A French Whipping
Page 24
Keenan was waiting in the dinghy galley, near the open storeroom where she’d been held. He’d turned on a light, which emitted a sickly yellow glow. He looked nearly the same as he had when they were young, but the cruel twist to his lips had worn a permanent line next to his mouth, and the laugh lines that would have been attractive on someone else seemed to be cracks in an otherwise handsome mask.
“Blake, darling, come on over here.” Keenan beckoned, waving her toward him. “I need you to help me with something.” Keenan had that sweet tone in his voice, that congenial warmth that had fooled so many people so many times.
Blake met Nick’s eyes. He was furious. And terrified.
Swallowing her fear, Blake started forward. Keenan had a gun. She couldn’t just break free or he’d shoot her or Nick. And then there was Angela with a gun behind her. Angela, who wanted to do what Keenan said. Blake had never been like that. She’d done what he said because she thought she’d loved him, not because she wanted to obey anyone.
Still holding on to the ropes that held her wrists, Blake approached Keenan warily. When she was close enough, he took her chin in his hands and turned her face from side to side.
“Oh, my. Angela, did she make you lose your temper?”
“She never shuts up,” the girl muttered in response.
Keenan nodded. “True. You never did know when to shut your mouth and be quiet, did you? You always had to say something.”
Blake spat in his face.
He backhanded her so hard that she fell on the floor, away from Angela, and made sure to turn her body as she fell, hiding her hands. While she was on the floor, she freed herself, twisting her wrists and catching the loosened rope in her fists.
Nick was shouting and Blake looked up through watering eyes to see that Angela had the gun pointed at him.
“Throw me the rope,” Keenan ordered Angela, and she tossed it to him. He stuck the gun into his pants at the back of his waist and uncoiled the rope, wrapping it around one fist. Bending, he grabbed a handful of Blake’s hair and dragged her upward by it, making her cry out. Blake kept her hands in place behind her back, holding on to the rope with a death grip.
Using his other hand, he reached around her neck and gripped the loose end of the rope about two feet from his other hand, wrapping it around his fist, and pulling back so the rope was taut around her neck. Her scars burned as the rough material dug into her skin.
“Please, Keenan, don’t,” she begged, sobbing. She wasn’t entirely faking. She didn’t want to relive the moment when she hadn’t been able to breathe, when her throat had been slowly crushed by the tightening rope in his hands.
He rubbed her cheek with his rope-covered fist. “That’s what I like to hear . . . begging.”
With a flick of her fingers, Blake dropped the rope she was holding to the floor. When he looked down, she jerked her head back into Keenan’s face and moved like she’d been taught, stepping back quickly with her right foot, between Keenan’s legs, and twisting, slamming her elbow into his nose. Blood spurted, covering her as Keenan stumbled back. Blake helped him out with a little push, shoving him away so that he fell backward over a table.
“Keenan,” Angela screamed, running toward him.
Nick seized Blake’s arm. “Come on, baby, run.”
They tore up the stairs and across the deck, stumbling over the debris toward the dilapidated pier, Nick pushing Blake in front of him.
Blake heard shouts behind them and a sharp crack and whine. Nick cursed and stumbled, falling forward against her and sending them both tumbling over the edge of the boat and onto the dock, which cracked beneath them.
Nick tried to shield her, twisting his body so that he took the brunt of the fall, but Blake landed mostly on her elbows, sending splinters from the rough dock into her skin.
Crying, she rolled over to see Nick’s white shirt turning dark, blackness spreading in a stain that seemed to start in his shoulder and move downward. Blake scrambled forward and put her hand over the hole in his chest, trying to stop the blood, knowing that Keenan was coming after them.
There were more shots, these even louder, but they seemed to be coming from a different direction.
“Nick,” she screamed and tugged on him, trying to get him up, just as the sound of a powerful motor roared. Exhaust filled the air around her and Keenan’s boat tore away from the dock, pulling free of the mooring and taking a big chunk of the damaged pier with it, shaking both of them and making them roll closer to the edge.
That’s when she heard them. Shouts. And sirens, coming closer.
She looked up and saw blue and red lights flashing and dark figures running toward them.
She stood, waving her arms. “Help. He’s shot. I need help.”
33
NICK KNEW HE was in a hospital even before he opened his eyes. The air smelled like antiseptic and there was an annoying, but reassuring, beep beep beep of the machines monitoring his various bodily functions.
Someone was also in the room with him. He could hear breathing and smell the faint scent of perfume and flowers. Blake.
He opened his eyes slowly, expecting to see her smiling face. The bruised and battered visage he saw made him cry out and reach out to touch her, a move he immediately regretted. Cursing, he breathed deeply in an effort to ease the pain.
Beneath the bruises, she was scowling at him, her eyes hard and her arms folded over her chest. Her arms were bandaged as well. What had happened to her arms? Behind her, balloons and get-well baskets filled the room.
“What the hell were you thinking putting yourself behind me like that?”
Nick swallowed with difficulty. “Can I have some water?”
She grabbed a purple plastic cup with a lid and a straw from the table nearby and handed it to him. “You were nearly killed. I have never seen so much blood in all my life.”
Nick remembered the smell of blood and the coppery taste in his mouth.
