I Broke Into His Office (Love at First Crime Book 4)

by Jessica Frances

  I also stopped drinking early, not wanting to have another hangover anytime soon. However, I have maintained a happy buzz from a great night with new friends. New friends, Harvey’s friends, who welcomed me, including Teagan, who seemed to accept my presence tonight.

  Things with Harvey are easy. We seem to fit together like we have known each other for years. Given the way he acts with my mom, I know there are no issues there.

  What does this mean?

  I smile as I think about our night, plus what he promised for later. It’s the first day of a new year, so we have to start it right.

  I glance to my side as we cross a quiet intersection, noticing a fast-approaching car that doesn’t appear to be slowing down. Their headlights aren’t on, and I don’t think Harvey has noticed as he slows us down to make the necessary turn.

  “Oh, shit!” I gasp, while Declan honks at us in warning from behind.

  Harvey slams on the accelerator to get us out of the way, but he’s not fast enough.

  The back passenger side takes a beating, forcing us to spin wildly. My body slams against the door while my chest aches as the seatbelt stops me from lurching too far forward. By the time we come to a stop, I’m dizzy, confused, and feel ill.

  I glance over at Harvey to find his head slumped forward, the window cracked, and if I were a betting man, I would say he knocked his head harshly against it.

  “Harvey?” I groan, my head spinning when I try to lean over toward him.

  I feel a faint pulse when I touch his neck, but I’m shaking hard enough that I wonder if I’m wrong about that.

  “Are you guys okay?” Sasha screeches from my side, trying to get my door open but failing. She’s soaked, and I belatedly notice the rain outside.

  “Harvey,” I groan, moving my hands to my seatbelt where it takes me a few tries to get it released.

  I see movement at Harvey’s door and find Declan there, prying his door open.

  Mine still won’t budge.

  “I’m calling for an ambulance,” Sasha cries out, racing back to their car behind us.

  The beat-up car that hit us is crumbled at the front from the collision and has stopped a few feet away from us. Other than parked cars, there is no one else around, and no one has yet come out to investigate the noise of our crash.

  I glance back at Harvey, my heart squeezing from seeing him so still. I try again for a pulse, my shaky hands still not giving me a definite answer.

  “Harvey?” I call out, wanting to shake him, yet afraid that will cause more damage. “Is he okay?” I ask Declan, who is assessing Harvey for injuries.

  “He’s breathing, got a nasty gash over his forehead. He’s unconscious, but I’m sure he’s okay. I’m not going to move him just in case.” He sounds somewhat confident, but I’m still worried.

  “What the hell happened?” I murmur, asking the dumbest question in history.

  A car hit us. Duh, dumbass.

  “No idea. We weren’t far behind you. Never saw that fucking car coming until it was too late,” he growls, holding his fingers to Harvey’s wrist.

  “They didn’t have their headlights on,” I reply distractedly. “You feel anything?” I hold my breath, waiting for an answer I’m not sure I want to hear.

  “It’s steady,” he mutters, his eyes moving over to me now. “How are you? Anything bad?” he asks, assessing me in the limited lighting.

  “I’m okay. My neck is sore and I want to throw up, but nothing broken,” I assure him, not actually doing much of a check over myself before I state this. I would know if anything was broken by now. I feel pain, but not broken bones pain.

  Declan seems satisfied with my answer, his eyes now shifting to the car. I get the feeling he’s checking for any other issues, like fuel line damage or something else that can possibly go wrong.

  I can’t believe this happened. I swear, we are never allowed a break. Why I do even expect anything different? I have clearly entered a stage in my life where, if something can go wrong, it will.

  Needing to get out of the car, though it’s raining and wet outside, I assess my own injuries properly. My head is sore, and I taste blood in my mouth, but since my tongue aches that probably means I bit it. Then I lift each arm, feeling achy but not in any serious pain. Next, I shift my legs. Nothing is trapped or hurting. I think my initial assessment is correct.

