by Tasha Fawkes
Forced to Love
Blackmailing the Billionaire Series
Tasha Fawkes
Safira Press
Contents
Free Book
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Tasha Fawkes & M. S. Parker
Tagged Heart
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue
By Tasha Fawkes
Played
Prologue
1. Sarah
2. Joel
3. Sarah
4. Joel
5. Sarah
6. Joel
7. Sarah
8. Joel
9. Sarah
10. Joel
11. Sarah
12. Joel
13. Sarah
14. Joel
15. Sarah
16. Joel
17. Sarah
18. Joel
19. Sarah
20. Joel
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About Tasha Fawkes
Copyright © 2018 by Tasha Fawkes
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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One
Charlene
I’ve never felt more alone than I do right now.
I glance up at the sky and study the angry gray clouds, willing the rain to hold off for just a few more minutes. Of course it doesn’t, and as the rain begins to fall, I sink to the ground and do the only thing I can do. Laugh.
“How could you leave me, Daddy?” I mutter, a surge of anger rushing through me.
I stare at the gravestone, memorizing the way his name is etched into the concrete. Dead flowers lay at the base, the same ones I came with last week when I made the trip over here. I feel bad for not bringing more, but flowers cost money, which is a luxury I don’t have right now. Even with my new job, I can’t afford to spend any more than I need to.
If I close my eyes and concentrate really hard, I can still remember the way his eyes sparkled when he laughed. I smile wistfully. His sense of humor was one of the things I loved most about him, and that was with him till the very end. What am I going to do without him?
It’s been nearly six months since he died, but it feels like only yesterday I sat next to his bed, holding his hand as he breathed his last breath. I thought it would get easier, that the pain would subside, but it hasn't. If anything, it feels stronger now, because once the grief began to lift, I understood just how alone I really was.
My father and I didn't always get along. In fact, there were times when I downright resented him for making our lives take the course they did. After my mother died, my father decided we needed a change. It would do us both good, he said. We were stuck in a small town where there were too many bad memories.
My mother's parents—my own grandparents—threatened to cut me out of their lives if he went through with his decision to move. So he left it up to me. I could stay with them, or leave with him. It was my choice. I was ten and I had just lost my mother. I wasn’t about to lose my father too, so the decision was easy.
“Think carefully about this, Char,” Dad said, his voice soft. “I can’t stay here, but you… It’s not too late for you to have a life full of opportunities and hope. Like your mother did before she met me.”
I frown, hating the way he made himself out to be my mother’s downfall. She’d do the same thing over again, given the chance, if it meant she got to be with him.
“I’m going with you.” I frowned. I couldn’t stand the thought of living here and listening to them talk about my father the way they did. You’d think he killed my mother, instead of the cancer. They spoke like not moving would’ve made all the difference, but really, what would it have changed? She would’ve still died, and they would’ve still resented my father, and me for being a part of him.
I didn’t understand the repercussions that decision would have on my life, because even now, years later, my grandparents still refuse to have anything to do with me. They didn't even come to his funeral. In fact, the only person who bothered to turn up was my best friend, Margie. I’ll never forgive them for turning their backs on me. I don't care what you've been through in the past, or how complicated things are, it just feels so wrong not to be there when someone really needs you. Especially family.
Regardless of everything we'd been through, I know my father only wanted what was best for me. He loved me, and I never doubted that. Sometimes he struggled to show that, but in the last few weeks of his life, we grew close. He opened up to me more than he ever had before. I learned more about my father in those final days than I had my entire life. I could see the pain in his eyes when he spoke about his past. He was a boy from the wrong side of town who fell for a girl who had everything. That same girl gave up her life to be with him.
The diagnosis, and just knowing that he was going to die, had obviously had an effect on him. It had one on me too, but while he opened up and let me in, I pushed him away and refused to think about how my life was going to change when he died. Maybe that was selfish, but I couldn’t face losing him. I’m not even sure I can face it now, even though I don’t really have a choice.
Shivering, I touch my shirt, which is now soaked through. I glance up at the sky and frown. The rain doesn’t look like it’s going to slow down anytime soon. I run my hand down over my arm, trying to warm myself up. I wish I’d brought my jacket.
