Forever (Eternity #1)

by Allyson Young

  It was a bit soon to push Amy again, hard on the heels of losing her car, but he’d do what he had to do. As she searched for an appropriate pair of shoes to wear with her outfit while shopping, out of the dozens she had to choose from, his memory drifted to a couple of weeks previously when Mike turned her in…

  “I wasn’t. He’s wrong. He drives like an old man.” Amy drew herself up to her full height and glared at him. Pregnant or not, she pulled him like no other and he instantly wanted to fuck her into submission, knowing how strong she had to be to surrender to him.

  “Look at me and convince me you weren’t making like you were at Indianapolis.”

  “Hardly Indianapolis,” she muttered, avoiding his eyes. “I was in a hurry and I was being careful.”

  “Keys.” He held out his hand.

  “No. C’mon, Dean. Mike over reacted.”

  “Keys. You scare the shit out of me driving that car in the first place, let alone when you’re going to have a baby.”

  “Jesus.” She dug them out of her purse and tossed them over. “You must think you’re my dad.”

  Watching her stomp into the kitchen to open the fridge and peer inside made him want to feed her or take some of the sting of him being so autocratic away. He’d decided to do both.

  “What are you thinking about?” Amy came back with her shoes and he pulled his mind from that prurient memory and smiled at her question.

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing wouldn’t give you that smile. Tell me.”

  “I just was thinking about how I made it up to you over the Audi.”

  “Oh.” Amy’s face flushed and her lips parted a little.“It seemed a waste of perfectly good toffee ice cream to me! And I had to change the bed!”

  “We changed the bed, sweetheart. And Lois did the laundry. I’ve never eaten ice cream from such interesting—surfaces before.”

  “It was damn cold. And sticky.”

  “I didn’t noticed. Other than it was tasty.”

  She gave him an arch look and sashayed past him towards the front door. “I might just dip something of yours in something equally tasty, Dean Chambray. Once I have you tied down. You give some thought to that.”

  “Never gonna happen, sweetheart.” All the same, he might be interested in pursuing that train of thought—without the restraints. He hurried to hold the door for her and drove them to the mall, willingly putting himself through the torture of shopping, although he set a mental time limit.

  ****

  She was getting tired again, just like in the first trimester. Her back ached and she’d have bursts of energy and then become lacklustre. It was the same with her head—at one moment all of her vigilance would surface, her senses acute, like an animal scenting danger and protecting its young, and in the next she’d become complacent and uninvolved in anything taking place outside of her immediate sphere.

  Dean had suffered through an hour or so of choosing scraps of silk and lace underwear. Granny panties might have been a better choice, but Amy wanted sexy. Her bras had become garments stitched with panels of unforgiving fabric to support her burgeoning breasts—the attempts to cover the industrial construction with pretty lace and colors and trim failing miserably in her opinion. So she bought hot panties that barely covered her sex and ass. Dean liked them, too, if the molten look in his eyes was anything to go by.

  He acted as usual no matter her mood, adapting and coping with her advancing pregnancy, seeming to manage his “business” and assuming the dual role of father-to-be and lover with amazing aplomb. Amy thought he was probably doing better at building their relationship than she was, although she had the excuse of the little creature growing by leaps and bounds inside of her. The child certainly affected her moods and her general well-being and governed what Dean would allow her to do—or not do. She prayed every day that she would be a good mother, having no example to follow. Dean’s approach was simple—don’t pull the same shit his mother did. That woman lingered on, but Dean didn’t visit her anymore, a choice Amy wholeheartedly supported. Good old Marsha didn’t know anybody anyhow, and Amy didn’t want Dean to see his mother like that.

  It went without saying their child would lack for nothing money could buy, but Amy was determined to meet Junior’s emotional needs, too. She decided parenting courses wouldn’t be amiss and was considering how she might broach the subject with Dean because she wasn’t going by herself. It would have helped if she had some friends with kids but none of Dean’s crew had any, most of them young men, with even younger women. Andrea was coy on the subject. She appeared to want children on the one hand, but insisted she wasn’t ready on the other.

