Anywhere
Christin Lovell
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ANYWHERE
Copyright © 2014 by Christin M Lovell
This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.
All characters and storylines are the property of the author and your support and respect is appreciated. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
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ANYWHERE
Plus size Aeren Haverwood is pushing thirty, yet she doesn’t know what she wants to do with her life. She’s still figuring it all out. The only thing she’s certain of is that she loves the man who’s been her inconsistent constant the last five years of her life.
Since the day Rahmi Çevik met Aeren, he’s made it his mission to protect her from the truth that haunts him. Sometimes, though, the best of intentions aren’t enough to keep your loved ones safe; he knew that first hand long before he met Ari. When he discovers his past came looking for him through his present, he realizes the wall he’d put between he and Ari to safe guard her had been useless all along, and his secrets were the very thing keeping her in harms way. It was time he told Ari the truth: that he loves her, that he’s been living a double life, and that he’s a murderer.
Ari never expected to be driven from her home, she never expected to be shot at, and she never expected the man she’d welcomed into her home to have a dangerous side she’d never seen. And therein laid the problem. The Ram she knew was a world away from the man confessing his sins to her.
Will Ari be able to look past Ram’s transgressions? What do you do when your heart belongs to a man you never truly knew?
Lives and hearts are at stake in the newest title from USA Today Bestselling author, Christin Lovell.
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Chapter One
Aeren
The loud thud followed by the sound of wood splitting would haunt me forever.
I gasped, leaping up from the sofa. My heart took off, pounding against my suddenly tight chest. The moment I saw them, fear stiffened my limbs. My mind was racing, but nothing stood out; I was frozen, struggling to breathe, unable to think straight enough to solve the problem before me, namely the four burly men with guns aimed at various parts of me.
“Where is he?” The male closest to me demanded. His Eastern European accent was thick, much like the cords of his forearms. Bushy black hair covered the lower half of his face, obscuring his features a bit; his dark rose lips were mashed together. He emitted power.
I immediately knew who they were asking about, and I was unexpectedly grateful for all his secrecy over the years. “I…I…I don’t know. He…he doesn’t tell me.” I swallowed hard; shocked I hadn’t collapsed yet.
The others seemed to be of the same origin as the dominant one, yet they didn’t speak. They were the order followers, the obedient soldiers.
Proving my point, their leader issued a single word order in an unfamiliar language, and the other three took off deeper into my home.
My knees shook, forcing me to grasp the arm of the sofa. In the distance, I heard furniture, cupboards, drawers and objects crashing about. I had no doubt the men were ransacking my apartment. Even if I knew where Rahmi was, I would never betray him. He was my best friend, my inconsistently constant partner, and I loved him.
The men returned to the living room, issuing a single word reply to their expectant boss.
His eyes blackened the longer he focused on me. I swore my heart stopped beating as he stalked towards me.
Instinctively, shakily, I backed up until my rear hit the unforgiving wall. I pressed my body as close to it as possible, as if I could blend into it, as if it could somehow shield me. Ominously, thunder rumbled outside, warning of the storm rolling in.
I knew my eyes widened as a single large hand closed around my throat, constricting my airway to a pinhole size passage. It wasn’t the fact that I couldn’t breathe or the fact that he had a gun pressing into my side, it was the bone-crushing pressure he applied around my neck.
I wasn’t tiny or dainty by any means, yet he made me feel weak and helpless. I knew better than to fight him. That’s how people got shot. If you rebelled, then they became more aggressive, right?
I couldn’t breathe and I couldn’t think. All I saw was a tall, heaving international male with a gun, an angry sneer and no mercy before me. He was capable of more; that registered. Somehow the nonsensical and the obvious computed in my overwhelmed, oxygen deprived brain.
“We will be watching.” The menace in his tone sent chills chasing down my spine.
Panic slammed through me, knocking the last of my breath away. My head began to pound; the room began to spin. My flesh prickled, as though my physical presence was fading. My vision blurred at the edges, obscuring his features.
The moment he released me, I fell to the floor, panting and wheezing. Pain sliced down my windpipe. Each inhalation hurt, like breathing, moving, with a body covered in bruises. Hazily, I recorded their footsteps retreating, but couldn’t bring myself to check.
Rahmi. I needed to get a hold of Rahmi. I needed to know that he was alright, to warn him, to ensure they didn’t – wouldn’t – get to him.
Shoving my hefty curves up, I used the sofa to hoist myself upright. I felt around the surface area of the couch for my cell phone. My stomach tensed when I couldn’t locate it.
Blinking in rapid succession, adrenaline pumping through me, I looked around the room. I knew the moment I spotted it across the space on the entertainment center that it had been compromised. Either they had bugged it or they had placed a tracker on it or in it. That’s what Michael Westen would assume anyways.
I glanced down at my clothes. It was my day off. I was in my slum-bum clothes, as I had affectionately deemed them, which consisted of comfortable black sweats, hiked up on my calves, and a tight grey tank top. I still wore the same faux diamond stud earrings from yesterday and hadn’t bothered to remove my make-up either. I had taken the time to do a fishtail braid this morning, between Burn Notice re-runs, but I was nothing short of a mess. I didn’t have time to change, though; I didn’t have time to make myself presentable to the world. I had to move.
