I have to place my hand on Harrison’s chest to keep him from lunging at the blackmailer.

  “Are you some kind of gossip blogger? Do you work for of those lame tabloid sites or something?” I ask.

  “Don’t you think your romance would already be public is I was?” he counters.

  “Then what the hell is your deal, mate?” Harrison growls, “What do you stand to gain from this bullshit?”

  “Just some cash, really,” the boy shrugs, “I’m just a modest worker, Mr. Davies, looking to make an honest living.”

  “Honest?” I scoff.

  “You know what I mean,” the kid says.

  “If you’re not a reporter,” Harrison goes on, “Are you with one of the advertisers? One of the teams? Or is this a personal vendetta?”

  “Why would I ever tell you that?” the boy laughs, “It’s not like you’re going to come after me legally. That would be far too much of a headache for just about zero payoff. I’m not giving up the name of my employer, so you should just—”

  “Harrison!” I scream, as my lover’s fist collides with the boy’s stomach with a nauseating thud.

  “Tell us who you’re working for!” Harrison shouts, cocking his fist back again.

  “You hit me!” the kid moans, gasping for air, held up only by Andy’s arm.

  “You’re gonna get a lot worse than that if you don’t spill,” Harrison growls.

  “That’s enough,” Andy warns, “You’re not doing us any good with that, Harrison. The kid’s not going to tell us who sent him.”

  “Some sensible talk, finally,” the boy sniffs, “Now, would you mind getting your hands off me, you big lug?”

  Andy shoves the photographer away from him, but we keep the boy nice and penned in between us. I’m not ready to let him walk away, not just yet. I glance toward Harrison and feel my stomach tighten as I see the look of shrouded pain on his face. That punch may have felt good to him in the moment, but he can’t be straining himself too much in his current condition. We don’t know how bad his injuries really are, after all. Any false move could turn his wreck into a disaster, even after the fact. He needs to take it easy and leave this to me—if only I could make that happen.

  “I bet we can offer you more money than what you’re getting now,” I tell the boy, “That is, if you’d be willing to supply us with a name.”

  “Siena!” Harrison hisses through gritted teeth, “We’re not giving him a cent!”

  “There’s no way you can offer me more than what I’m raking in now,” the kid says, observing the shattered pieces of his phones ambivalently, “Shame I had to lose those photos, though. They would have been a nice touch.”

  “Tell us what you want, then,” I say, “What’s it going to take for you to destroy those pictures and tell us who you’re working for?”

  “You’re delusional,” he tells me, “You’re assuming that I’m secretly some good guy, looking to do my part for the world. News flash, lady. In real life, the bad guys come out on top.
I’m in this for all the wrong reasons, and your sense of justice isn’t going to change my mind. So, if you’d kindly let me get on my way, I’d happily be going right now. Unless, that is, you have any other imaginary chips you’d like to try and throw at me? Maybe you can hit me again, give me a couple of black eyes to show off to the rest of the press?”

  I stare wordlessly at the little twerp, appalled. “Go then,” I tell him, taking a step back.

  “What?” Harrison says, “We’re just going to let him walk out of here? I don’t even get to hit him again?”

  “Not today,” I say, “He’s right. There’s nothing we can do to make him give up a name, or stop what he’s doing. You can’t fix nihilistic asshole, after all. But know this, kid. We will come out on top here. I don’t know who you’re working for, or what your boss’s game is, but we’re going to beat him at it. You just mark my words.”

  “Whatever,” the kid says. “See you around, sexy weirdos.”

  With a sickly smile, he shucks off his stolen coat and lets it fall to the floor. He whistles a little tune as he turns away from us, sauntering off down the hallway. He’s right that we can’t go after him right now, but with his totally illegal stalking and blackmailing, he’s just as helpless against us as we are against him. Neither side can act yet without bringing a whole mess of bullshit down on everyone involved.

  “I’m so sorry,” Andy groans, shoving a hand through his hair, “I thought he was an intern or something. I shouldn’t have let him past.”

  “You didn’t know,” I say, laying a hand on his arm, “It’s not like we were exactly making things easier on ourselves in there.”

  “I so don’t want to hear about that right now,” Andy grumbles.

  “I can’t believe we let him just walk out of here,” Harrison says, “That little bitch—”

  “Shh...” I say, heading back down the hall, “Let’s at least talk about this inside, yeah? Did you hurt yourself, throwing that punch?”

  “Maybe,” Harrison grumbles, holding onto his side, “But it was worth it.”

  “We’ll see about that,” I say, wrapping an arm around his waist. He leans into me as we make our way back to his room. Despite the world of trouble we seem to be stuck in, I’m still so happy to support him, to figure out a way through this mess together.

  One by one, the three of us file into the hospital room. But before we do anything else, I know there’s one more person I need on this. I whip out my cell and punch in Bex’s number. She picks up on the first ring, worried sick after I disappeared from my own little room. I tell her where we are, and ask her to book it across the hospital as fast as she can. In no time flat, she slips into Harrison’s hospital room, looking relieved.

  “Way to vanish on me, Siena,” she grumbles, “You really don’t make the whole keeping-watch thing easy, do you?”

  “Afraid not,” I say, closing the door behind her, “But I’m glad you’re here. This is Andy, Harrison’s buddy from McClain. And of course, you know Harrison Davies.”

  “How’s it hanging, boys?” Bex asks, planting a manicured hand on her hip. How she manages to look gorgeous and put together under fluorescent lights after a day like today is beyond me.

  “I’m married,” Andy blurts out.

  “I’m Bex,” my best friend winks, “Now does someone want to tell me what the hell is going on here?”