  Reconnecting with Andrea and the other women hadn’t been as uncomfortable as Amy had originally envisioned. She had no idea what they knew—or didn’t know—and because they respected her silence on the matter, she spent more time in their company, when she wasn’t with Dean, or doing for Dean. They were excited about her pregnancy and were talking about baby showers and stuff, although she insisted they wait until after her child was born. She didn’t want to jinx anything.

  Amy occasionally allowed herself to think about D-day—delivery day. Intellectually she understood the process, having read more than was probably healthy on the subject. Dean was going to be with her, and Sandra, too. And Amy wasn’t at all opposed to an epidural. Her doctor had assured her the baby wouldn’t be adversely affected and explained that avoiding some of the pains of labor didn’t make her any less a woman or a bad mother. She thought Dean might have laughed at her question, but instead it made him pensive and he led her to understand he was not at all happy that she was going to experience even a second of discomfort. Like he’d have any control over it. That was going to kill him.

  If she was in denial about anything, it was about Dean’s confidence in his ability to pull off being undercover, closer to a Donnie Briscoe than anything else. He absolutely wasn’t a white knight—tarnished would be a far better way to describe him—but there was nothing to be done about it until everything shook down. A lot of time seemed to have passed since he’d indicated he thought things were coming to a head, but she left it to him, trusted him to take care of it. Amy recognized her impotence. Her role would come afterwards—when Dean would extricate himself and live life on the right side of the law. She forecast some significant adjustment issues, and she wasn’t going to allow them to affect what they shared, or their child. And worst of all, she was going to have to do without Sandra.

  She’d driven the cursed mommy-van over to her friend’s after the lingerie purchase, for an impromptu iced tea, Sandra working the evening shift that day. Amy had a pressing the need to be with her. Just thinking about her moving on made her nose draw up and tears prickle at the back of her eyes.

  “Amy? Are you thinking about me leaving?” Her best friend must be a mind reader.

  “Why would you think that?” she managed, controlling her voice.

  “Because you’ve been past the weepy stage for a while, and unless Dean is screwing up again, it’s me you’re crying about.”

  True. She didn’t want to lay any guilt on Sandra, wanted her friend to do what she needed to do for her peace of mind. Amy also wanted to meddle. She saw how conflicted Sandra was, and in her own present happy state with Dean, fancied that Enrico might make Sandra equally happy. It really bothered her not to share Dean’s secret with her friend, but she wouldn’t betray his confidence, and it wasn’t something she wanted to burden Sandra with. Sandra would worry even more.

  “I’m gonna miss you so much.”

  “We’ll keep in touch and visit. We will, Amy. Moving is something I have to do.”

  “So you haven’t changed your mind.” She sounded like a wistful little kid, and Sandra’s eyes warmed as she hugged Amy.

  “I’ll be here until you get organized after the baby comes. I promised you that, and I will.”

  Sucking in a big breath, Amy pasted on a big smile, certain it would fo
ol nobody, but determined not to weep. “Well, that’ll be in about six or seven weeks and I’m thinking it can’t be too soon. My back aches all the time.”

  Laughing, Sandra said, “You’ll be whining really loudly when you go past your due date. First babies are notoriously late!”

  “Wonderful.” Amy knew that from her extensive research, but she’d successfully distracted both Sandra and herself from becoming maudlin. “Well, you’re gonna need to get ready for work and I should get home before it gets much later.”

  “Suzy Homemaker?” Sandra teased.

  “Yup. Trying out a new recipe tonight. And Mike probably wants to turn me over to the next shift. Olsen.” Amy felt her lip curl. That man was such a creep in ways she didn’t want to list. She hadn’t forgotten his little speech at the July Fourth party, and he had a tendency to look at a person with sleaze in his eyes. Not to mention how the stench of tar and nicotine preceded him, and how yellow his teeth were.

  “You’ve adjusted to your pseudo-bodyguards.”

  Shrugging, Amy got up in preparation to leave. “It was that or moving in with you, or going to stay with the Bowers.”

  “You’re welcome here, Amy. Anytime.”

  “I want to be with Dean.” And if shit comes down, I don’t want to drop you in it, too.