Sighing, I wipe my eyes, not sure if the moisture is the rain, my tears, or both. I don't know what to do. I don't know where to go. I feel like I’ve got no one to turn to. What is the point of doing all of this when everything I love, everything I have, eventually leaves me?
I’ve been sleeping on Margie's couch since he died, because I couldn't stand the thought of going back to my crappy little apartment, which only emphasizes how alone I am without him. I have nothing left, but a lifetime of memories. It doesn’t really matter anyway, because I’m that far behind on rent that the landlord must be close to kicking me out, even though I’ve promised him it will all be fixed up by this week. All of my stuff is probably outside on the street, being scavenged by our neighbors to fund their drinking or their drug addictions.
At least I have this new job. It’s so new that I don’t want to jinx it, but getting the call two weeks ago that I’d been successful made me so happy. Then I remembered how depressing the rest of my life was. But, it was a good job w
ith a great company and it paid the rent—at least it would, once my first paycheck came in this week.
I get to my feet and take a deep breath, summoning up the courage to walk away. Even now, leaving his grave, I feel like letting him down. It's ridiculous, I know, but I can’t shake it. Making my way to the bus stop, I wrap my arms around my waist to warm myself up. I used the last of my money to come here. I just hope the change in my pocket is enough to get me home. I nearly laugh.
As if I know what a home is.
As I stand under a small wooden bus shelter, waiting for it to arrive, I curse my car for deciding not to run again today. I spy two men out of the corner of my eye, watching me. At first, I think I’m imagining it. I’m just being paranoid. Years of living in a bad neighborhood is bringing out the skepticism in me. I stiffen, my heart racing as they continue to stare at me. There’s no way I’m imagining this.
I swallow and busy myself with my phone, pretending to be texting someone. With any luck, it will be enough to scare them off. I'm literally clutching onto my phone as I type in numbers 911, ready to call for help if I need it. I jump at the sound of sticks and leaves crackling under their feet as they walk toward me. My heart races. Shit. What am I supposed to do now?
“Ms. Chambers?”
I look up in shock. How do they know my name? I can barely breathe, I’m so scared.
“Yes?” I reply, my heart pounding.
The bigger one is addressing me, and I hold his gaze, even though I’m dying inside. He’s taller, older, and clearly more in charge than the younger one, who keeps glancing around nervously. They both wear expensive suits and dark sunglasses, which is funny considering how gloomy the day is. I look around too. For witnesses. Someone to come forward and tell my side of the story in case I end up buried in a shallow grave somewhere.
“I know this probably isn't the best time or place…” He gives me a sympathetic smile and glances down at his expensive looking shoes. “But we need to talk about your father's debt.”
My stomach churns, a shiver racing through me. What is he talking about? The only debts my father had were his medical bills. We lived minimally, making things stretch as far as they could. The idea that he was mixed up in something… I shake my head. It’s ridiculous.
“What are you talking about?” I ask, angry. “I think you've got my father confused with someone else.” He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Ms. Chambers. This isn’t a misunderstanding. My boss is very invested in recovering what your father owes him.”
“Your boss?” I say with a frown. “How much does my father owe him?” I say.
“Forty thousand dollars?” My eyes widen.
“Are you kidding me? I don’t have that kind of money.”
The younger one scowls and takes a step forward. He speaks for the first time, his voice harsh and direct. I get the feeling that he’s impatient and reckless, someone I probably don’t want to piss off.
“Do we look like we’re kidding?” he snarls. His counterpart shoots him a glare, before turning his attention back to me.
“I know this is a shock, Ms Chambers. We’re not here to collect. Our boss is a very understanding man,” he soothes. “He’s willing to work with you to come to some kind of arrangement to paying off your debt.”
“My debt?” I whisper. I clench my hands into fists to cover up how much I’m shaking.
“Since your father….” He presses his lips together and shrugs. “Yes. Your debt.”
I'm on the verge of tears, but I blink them away, refusing to cry in front of these two thugs. The older one reaches out and touches my shoulder. I jump back, and his expression hardens.
“What is your number?” he asks.
“My number?” I repeat, confused.
He nods at my phone. “So my boss can contact you to arrange payment.” In a daze, I reel off my phone number. It’s like I'm on autopilot. He nods and punches the digits into his phone. I jump when my phone rings and glance down at it. He almost looks embarrassed as I glance at him questionably. “I had to make sure it was right.”
