Virgin Fiancée: A Fake Engagement Romance

by Nikki Chase

  “This is the club owned by Mr. Harris, where both you and Miss Jones were working?”

  “Yes.”

  “How many times have you seen them fight in the dressing room?”

  “I don’t keep count.”

  “Would you say it’s every week maybe, or every month?”

  “More like every two weeks.”

  “Have you seen these fights turn violent, Miss Lewis?”

  “Yes.” I stared into Perry’s eyes, ignoring the soft gasps from the audience. It was like I had tunnel vision, the way I only saw Perry clearly and everything else turned into a blur.

  “Can you tell the court more about these violent altercations?”

  “Once, I saw Stan’s hands around Nancy’s neck. He was strangling her.” My mouth was working on autopilot.

  My mind went blank and all I was doing was reciting the testimony I’d already gone through multiple times. It was like my whole body was gripped by a cold, giant, slimy snake that wrapped itself tighter and tighter around my body, depriving my lungs of air and my brain of coherent thoughts.

  “Anything else?”

  “Nancy sometimes showed up to work with bruises.”

  “Objection, your honor. The injuries Miss Lewis refer to may have been caused by anything,” said Stan’s lawyer in a loud voice, which almost made me jump in surprise. I’d never spoken directly with the guy, but I hated his guts.

  “Retained,” the judge decided.

  “Have you seen Mr. Harris behave aggressively, or violently, toward Miss Jones?”

  “Yes. Stan would sometimes corner Nancy and intimidate her until she was shaking in fear.” I made the mistake of glancing in Stan’s direction as I said his name out loud, not knowing that what I was about to see was going to haunt my dreams and keep me on edge for months to come.

  “You. Are. Fucked.” Stan mouthed each word slowly, wordlessly, making sure that I’d understood, but without letting anyone else realize he’d just threatened me. He held my gaze hostage and snarled, smirking cruelly when I recoiled in fear.

  I try to shake off my ugly thoughts about the trial that happened last year, just before I moved to Ashbourne. I refocus my attention onto the road, but it’s hard to keep my mind still when I’m just driving through familiar streets that I already know like the back of my hand.

  I’d been pretty good at forgetting my past and focusing on building a new life for me here, but that was when there were no reminders of my past walking around in town. I could pretend everything was normal, act like I was really just another underpaid teacher in a sleepy little town. Like I didn’t have a dark secret following me around.

  I was already nervous when Jacob moved into town. I’d suspected him of being related to Stan somehow, but I quickly ruled that out.

  Stan wouldn’t have prolonged things—that’s not his style. If Jacob were working for Stan, he would’ve overpowered me when he saw me by the side of the road last week and taken me back to Stan’s men. Instead, he fixed my car without asking for anything in return.

  Sometimes I get a strange feeling like he’s watching me, but there’s no reason why Stan would just keep an eye on me instead of just kidnapping me.

  Still, it’s probably a good idea to stay away from Jacob, seeing as he knows about my past as a stripper and I don’t want that information to get out. Even if he doesn’t end up taking me back to Stan, if word gets out I could lose my job in a blink.

  And now, there’s Steve. A random Tinder date. Tactless, stuck up, and condescending, but not a danger. At least that’s what I thought until he brought up having seen me in San Francisco.

  He seems too tame, too soft, to be one of Stan’s men. But even if he isn’t, bad things could happen if he started digging into my background. If he has, in fact, seen me at the club, he could call them to ask about me. If the club knows where Steve is calling from, it would only be a matter of time until Stan’s guys paid me visit.

  I turn onto my street. As my house comes into view, I notice all the lights are off. Strange. I usually keep at least the light on the porch on. Maybe the lightbulb needs to be changed. I think I still have a spare one in the closet.

  As I pull up into my driveway, it occurs to me that I usually would’ve had the light on in the living room as well, but my house is completely dark.

  Could it be a power outage?, I think to myself, trying to stay positive. But all my neighbors’ houses are as bright as they usually are.