  “I get it. Call me tomorrow.”

  Another emphatic hug and Amy was out the door, watching her step as she made her way to the mommy-van. Mike was parked across the street. She saw his shades turn her way and he sketched her a casual salute. She was still annoyed with him for tattling on her about the Audi, but she smiled anyhow. He was a good kid, despite his chosen profession. And maybe he didn’t think he had a lot of choices.

  She led their little procession right to her driveway, and Mike peeled off with a hit to his horn as she pulled into the garage. Olsen was nowhere in sight so she figured he’d be inside the house.

  He was waiting for her in the shadows of the garage, hidden in the corner, and Amy, her head elsewhere, tired and wanting to rest her back, didn’t see him until she exited the car, locking the door behind her, giving herself no options. She actually smelled him, and felt him before she saw him. The stench of stale nicotine and second-hand smoke permeated her nostrils, the bruising grip of his hand on her biceps telegraphing nefarious intent. Adrenaline kicked in and her brain went into overdrive, searching for a way out. The overhead door rattled to a close, sealing them inside together.

  Turning, she squinted at Olsen. What the hell was he doing skulking in the garage? She’d told Dean the man was like a weasel.

  Pushing her hard against the side of the van, foul breath fanning past her ear, Olsen spoke quietly, the determination in his voice unmistakable. “You fight me and I’ll hurt you, no contest, bitch. Mess you up. He told me to get you there, not the condition to deliver you in.”

  Overcoming the shock of her bodyguard being one of the bad guys, Amy didn’t believe his threats. Olsen was taking reasonable care. He could have punched her, knocked her out. Whatever was planned for her wasn’t going to be at the hands of this pathetic excuse for a man. She could feel his erection pressing up against her and that scared her more than anything. He’d fuck her if he thought he could get away with it. Gone were the days when she could endure such a thing and somehow move on. She wanted one man only, forever

  “I won’t fight you.” Did he know Dean’s secret? Her blood ran cold within her veins, her heart fighting to pump the suddenly sluggish fluid. She wasn’t worth much as a bargaining chip if Olsen’s boss knew—no one would side with Dean if they found out he wasn’t really a criminal, except maybe Randy, and he had a wife to consider. She decided not to believe the worst.

  Her purse was yanked from her unresisting hand and she heard the rattle of keys as he withdrew them. The bag sailed into the far corner of the garage, her phone inside. Olsen pulled her arm forward, adjusting his grip, bruising her again, and slammed the keys on the roof of the van in order to take hold of her other arm. Handcuffs closed around either wrist. Amy pressed her hands against her abdomen in an involuntary gesture.

  Olsen sneered at her, his yellowing teeth like a feral animal’s in the gloom. He gestured to her swollen belly. “Carrying his brat. Too bad.”

  And her heart turned to ice.

  Stabbing the keys into the lock, Olsen wrestled the side door open, racheting it back on its hinges. He shoved her inside. She fell sideways across the seat, pulling in her legs to check her forward motion as Olsen slammed shut the door.

  Never get in the vehicle…

  Squirming into a sitting position, she heard the child proof locks engage and winced at the irony. A mommy-van, complete with safety locks and attachments for car seats, room for lots of baby paraphernalia, and a dog. The inane thoughts tumbled through her head but couldn’t totally distract her from her plight. Tears pricked and her nose drew up. Amy fought it back and tried to think, prepare for anything. Olsen hit the remote and the garage door creaked upward. She prayed for it to take a huge amount of time. Maybe someone in the complex would be coming home, or going, and see Olsen driving her van, her behind him. That wouldn’t look right, even though they’d know Olsen was supposed to be watching her back.

  The vehicle shot backwards, tires chirping on the concrete, and he executed a quick three point turn to screech off towards the freeway. She caught a glimpse of a green jeep veering toward the sidewalk before the other car was past and they were speeding away from all hope of an immediate rescue. She sucked in deep breaths and struggled against the nausea of despair, fear for her baby and for Dean.

  ****

  Pulling his fist from the hole he’d punched in the sheetrock, Dean contemplated his split and bleeding knuckles, pulling the beast back inside, getting his temper under control. When he turned to face Randy and Enrico, he knew none of his terror showed, drawing hard on past experience not to give a hint of anything other than competence. How long he could maintain his game face was anyone’s guess.