  What do you know? Maybe something hasn’t gone completely wrong for me.

  My eyes shift back to Harvey, my worry for him intensifying.

  This may not have been anything but a bad accident, but I swear, if anything happens to him, I am going to lose my shit.

  I try my door again, finding it still immoveable, so I crawl into the back seat and open the side door behind Harvey. My neck protests the exit, as well as my chest, which feels like an elephant is sitting on it. When I stand outside the car, my legs hold me. I consider that an accomplishment.

  My eyes are drawn back to the car that hit us, and I realize no one has moved from it. Are they okay? It can’t be a good sign that it’s so quiet.

  I stumble a little when I attempt to walk and have to use the car to steady myself while the dizzy spell slowly dissipates.

  “What are you doing?” Declan asks distractedly, his attention back on Harvey.

  “We should check on the other person,” I say, assuming this is likely a drunk driver incident. That must be a too common occurrence over New Year’s.

  “Be careful,” Declan demands, his attention staying on Harvey, who I think is making some noises.

  He’s awake!

  I sigh in relief, feeling much better.

  Harvey is going to be okay. He has to be.

  I make my way around to my side where I find the door is dented inward. While the hit was mostly to the back, a bit of my door is warped and clearly jammed shut.

  Shit, we were lucky.

  I glance back over to the other car and worry I won’t find anyone alive. Do I want to have that image with me? What if they are alive and in need of help?

  Warring with myself, I know the right thing to do is check the other driver, no matter how wet I’m getting from standing outside, or how much my chest protests.

  I push off Harvey’s car, glancing at Sasha. She is waving her arm around dramatically, speedily talking on her phone from the front seat of Declan’s car, which is lit up from the interior light.

  Declan is still crouched down by Harvey and looks to be checking his limbs for additional injuries.

  Everything feels surreal as I carefully make my way over to the other car.

  When I poke my head inside, I don’t find anyone.

  The car is empty.

  I glance around myself, half-expecting to see a body slumped on the ground, but there is only glass around my feet.

  What happened to the driver?

  I turn back, about to shout to the others what I discovered, or didn’t discover in this case, when someone grabs me from behind, covering my mouth with a foul-smelling cloth. I don’t react in time to do much else but flail.

  My body locks tight, and it isn’t until I’m being dragged down to the ground that I try to genuinely fight back. By then, my limbs feel like jelly.

  The cloth stays over my mouth as I struggle to breathe in through my nose.

  What is happening?

  Once I feel completely numb, two blobs lift my body. The cloth is left just resting over my mouth. I can tell we are moving by the way the street lamps sway above me.

  I turn my face, feeling the cloth fall away, but when I open my mouth to cry out and alert the others to what is happening, I can’t manage a sound. Black spots cover my vision. I feel fuzzy.

  I can’t even manage to feel panic before blackness swallows me whole.

  Chapter 19

  I wake up confused, disorientated, and soon angry when I find my arms and wrists tied up tightly and painfully behind me. I feel the watch Harvey gave me pressing into my skin, but I can’t do anything about it.
The tightness causes my shoulders to ache and makes me speculate just how long I have been here. Where the hell am I, anyway?

  I glance around the softly lit room, but nothing looks familiar. I’m not back at my apartment, or Harvey’s, and though the most obvious reasoning would be kidnapped by my father’s men, I’m not in my childhood home.

  I’m lying on my side, on a mattress, in a room sparsely decorated. Apart from a set of drawers, a lamp, and some generic curtains, there is nothing in here.

  I roll around, trying to get the blood flowing back to my side, but all it does is leave me stuck on my front. It takes several more tries to swing to my side, and I’m out of breath and in a lot more pain when I finally manage it.

  Breathing heavily, I glance down at my sweater, relieved to find I’m at least still dressed the same as I was when I was grabbed.

  How long ago was that? Is Harvey okay? Did anything happen to him, Declan, or Sasha after I was taken?

  The door being opened stops me from delving too deeply into these fears.