  My electricity bills are paid automatically. They just withdraw the amount I owe from my bank account each month so I never miss a payment. There’s no way the electricity company has turned off my power.

  I switch off the ignition but keep the headlights on, letting the beams slice through the ominous darkness. How can my house, normally a place of safety and comfort, suddenly seem so alien and sinister?

  I get out of my car. Just as I’m about to grab my keys from inside my bag, I realize my front door is open. Because the door is black, I didn’t notice that before.

  Shit.

  My hands grow clammy as cold sweat and goose bumps cover the surface of my skin. Even though the air is clear, it’s hard to breath. I make the motions I usually do to inhale and exhale, but air wouldn’t enter my lungs. My heart races as I wonder what could’ve happened here.

  I get as far as my porch before I take one look down the dark hallway and decide it’s not a good idea to enter on my own.

  If it’s Stan, then I should run like hell. If it’s a burglary, they can take whatever they want—it’s not like I have anything of value in there. The only thing I’d miss…

  Max.

  Where could he be?

  I back away from my own front door, the wooden floor of the porch creaking as I step back down the stairs. I walk toward the street, my hands shaking as I fumble in my bag, trying to find my phone so I can call 911.

  “Max! Where are you?” I scream into the night, looking left and right, hoping to see a furry creature with floppy ears and a long, pink tongue sticking out of his mouth. I pull out my phone.

  Panic grips me as I realize there’s not a soul on the street and nobody would even see me if one of Stan’s men were to grab me right now.

  “Help! Someone!”

  Chapter 12

  Jacob

  Adrenaline pumps into my blood. I grab a key from my desk drawer and open the locked cabinet to get my Kimber .40 Smith & Wesson. I load the pistol and quickly take an extra mag, just in case.

  Jessica’s not screaming anymore, but I can hear her saying something in a shrill, urgent voice. She strikes me as the kind of woman who would take care of her own shit as much as she can. The fact that she’s now literally screaming for help in the street must mean something serious is happening.

  With urgency, I tear open my front door. And there she is, looking as radiant as she did a couple hours ago in the same stunning dress. Under the full moon and the dim yellow street lights, she’s holding her phone up to her ear, her head turning this way and that. She looks confused and disorientated. And scared.

  I rush to her side, glancing at her house as I do. It’s completely dark next door. That’s unusual, but not a reason to panic on its own.

  “Yes. Yes. Okay, thank you,” Jessica says into the phone. Her eyes are wide with fear as she turns to look at me.

  “What happened?” I ask as soon as she hangs up.

  “I… I don’t know. I came home and everything was dark. The door. It was open. I… I can’t find Max,” she says, stumbling all over her words. I place one hand on her shoulder to help calm her down. She’s shaking, I realize. She picks at her own dress as the blood rushing in her veins triggers her fight-or-flight instinct and make her antsy.

  “Max?” I pull my brows together and level my gaze at her. Is Max a boyfriend? The guy she went out with earlier?

  “My dog,” she says.

  I breathe a sigh of relief, although I’m not sure why. Is it because at least the potential
victim is not human? Or is it because I’m glad she doesn’t have a boyfriend? Because if it was the second reason, that would be pretty messed up, even by my standards. This is hardly the time.

  “Was there anyone else in your house? Does anybody have the key?”

  “No, the house was empty. Except for Max. Oh God, do you think he might be hurt?” She’s acting like the dog is the most important thing in the world right now, when a criminal could’ve entered her home and hurt her. Good thing she was out of the house.

  “Does anybody have the key to your house?” I repeat.

  “No. I mean yes. Tony has a copy, but he wouldn’t have come without calling me first.”

  “Just now, on the phone. That was the police?” I’m dying to find out more about this Tony, who I can safely assume is human, but I ignore both Tony and Max for now. I need to take care of what really matters. The perpetrator may still be in the house.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. They’re coming?”

  “Yes. They said they were going to send someone.” Jessica’s breathing is slowing down. Her fingers still fidget, but at least now she can focus on answering my questions. During a crisis, it’s common for people to calm down when there’s a task in front of them, especially if they feel like they’re actively doing something to fix the situation.