Thunder rumbled loud overhead, vibrating the walls and sending me into motion. I grabbed my neon yellow running sneakers near the door, ready to go with a pair of no-show grey socks stuffed inside. I had them on in record time. I raced to my room, not the least bit shocked to discover it had been destroyed. Locating my purse, near the other side of the room on the floor, I grabbed it. Thinking ahead, with a tinge of paranoia, I realized that they could have put anything in my purse to track me, knowing a woman typically took her purse wherever she went.
Think, think, think, Aeren.
Rifling through the contents, I pulled what was necessary from my wallet: my driver’s license, my insurance cards, an emergency credit card I’d yet to activate, my car keys and all of my cash. I tossed all else aside and quickly opened my bottom nightstand drawer for my personal documents packet. Most people put all of their important documents in a file cabinet, in a safe or in some other inaccessible location that required they re-pack it in an emergency. Perhaps I had an overactive imagination, but I’d stashed mine inside of a black wristlet, able to be grabbed in a hurry, no matter the emergency.
And this was an emergency.
I shoved everything I needed inside the wristlet, zipped it, and pushed it up my arm. I didn’t know what was going on, the extent of trouble Rahmi w
as in, but I wasn’t about to abandon him. Come hell or high water, I was in this with him.
Chapter Two
Aeren
My front door was barely hanging on its hinges, and could no longer close since the frame had been splintered apart behind their heavy hit. Pulling it gently open, I peered outside, looking up and down the hall for any signs that said my visitors were still lurking. Believing the coast was clear, I sprinted down the way to Mrs. Horace’s apartment and banged on the door.
“Mrs. Horace! It’s me, Aeren. Please open up. It’s an emergency.” I incessantly slapped my knuckles against her door, praying she wasn’t napping. The woman was half deaf without her hearing aids, and had expressed before that she didn’t sleep with them in, afraid either she would damage them or they would damage her.
I was just about to give up when the door swung open.
“What in Pete’s sake is going on out here? I’m trying to watch The Price is Right.”
I shoved past her as gently as possible, careful not to knock the short, pudgy grey haired woman over. “Close it, close it!”
She paused, looking around suspiciously.
Growing impatient, my nerves inching higher with each passing second, I pried her hand off the handle and slammed the door shut, locking every lock on the back of her door before stealing a dining chair and propping it up against it.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Horace. I can’t explain right now, but I need to use your phone, please.”
“Dear heavens, child. You’re shaking like a leaf about to fall from the tree at any second.” She studied me through her glasses, taking in every detail, I was sure. She had a sharp eye when you least expected it. I’d suspected the woman feigned the elderly stereotype on occasion, but never had proof.
“I know. I just- Where’s your phone?” My stomach clenched and chest compressed. I didn’t know whether I was going to vomit or faint first.
Reaching into the pocket of her apron, the one she wore over every housedress she owned, she pulled out the cordless receiver and passed it to me. “Now don’t be dialing long distance. The phone company charges an arm and a leg for those minutes.”
I nibbled my bottom lip. “Whatever they charge, I’ll pay you double.”
She narrowed her gaze on me, considering me for a long moment. “Well, I suppose you’re good for it. If not, I do know where you live.” She grinned lightheartedly, clearly not grasping the severity of the situation. “Now try not to talk too loud. I just love that Drew Carey fellow.”
I expelled an equally horrified and befuddled, “Huh.” The woman was clueless. Maybe it was best that way.
I waited until she made it back to her recliner before dialing Ram’s number. I prayed he answered.
I met Ram while on vacation in Miami one weekend. He claimed he was there for business, but that he always had time for pleasure. His dark features, sexy pout, mouth-watering physique and Turkish accent reeled me in without a line. To my amazement, and probably his too, despite spending nearly every waking hour together that weekend, we didn’t sleep together.
Ram’s kisses curled my toes and had my pussy weeping each time, yet there was this invisible barrier he wouldn’t cross. He claimed he liked me too much, respected me too much, and valued me too much to lose me. He’d said, “Inevitably, Ari, I lose everyone I get close to, and they prefer it that way.”
He never told me who they were. Rahmi didn’t give answers; he gave riddles. He said it was for my own safety. That first weekend, I thought it was part of the game he played with women, but when the sex never came, I began to accept it as truth.
Over the past five years, Rahmi visited me every couple months, or he paid for me to fly to see him for a weekend. Our time together was never long, yet, I learned more and more about the secretive male each time, and fell deeper and deeper in love with him. He didn’t call as often as I liked, but, somehow, anytime I was going through something, he popped up, as though he had a sixth sense for when I needed him.
He was my inconsistent constant; I looked forward to every interaction with him. I craved those moments. Waiting for the next phone call or visit was torture, but the moment I heard his voice, a sense of peace washed over me and I just knew everything would be alright. He always made everything right. He was my addiction, my passion.