  I lift my head, my neck immediately protesting, to see a man I have come to loathe as much as my father enter the room. Is it even surprising he’s the one behind this?

  “You’re awake, good,” Donny happily states, as though me being bound and left in here after I was kidnapped is not at all concerning.

  I close my eyes and try to calm my breathing, shifting my neck to a position that doesn’t hurt so much. When I hear the door close and lock, though, I tense back up immediately. That doesn’t seem like a good development.

  “You seem anxious,” Donny states dumbly. He sits on the bed beside me and strokes my hair, grating his nails over my skin. “Don’t worry; I’m not here to have my wicked way with you.” He laughs awkwardly, making me think he’s at least considered it.

  “Then why the fuck am I here?” I growl, my mouth dry enough that I immediately begin coughing, which hurts my neck a hell of a lot.

  “Because I was sick of you being around that asshole. I don’t like the influence he has over you,” Donny calmly explains, bringing a glass of water to my eye line. I never even noticed he had it.

  I’m tempted to ignore it, but I really am thirsty, and who knows when I will be offered more again. Donny is a murderer; I’m certain withholding water won’t be a struggle for him.

  I sit up, my skin crawling when Donny helps me. I hate how needy I am when he has to hold the glass to my mouth. It almost feels intimate having him do this, but I gulp down the offered water. When I’m done, I shift away from him when he tries to wipe away a dribble of water on my chin.

  Donny sighs like I’m being a child, but he thankfully leans back, placing the empty glass on top of the drawers.

  “What the fuck is going on?” I demand, my voice a little clearer this time.

  “Your father requested you be brought here.”

  My eyes narrow on him. “My father’s in jail.”

  “Not anymore.” There is a curl to his lips, a smile almost breaking out.

  Donny is happy. That’s never a good thing.

  “What do you mean he’s not in jail anymore?”

  “Those meetings you went to, and the ones you missed”—he glares at me, clearly not liking the reminder that I disobeyed—“were about making that happen.”

  “That isn’t possible,” I deny, unsure who I’m more afraid of: Donny or my dad.

  “He had some inside help, of course. A guard who owed us a debt, a judge who needed photos kept quiet, a man who was able to gain us access to police uniforms and steal us a police cruiser. And not to forget, the carnage currently occupying police around the city.”

  “You did all that just to get my dad out of jail? He will be a wanted man. He’ll never be able to show his face in public again,” I snap, furious that this is happening.

  This can’t be happening. I thought it a possibility, but I never seriously considered it happening.

  “I know, which is why he’s naming me his successor. He’ll run things from here, and I’ll be the public face.”

  “Run things from where? Where are we?” I sound shrill, but I can’t help it. How does this even happen in the real world? I’m having the most tripped out nightmare ever, right?

  “He knew years ago that this could be a possibility, so we hired a crew to build a house special for him.”

  “This is crazy. This can’t possibly work. And you can’t seriously be thinking about doing this, about taking over. You still have time to change your life, Donny. Do something different, something good,” I plead, knowing my words are falling on deaf ears.

  “Why?” He shakes his head, a grin touching his lips now. “This is what I have been working toward my entire life, and we can be together now.”

  “Huh?” His words pull me up short, their meaning not making any sense.

  “I know you thought you couldn’t be part of this world because you’re gay, but I love you, Nix. We can do this together. I’m their leader now. No one is going to hurt you.” He caresses a finger down my cheek.

  I pull away, not that I can move far since my back hits the pillows and I’m trapped.

  This cannot be happening.

  “I know you’re scared,” he whispers gently, shifting over until we are almost touching. “And this is all very new for you. I’m not going to rush things between us. We have our whole lives ahead of us now.”

  “You can’t expect me to stay here with you. You have me tied up! Is that how it’s always going to be?” I shout, not caring for his soft tone.

  “I’ll admit, seeing you like this, well …” He drifts off, biting his bottom lip as his eyes roam over my body. “I like it. We’ll definitely play with you in this position another time. For now, it’s just a precaution.”