  “Listen. Scarl—Jessica. I’m going to sweep through your house right now. It doesn’t look like anybody’s inside right now. If there was somebody, he would’ve likely left by now. But just to be safe, you should go to my house and stay inside. Okay?” I look into her eyes to make sure she understands. Even simple directions can seem confusing to someone who’s not thinking clearly.

  “But Max is—“

  “I’ll find Max for you,” I say, cutting her off mid-sentence. She’s starting to get on my nerves. Honestly, she needs to quit worrying about the dog and start thinking about herself. “If he’s in there, I’ll get him out. But it’s not safe for you to be here. Whoever it was that broke in may have been looking for you.”

  Fear flashes in her eyes. Yes. Finally, she’s getting it.

  “Get inside my house now. Lock the door. Stay inside until the cops get here.” I pull my gun out of the waistband of my jeans. When I take one last look at her, I realize I should’ve done that from the beginning. Seeing the gun seems to have made her realize the gravity of the situation.

  She blinks a few times before her gaze falls on my face. She nods rapidly and makes her way into my house as quickly as her high-heel shoes would allow.

  As I move toward the front door, I look around to check if anybody’s lurking in the shadows. With only the moonlight and the car headlights to brighten my surroundings, I can’t see much. I listen for footsteps, perhaps some rustling in the grass or the sound of twigs breaking, but there’s nothing.

  The floorboards of the deck creak as I approach the front door. Jessica’s right; it’s wide open. There’s no damage on the door, which at first glance would suggest that whoever Tony is, he’s the one who has dropped Jessica a visit. But Jessica has an older door with a shitty lock that can easily be pried opened with a simple slide of a credit card.

  If there was someone at the time Jessica came home, he would’ve left when she started screaming. Most burglars aren’t violent and would rather run away than escalate the situation by assaulting the homeowner. The latter would only increase their risk of getting a harsh sentence if they get caught.

  Besides, there are always other houses to raid. Most burglars are pretty mercenary; they see their work as an entrepreneurial enterprise and constantly reassess their risks and rewards.

  I turn on the lights as I check the rooms in the house one by one. The kitchen, the living room, the bathroom, and the two bedrooms. It doesn’t take long.

  “Max!” I feel like an idiot yelling in an empty house. Although I’ve checked the house, a dog could hide in small spaces where a human wouldn’t fit. Hearing his name being called could draw the dog out.

  “Max!” I open the closets and kitchen cabinets. Now I regret not asking Jessica what kind of a dog Max is. He could be a horse-sized Great Dane or a pint-sized Chihuahua.

  Okay, so the dog is either not inside the house or he doesn’t respond to a stranger calling him. Maybe he’ll come if Jessica calls him. With the house empty, it’s safe for her to go back inside, at least for now.

  The police should be able to tell us if this is a common occurrence around here. And if it is, she should have nothing to worry about since the perpetrator probably wasn’t specifically targeting her.

  “Max!” I walk outside and stand on the sidewalk. I see movement in the shrubs in front of the house across the street. I squint and see a hint of something white and brown moving. I quietly close in, careful not to scare whatever’s in there.

  Just as I’m about to reach out my hand to make an opening in the hedge, a wet nose appears. Then, a pair of friendly eyes on a background of shiny white, brown, and black fur. A pink tongue slides out and licks my hand, covering it with dog drool.

  “Hi, Max,” I say while I pat the dog’s head. I check the name on the collar. Yup. This is the right dog. “Good boy, Max.”

  I hear the click clack of a woman’s heels on the asphalt and turn around as my hand pets Max’s head.

  “Oh my God. You found him,” Jessica says. She exhales with relief, her eyes filling with water as she gets closer, her eyes fixed on Max as if she’s afraid he’s going to disappear if she so much as blinks. “Thank you.”

  “Oh, it’s nothing,” I say.

  As Jessica crouches right beside me, the bushes in front of us starts to shake, presumably from Max’s tail wagging. He emerges from the hedge and she leans down to hug him. “Oh, Max. You’re okay.”