“Because you think I’d give you a fake number?” I ask.
He shrugs. “It wouldn't be the first time it’s happened.” He nods and shoves his phone back into his pocket. “Thank you, Ms. Chambers. We’ll be in touch.”
I watch them walk away, the sick feeling in my stomach growing, because I still can't figure any of this out. Exactly what was my father involved in? Gambling? Drugs? Either of those made no sense. The closest he ever got to gambling was sitting in front of the television, watching football. And drugs? God, he was so against me ever getting mixed up in that scene that I can't imagine it was something he'd been involved in himself.
The bus slows to a stop, the rain puddle sloshing against the curve. The horn startles me as he impatiently waves me toward the bus. I rush over and climb aboard. Fishing through my pockets, I count the change I have. Fourteen dollars. Just enough to get me home and to scrounge by on until that paycheck.
I drop the fee into the bucket and tuck my chin into my chest, taking the first seat available. It’s mainly to avoid engaging in any further conversation. As I close my eyes, the tears begin to gently roll down my cheeks. Today I hit my lowest point. This morning I woke up, and I thought things couldn’t get any worse.
Apparently, I was wrong.
Two
Matt
“For he’s a jolly good fell-ow…”
I stifle a yawn by lifting my glass to my lips and taking a sip of my champagne. If I have to listen to another second of this off-key singing, celebrating a birthday I didn’t really want to even acknowledge in the first place, I’m going to go insane.
My brother, Nate, shoots me a look that clearly tells me to pull my head in, but I roll my eyes because I don’t care about any of this. I’m not even bothered that I’m drinking before he’s done with his stupid toast. It’s not like his words will actually mean anything anyway. It’s all just for show, right? If there is one thing my family does well it’s put on a united front, because you don’t show the enemy that you’re in trouble, under any circumstance.
As the singing comes to an end, Nate picks up a spoon and gently taps it against the side of his glass. He smiles fondly at me. I frown at him, wishing he’d just cut the bullshit. He walks over to me and wraps his arm around my shoulder, but his gesture is stiff and forced. That smile though, hell I almost believed it.
To an outsider, we’d look like two close brothers, sharing a moment. Nate might have all of them fooled, but I see right through his fake exterior and into the frustration and anger that is hiding in his eyes. Frustration and anger that is directed at me.
“Firstly, I want to thank you all for taking the time to come down here and celebrate my big brother’s birthday,” Nate begins. “It means a lot to him—and to us—to have you all here.”
I glance around at the sea of happy faces and frown. I could count on one hand how many of these people I actually wanted to share my birthday with. Or share anything with, for that matter. Most of them, I didn’t even know their names. They were faces in a sea of people who worked for my company.
The second he finishes his toast, I down the rest of my drink then place the empty flute on the tray of a passing waitress. I wink at her, and she flushes. I tuck a business card into the band of her skirt, telling her to call me. Nate glares at me, which makes me chuckle.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he mutters, low enough for only me to hear.
“What does it look like? Fulfilling my duty and finding myself a wife,” I reply with a scowl.
I make some excuse about needing to get back to work and saunter away from him. What I really need is something stronger than champagne to forget the fact that I’m twenty-nine, and this is the last birthday before I turn thirty. Because we all know what that means.
I smile politely as I squeeze past my staff and make my way over to the elevator. I press the button and wait impatiently, continuing to sm
ile and forcing myself to participate in small talk with those game enough to attempt it.
Finally, the door opens and I walk inside, closing the doors before anyone can join me. I shake my head and laugh. Two hundred staff forced to stand on the roof of my building, enjoying Boston’s finest views, to celebrate my birthday.
If only they knew the true meaning of today and how little it called for celebration.
Sighing, I stalk into my office and slam the door shut. I flick on the light and remove my jacket, loosening my tie as I pour myself a stiff drink. Whiskey, straight up. No ice. It’s the only way I’m going to get through the rest of the night, and I’m going to need a lot of it.
Collapsing back into my seat, I swivel my chair around to face the window and stare out over the Boston Skyline. My feet rest on the windowsill as I casually sip my whiskey. I shake the glass, gently rocking the liquid, waiting for it achieve what the champagne didn’t; dulling the anxiety that is slowly building inside me.