  My lips curl in disgust. Can he hear himself?

  “Donny, I have to leave. I don’t belong here.”

  “You do. This is your birthright, and when your father hands the reigns over to me, you will reclaim what is yours.”

  “I don’t want any of this. I am just a simple man who owns a restaurant,” I tell him, not that I have a restaurant right now.

  “And I promise to fix that. My anger got the better of me, I’m sorry. You forgive me, right?”

  My honest answer is no, but I’m not sure what my best play is here. Play the long game and hope to escape? Antagonize him and perhaps force him to keep me locked up longer? Or worse, kill me in a fit of anger?

  “I’ll earn your forgiveness, I promise,” he says, giving up on waiting for me to figure out my answer. He then leans close enough that I feel his breath over my face before he kisses my forehead.

  The kiss burns my skin. I want to wipe if off immediately, feeling as though it’s tainting my skin, but I can’t.

  My mind is spinning. What am I supposed to do? Does anyone know where I am? Is help coming? Or, do I need to forget about waiting around to be rescued and think about making the right choices for myself now?

  I need to start being smart here. Perhaps fooling Donny is what I must do. How far am I willing to go to do this?

  A pounding at the door startles me. Good or bad, it means I don’t act on anything with Donny … yet.

  “He’s ready,” a man shouts.

  Donny immediately stands, straightening himself up before he reaches out and helps me to my feet. Then I stumble with him out the door and along a corridor, watching as an armed man follows behind us.

  In my struggle to walk properly, I see a gun tucked into Donny’s back. I am probably destined to be surrounded by those things, at least for the next short while.

  As we walk down a large, grand staircase, I concentrate on not falling. It’s strange not to have my arms free and the safety net of them breaking my fall if I trip.

  Once we make it down the stairs, there is a huge open foyer. I assume we are in a mansion.

  Are we still in Chicago?

  Standing by the large, front door is a man eyeing us nervously, his gaze s
tuck on me as he takes in my restrained arms. Then his eyes widen at whatever state my face is in.

  He’s in jeans and a puffer vest, with a long-sleeved shirt underneath. He looks big and rough. Maybe one of my father’s enforcers? Not that he’s dressed for the part.

  Why does he look so alarmed to see me? Is it because of the state I’m in? If he is friendly with my father, then my being in this state should be no surprise to him. Besides, he’s probably seen worse.

  “Mr. O’Neal, what’s going on?” His gruff voice echoes around us. “I just want my money, and then I’m out of here. I got a family waiting for me at home.”

  “The boss just wants to thank you in person,” Donny assures him, moving us farther into the hallway and positioning himself close to me.

  “How long he gonna be? ’Cause I need to leave soon.” He glances down at his watch before his eyes drift back over to me. “I’m not into whatever is going on here. I don’t got nothing to do with that.”

  “Don’t worry about Nix here.” Donny squeezes my shoulder. “He’s fine.”

  “I just want my money, please. I gotta pay my guys, and then we’re leaving. The wife, kids, and me—we’re leaving.” He sounds desperate as panic seeps into his tone.

  “Actually,” my father’s voice travels over us, and I turn toward the other side of the room, watching as he confidently and freely places himself in the center of the room, his eyes flickering over me before he moves his gaze to the quivering man by the door.

  I have only laid eyes on my father once in several years. It was dark when he came to my restaurant, but I can still tell the recent drama has aged him.

  He is favoring his left leg, not that he’s not trying to hide it, and his clothes hang off him a little looser than normal. Dad has always had his clothes tailor-fitted. In fact, I have never seen him wear something that wasn’t made to fit perfectly. Therefore, seeing him in a suit easily a size too big is weird. It makes him look almost fragile when my father has always been imposing, his presence felt by all whenever he enters a room. Now he looks worn and tired. Maybe it’s because he only recently escaped jail and whatever else that entailed. Or maybe he’s just getting old.