  “We should move. You don’t want to destroy this nice hedge,” I say as I stand up, looking at Max as he wiggles with the back half of his body still buried inside the shrubs and his face smushed in Jessica’s chest.

  Lucky bastard. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I wish I was that dog right now.

  “Come, Max. Let’s go home,” Jessica says, getting up. Max follows her out of the hedge and looks expectantly at her. Jessica turns her attention toward me and gives me the sweetest smile I’ve ever seen.

  Before I can even deal with the warm, fuzzy feeling in my chest caused by that genuine smile, she throws her hands around me and hugs me tight. She says, “Thank you.”

  I swallow as I try to ignore how nice it feels to have her body pressed up against my chest. Warmth radiates from her slender body. Her hair smells like creamy vanilla, like what lingered on my sheets after that night. I inhale the scent of her and wish I could take her home, keep her in my arms all night.

  The sound of a car turning onto the street ends the moment. We both look toward the bend, where a police car is approaching. Jessica pulls away and breaks the hug, but not before giving me another grateful smile.

  And there, in that moment of vulnerability, I see desire flash in her green eyes as her hands linger for a few seconds too long on me. She definitely still wants me.

  I know your secret now. You’re not getting away from me. I don’t care if you have a boyfriend. Tony can go to hell.

  Chapter 13

  Jessica

  “So he has already rescued you twice and it has only been, what, one week?” Tony looks at me with a smug, knowing smile on his face.

  “A little over that.” I frown at him. I'm not going to encourage that annoying smile. “Saying that he rescued me seems a bit much, don't you think? He fixed my car once, and he waited with me while the cops were on their way. That’s all. He’s just a good neighbor.”

  “Yeah, it sounds like he did more than that, though. I wouldn’t fix a car or enter a house that’s just been broken into for a neighbor.”

  “That’s because you can’t fix a car, Tony. And you can’t check a house for intruders either. He’s ex-Navy SEAL, so it’s, like, all in a day’s work for him
. The equivalent would be you giving your neighbor’s kid a few tips to help him pass his English test,” I say as I turn on the electric kettle on the counter of the shared staff kitchen.

  “Last time I checked, fixing cars wasn’t in the job description for the military.”

  “I was referring to the break-in, obviously.”

  “Okay. Let’s see. First, he gave you a ride on his sexy Harley Davidson. Then, he sexily checked your house to make sure there were no baddies in there. He even found your dog—in an equally sexy manner, I bet. Geez, what does a guy have to do to deserve the verb ‘rescue’ around here? Straight guys sure do have it rough.” Tony takes a loud sip of coffee from his Best Dad Ever mug.

  “Does Greg have the same mug? Because I honestly think you're just an okay dad. He's the one stuck at home with the kids most days.”

  “Nobody asked you for a Yelp review on my parenting, Jessie. Sticks and stones may break my bones, and all that.” Tony shrugs. “Don't change the subject. We're still talking about your dreamy neighbor-slash-ex-lover.”

  I exaggerate the shudder running down my spine to show Tony the effect of his cringey choice of words on me. I look around the break room to check that it's still just the two of us here before I roll my eyes. “He's hardly a ‘lover.’ Ugh, please never use that word again. We slept together once.”

  “I see. I notice you have no objections to the use of the adjective ‘dreamy.’” Tony puts his mug down on the counter as a victorious smile spreads across his face.

  I shrug and lean against the counter to put a teabag in a mug. I need to occupy my hands so I don't fidget. I don't know if it's the break-in or just talking about Jacob that's making me anxious, but I don't want Tony to notice and get worried.

  “I’m not going to deny he’s hot. I wouldn’t have slept with him otherwise,” I say.

  “Oh, Jessie, Jessie. You think you’re so clever, trying to trick me. But I see right through you. You, young lady, are transparent.” Tony points an accusing finger at me. “You’re hardly the one-night-stand type. I bet you really liked him. Maybe you still do.”