  “Our blackmailer showed up and caught me in Harrison’s hospital room,” I tell her, “It was just some punk kid behind the camera. Clearly, whoever is trying to undermine us didn’t want to get his own hands dirty. Or her own hands. I have no idea...”

  “Shit,” Bex breathes, “Did you get any information?”

  “No,” Harrison says, “But I did land a good punch.”

  “Stupid move,” I grumble.

  “Yeah, yeah...” Harrison replies

  “It’s something, anyway,” Bex says. “Wish I could have gotten a good hit myself. He deserves it, the little low life.”

  “His phone got destroyed, so he doesn’t have any pictures of us from this afternoon. But he was still hunting photos down, so the shit storm doesn’t seem to be over just yet,” I say. “Whatever he and his boss have planned, it doesn’t stop at turning my family against me. Something else is in the works here, something bigger.”

  “Right...” Bex continues, “If the goal was just to get your brother upset, no more pictures would be needed.”

  “My dad knows too now,” I tell her, “So there’s that.”

  “Jesus,” Bex sighs, “With everything that’s going on with him...”

  “What’s going on with him?” Andy asks.

  “He’s sick,” I say simply, not wanting to dwell on the subject, “And now Dad and Enzo are leaning on me to break it off with Harrison.”

  “But that’s not an option?” Bex asks.

  “That’s not an option,” Harrison and I say in unison.

  Bex smiles at us, shaking her head. “Love birds. What are you gonna do?”

  “Something’s coming with those photos, I just know it,” I go on, “The question is, what are we going to do about it?”

  “Well, what do you want to do about it?” Bex asks.

  “I want to tell the world to mind their own business,” I say, exasperation, “I want to tell them that we’re not their soap opera to watch with bated breath,” I say.

  “Then why don’t you do that?” Bex poses.

  “Wh-what?” I sputter.

  “Why don’t you two make a statement about your relationship?” Bex goes on, “You know that it’s only a matter of time before people find out. Tell them that you’re not interested in F1 drama, that there’s more to life than what team you happen to root for. Tell them you fell in love and saw beyond racing politics, that you’re committed to each other. Give them a love story they can fall in love with themselves and no one can touch you.”

  Harrison and I trade glances. Bex is making a whole lot of sense to me, right about now. But there’s one thing I can’t wrap my head around.

  “What about my family?” I say.

  “If you spin your love story the right way, make the world adore you, then your team will have to get on the same page,” Bex says with a mischievous grin, “They don’t want to look like a bunch of curmudgeons trying to squash young love!”

  “OK,” I say, “But even if they play our game, what if their hearts aren’t in it?”

  “Well...that is another thing entirely,” Bex says, “One that you’ll have to fix in private. Only you can bring them around to liking Harrison as a person.”

  “I think I should be able to help with that as well, if they give me a chance,” Harrison puts in.

  “Great,” Bex says, “Then it’s settled. You two are going to go off together, work out a story, and present it to the media before Harrison runs his next Grand Prix.”

  “Sure, no problem,” I mutter, sitting down on the edge of Harrison’s bed.

  He looks up at me, sweat beading on his forehead. He’s looking worse for the wear every minute. Jumping his bones was probably not the best recovery strategy. I need to be more careful around him, learn to control myself. It won’t be easy, but he needs to get better and get back into the season before too much time passes. He and Enzo will be OK if they only have to miss one race. The teams will need time to get them new vehicles anyway. But any more time than that could really screw them.

  “Could we have the room for a second?” Harrison asks, reaching for my hand.

  “Can we leave you alone for two seconds and trust that you’re not going to screw yourself into a coma?” Andy shoots back.

  “You’ll have to take your chances,” Harrison says.

  “Come on Andy,” Bex says, laying a hand on the burly man’s arm, “Buy me a cup of shitty cafeteria coffee, won’t you?”

  Andy averts his eyes from Bex’s pretty face and hurries out of the hospital room, blushing furiously. I have to swallow a smile, despite the seriousness
of the situation. My best friend is irresistible after all.

  When they’re gone, I turn anxiously to Harrison. Even after all these weeks, I can’t help but feel a little thrill at the sight of his bare, tattooed chest peeking through the hospital gown. It’s not many men who could make wearing a glorified sheet seem sexy. But then again, my love is something of a rare specimen. He tucks his hands behind his head with a deep sigh and stares up at the ceiling with those arresting blue eyes of his.

  “Can I get you anything?” I ask him quietly.

  He glances down at me, perched on the side of his bed, and gives me a smile that could light up the entire city of Moscow.

  “I’ve got everything I need right here,” he tells me, squeezing my hand.

  “I’m going to let you get away with that disgusting display of sappiness, but only because you might have brain damage,” I say, arching my eyebrow. I secretly love his sappiness, of course, and the fact that I’m the one who inspires it in him.

  “Thanks for that,” he laughs shortly.

  “No problem,” I smile. “So, what’s our next move? How do you want to do this?”

  “I’m going to need to get off the trail for a while. Recuperate,” Harrison tells me, “I thought I’d head back to London. The championship tour will be in London the race after next anyway. Lucky timing, right? I can get myself rested up and be ready to start training again the second they ship my ride over.”

  “Right,” I say, forcing myself to smile. I don’t like the thought of Harrison going off by himself to get better while I accompany my family to our next stop. I should be with him while he heals, helping him. “The next Grand Prix is in Belgium,” I go on, “Enzo will probably want to hang out at our place in Italy until his suspension is over. I guess we’ll just have to hold tight until we’re in the same city again, you and me.”