“What happened?” Nick croaked.
“You were shot and Keenan got away,” Blake said bitterly. “And Angela with him.”
“Good to see you awake,” a voice said from the doorway. Roland, wearing a suit as usual, strolled into the room carrying a stuffed kitten. He held it up casually. “I thought you might be missing your newest houseguest. She’s currently staying with Regina and her sister.”
Nick blinked rapidly and held out a hand. Roland set the stuffed animal down next to a bouquet of Gerbera daises and walked over to Nick’s bed, stroking a hand over Blake’s hair as he passed.
Roland took Nick’s hand. “What’s up?”
“How’d you find us?” Nick knew there hadn’t been enough time to track the traps he’d sprung, not considering how far Keenan had driven away from the market.
Roland shrugged. “Well, I was just as worried about Blake as you were, so when I found out Keenan might be behind the initial hack of Accendo, I put tracking devices into her purse, her phone, and those stupid motorcycle boots she always wears.” He half smiled. “You almost screwed me when you took her shopping, but luckily she made the right clothing choice for getting kidnapped.”
Blake glanced down at her feet. She was still wearing the boots, though Milton had brought her a change of clothes. “I always knew that these boots would save my ass one day.”
34
Four weeks later
NICK WAITED IMPATIENTLY outside the bar for Blake to leave and head back to her apartment. How long did it take to close out a shift on a slow Thursday evening? His shoulder ached and the cat he held was getting restless inside her carrier.
He’d gone back to work today, hoping that Roland would have found out something regarding Keenan’s whereabouts, but he’d disappeared again, and Angela with him.
The door to the Hairy Lemon opened, and Blake came out dressed in her work uniform as usual, but
she’d taken down her hair and let it fall around her shoulders.
She saw him immediately and stopped, a slight smile coming over her face in the spotlights that highlighted the sign above the entrance to the bar.
“Are you following me?” she asked in her husky voice.
“Yes,” he answered simply. “I wanted to ask you something.”
She walked toward him, her gaze puzzled as she looked at the bag he carried. “Your bag is moving,” she said and laughed when a loud meow seemed to respond to her voice.
“Missy.” She looked up at him with a wide smile. “You got her back from Regina’s sister.”
“Apparently she didn’t get along that well with their cat El Greco, so it was easier than I thought it would be.”
“Good.” Her lips twitched. “So you’re feeling okay?”
“No,” he answered shortly.
Her brows drew together in concern and she took a step closer. “What’s wrong?”
He waited until she was within reach and caught her hand, pressing something against her palm.
She hesitated. “Nick.”
“Just look at it,” he urged.
She did, opening her hand and looking at the small ring. She picked it up. Woven of tiny threads of gold, the ring was a designed to resemble a rope secured with a French whipping knot; he’d designed it himself.
“Nick, no. This isn’t . . .” She paused. “I love you, but we’re not ready for—”
“I’m not asking you to marry me,” he said softly.
She exhaled, but her voice held a note of disappointment when she said, “You’re not?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Then what are you asking me?”
“I’m asking you to take a chance again. I’m not perfect and I have a few things to work on, but I miss my friend, my lover, my fellow cat owner. I miss you. And I want you back messing up my quiet peaceful world.”
“That’s what this means?” She held up the ring. “All that?”
“It’s a promise. No matter how many times we break and unravel. No matter how often we hurt each other, I will always be there to hold you together.”
Tears had gathered and pooled in her eyes, but she was smiling widely. She slid the ring on her finger and held out her hand.
“And if you can’t do that, you could always tie me up.”
He chuckled and took her hand. “There’s always that.”
Make sure to check out the rest of the Billionare Tricksters of Boston series by Nicole Camden!
The first in the Billionare Tricksters of Boston series by erotic romance sensation Nicole Camden, featuring sexy magicians and ladies whose desires tempt them ever deeper into a world they don’t quite understand. . .
The Lady Vanishes
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Homeland security officer Marilyn Hewson is out to catch a terrorist. And she's got her eye on the family involved. Her best point of entry into that world? One Roland Webster, a billionaire raised by a family of liars and criminals, distractingly hunky and hiding something. With Roland out to prove himself and Marilyn out to win at all costs, can they take time from their mission to see what's right beneath their noses?
Lie in the Moment
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About the Author
Nicole Camden, author of “The Nekkid Truth” in Big Guns Out of Uniform, has returned to erotica after a decade of teaching, dog-rescuing, and other mayhem. She lives in Houston with her husband and two dogs.
FOR MORE ON THIS AUTHOR: authors.simonandschuster.com/Nicole-Camden
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SimonandSchuster.com
Also by Nicole Camden
The Lady Vanishes
The Nekkid Truth
The Fetish Box, Part One: Open All Night
The Fetish Box, Part Two: What Escapes
The Fetish Box, Part Three: What Remains
The Fetish Queen, Part One: Reborn
The Fetish Queen, Part Two: Infamous
The Fetish Queen, Part Three: Cursed
By Nicole Camden, writing as Deirdre Dore
Strings of Fate
Whispers of Fate
Kiss of Fate
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 by Nicole Camden
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First Pocket Star Books ebook edition May 2015
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ISBN 978-1-4767-9597-3