I didn’t have goals or ambitions. I had Ram.
My heart sunk, my stomach dropped and my nausea rose, when the phone disconnected without an answer. I quickly redialed the number and, with baited breath, again prayed that he would pick up. Come on, Ram.
Each second that passed without a connection further twisted my insides. I was a mess of knots, of nerves, stress and fret.
The moment I heard his voice, all of my anxiety left in a single exhale.
“Hello?” He sounded rushed; his voice was low, yet still assuring.
“It’s me, Ram.”
“Ari.” My name was a breathless statement. “What is wrong? Talk to me.”
“Four men burst into my apartment.” I swallowed hard, wincing at the lingering pain in my throat. “They were looking for you, Ram. So you talk to me. What have you gotten yourself into?”
I didn’t speak Turkish, and I understood very little beyond aşkım, which meant ‘my love,’ but I knew Ram was cursing like a sailor in his native tongue. Call it instinct, or simply because I knew him well enough after five years.
“Are you hurt?” He seemed to hold his breath, as though my reply would determine everything.
“I…” I sighed, my fingers grazing along my sore neck. “I’m fine.”
There was a pause, like he was debating whether or not to push. “Where are you?” he demanded. This was the man who stepped in and took care of me when my father died; he took charge, did whatever needed to be done, even when it seemed impossible.
“I’m down the hall in Mrs. Horace’s apartment.”
He took a deep breath. “I want you to listen to me, Ari. It is not safe for you there. You are not safe anymore, do you understand me?”
My heart picked up its pace as his words sunk in. I crossed my right arm over my chest, tucking it beneath my left. It was August, still summer technically and still hot outside, yet I was suddenly cold. “I understand.”
The moment the words left my mouth, the sky opened up. Rain beat the roof, echoing two floors down to where I was. Flying downwards at an angle, it slapped against the apartment windows, making the minute sounds impossible to hear.
“There is a house just outside of town. I want you to go there, but you have to be careful. You-” The phone muffled, it sounded as though he pressed it to his chest, perhaps trying to recompose himself.
I knew Ram cared about me. I didn’t know if he loved me, but he deeply cared for me, and I often didn’t understand why.
I wasn’t rich or successful by any stretch. I was a few hours shy of a full time secretary at a real estate office. They’d asked me repeatedly when I was going to get my license, but I always brushed off the inquisition.
Growing up, I changed my mind about my future career at least once a week. Now pushing thirty, I still didn’t know what I wanted to do or be. All I knew was that I was content to simply be a secretary for the moment. I enjoyed the only moderately stressful position, the flexible hours and casual professional dress code. I made enough to pay what I needed; I could barely keep the minimum in my savings account, but I survived.
Miami is a town full of exotic women with bikini bodies on display year round, and I was the plus size woman that laid by the hotel pool in her black one-piece swimsuit with a sarong tied around her waist for further coverage. The most daring part of the entire ensemble was cutouts of sheer black on the sides of the suit that weren’t even visible from every vantage point.
I wasn’t ugly, but I wasn’t the world’s definition of beautiful. I had brown hair, brown eyes and a plethora of pale flesh that didn’t see the sun often enough. My nose was slightly upturned, my top lip was thinner than my b
ottom and I had a small mole to the right of my top lip that did not work for me the way Cindy Crawford’s did.
I was an extra large woman with boobs, butt, thighs, gut, arm flab and every other kind of flab in between. My one saving grace was that my creator decided to distribute my fat as evenly as possible, if a bit bottom heavy. I wasn’t merely a blob of adipose, or so I told myself for comfort.
Hourglass or not, I still wasn’t a size two. I wasn’t even a size twelve, but it didn’t matter to Ram. He treated me better than any man had or probably ever would. He made me feel beautiful, even on my worst days. He assured me I was worthy of his affection; he assured me of many things.
“Ari, those men will be watching you. You will have to sneak past them. Get to your car. Put it in gear and drive. Do not look back. Stop for nothing and stop for no one, not even the police.”
My chest tightened, constricting my rapidly beating heart. It was more serious than I thought if the police couldn’t be trusted.
All I had to go on was Hollywood’s depiction. Flashes of scenes from TV shows and movies crowded my mind, amplifying my distress. What on earth could he have gotten himself into?
“I know you are probably scared, Ari. It makes me sick, but you are right to be. I promise, if you get to the house, you will be safe, and I promise that I will meet you there in two hours.” I could almost picture him looking at his watch. Ram had never broken a promise to me.
He gave me the address of the home along with some directions. Apparently it was tucked away and difficult to find from the main road, which added to its safe guards. “Be careful, aşkım. I will be with you soon.”
I didn’t want to hang up. I wasn’t ready to let him go, to let go of him. So long as he was talking me through, I was confident, somewhat secure in my chances, because he would never steer me wrong. But without him…
Abruptly, I had the urge to tell him all I hadn’t confessed, just in case I didn’t make it, yet it didn’t come out. My lips parted, prepared to deliver the emotional passage, but, rather, I found myself saying, “See you soon, Ram.”
Anywhere (BBW Romance) Page 1