  He was tormented by visions of Amy being brutalized, assaulted and held in a dank, filthy room somewhere, or bound and tossed into the trunk of a car. Cold sweat pooled at the base of his spine as he thought of their baby, defenceless as its mother was subjected to what was meant for him. He was going to rip Olsen’s throat out.

  “So it’s been Olsen all along.” Cold and efficient, the machine he could be when necessary, he slipped into the role of crime boss. It took everything he had to remain calm, but finding Amy depended upon marshalling all of his talents, and losing it now wouldn’t help her.

  Randy nodded. “It makes sense now. Always the hanger on, making himself available, doing all the scut work. Never missing an opportunity to ingratiate. I ran another, deeper background check and his wife’s step-father’s name is Burnett. He never adopted her, so it didn’t show up earlier. Fuck.”

  Dean gestured, his injured right hand vaguely aching.

  Enrico abruptly turned and left the room, his cell at his ear.

  “Water under the bridge.” Dean lowered his voice. “What’s your take on Burnett knowing it all?”

  “Who knows but you and me and Amy? You think your handler would…”

  “No. He doesn’t even keep a file, nothing. He emails from a library or internet café, never the same place twice, and it’s nothing anyone would read anyhow. Hits my spam folder.” Dean didn’t share how he conveyed the information back. Randy didn’t need to know because it wouldn’t change anything. It wasn’t like his second in command could call for reinforcements if Dean went down. There was a price to pay for being so incognito.

  “Then you got your answer. He took her to force you out, trade her for the business.” Dean fucking well hoped that was it. Teaching him a lesson, or even taking revenge on him were the other options—and neither bore thinking about.

  Enrico came back into the room, carrying a first aid kit. Dean took a seat on the couch and allowed the young man to clean his hand, slap a bandage on the wo
rst of the cuts. He nodded his thanks—no point in bleeding all over the office. The mundane would offset the adrenaline and let him think.

  “I have called Sandra. I wish her to be safe. She will stay at the hospital. She is very upset and will want to know the news.” Enrico’s English became more stilted under pressure.

  Dean doubted Amy’s friend was in any danger, but who knew how Burnett’s mind worked? He nodded. “You can keep her informed, ’Rico. Tell the rest of the crew to button up their women. You too, Randy. Have them go visit their mothers or something. And then set up a place to meet. Not here.”

  Striding into the den, he opened a cupboard set into the wall. The gun safe combination was stored nowhere but in his brain and he had the safe open and his favorite weapons out in a few smooth moves. Then he took the time to send his handler an email, taking the chance, the circumstances warranting the breach of protocol. It was the only time he’d spare to alert the man, because for Dean, shadow man was no longer the priority.

  If Enrico hadn’t seen the van, Olsen driving and nearly sideswiping him, they might never have known who had taken her, or maybe even that she had been taken. He would have worked himself up into a lather because she was late, probably never checking the surveillance tapes. At least not right away. A bout of uncontrollable shivering overtook him and he fumbled for the back of the chair, using the support to stay on his feet. Amy.

  With a monumental effort, he composed himself, drywashing his face and pushing his abject terror away yet again. Dean headed back to the living room. Randy was still on his phone, Enrico shutting his.

  “We have reached everyone, boss. And we set the meet at Grand Masters. Burnett will never think we’d use a legitimate business.”

  The complex was now eerily silent, and he knew the other men had moved their women, or shouted out to them, and then had scattered. Dean had faith they would make their way to Masters without being tailed. Mike was going to be in the fallback position, the most vulnerable one. Dean knew the other man had turned Amy over as per the usual procedure but everyone wondered if Mike could have headed this off, if he’d only gone inside the garage with Amy… But Dean could accept it would have only forced Olsen to either act out against Mike and put Amy in the line of fire, literally, or just caused Olsen to take a few more minutes to make his play. And then, Enrico wouldn’t have seen the kidnapping. Mike wanted to make amends though, so took fallback, and Dean allowed it.