by SM West
Dedication
Prologue - Tate (5 Years Ago)
Chapter One - Tate (Fall 2013)
Chapter Two - Tate
Chapter Three - Rylan
Chapter Four - Tate (Four Years Ago)
Chapter Five - Tate (Fall 2013)
Chapter Six - Rylan
Chapter Seven - Tate
Chapter Eight - Rylan
Chapter Nine - Tate
Chapter Ten - Tate
Chapter Eleven - Tate
Chapter Twelve - Rylan
Chapter Thirteen - Tate
Chapter Fourteen - Rylan
Chapter Fifteen - Tate
Chapter Sixteen - Rylan
Chapter Seventeen - Rylan
Chapter Eighteen - Tate
Chapter Nineteen - Tate
Chapter Twenty - Tate
Chapter Twenty-One - Rylan
Chapter Twenty-Two - Tate
Chapter Twenty-Three - Rylan
Chapter Twenty-Four - Tate
Chapter Twenty-Five - Rylan
Chapter Twenty-Six - Tate (Four Months Later)
Chapter Twenty-Seven - Rylan (Three Months Later)
Chapter Twenty-Eight - Tate
Chapter Twenty-Nine - Rylan
Epilogue - Tate (Eighteen Months Later - May 2016)
Playlist
Acknowledgements
About The Author
Copyright © 2016 by SM West
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage or retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic, photocopying, mechanical or otherwise, without express permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, story lines and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, events, locales or any events or occurrences are purely coincidental.
Cover Design by Cover Couture
Edited by Editing for You
Interior Design & Formatting by Jersey Girl Design
Red. The color of extremes.
Tate Conrad’s existence is annihilated. Destroyed by two men: one, her hero and the other, her worst nightmare. She has nothing to lose.
Determined to survive, vengeance feeds her. There are no limits, no boundaries, not even death, in seeking liberation.
***
Rylan Wolfe is driven. A stellar FBI agent close to breaking the case of a lifetime. It’s more than career-making, it’s personal. Tate’s the linchpin to it all. They need each other to succeed.
For Tate, is he her salvation or ruin?
Warning: This book contains graphic language, explicit violence and sexual scenes.
Recommended for readers 18+
To my girls for inspiring me to be bold and follow my dreams.
“Red,
the color of extremes.
Of life, love and death.
The crimson birth of life.
The scarlet passion of love.
The fiery fury of violence.
And the rouge hue of your heart’s last beat.”
~ Tate Conrad
“I’M IN LOVE,” I EXCLAIM with a face-cracking grin and ridiculous girly giggle.
Daylight filters through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long sunbeams across the hardwood. The loft seems bigger than the last time we saw it.
This is our place. Ours. Our future looks bright and beautiful. I start working on my masters in a matter of months, Griffin’s band just signed their first record deal, and now, we’re moving into our dream loft. Pinch me. Is this real?
“I know what you mean,” his voice is thick and heavy with promise.
Goosebumps erupt along my skin at the low rumble of his velvety voice. Glancing over my shoulder, his blue-eyes rove my body as he prowls toward me. Upon collision of his solid chest to my back, sparks explode low in my belly with a whoosh as his strong arms wrap around my middle.
“You’re not even looking,” I smirk.
“I don’t need to. I love it because you’re here. I only have eyes for you,” he whispers huskily. “I love you, more and more each day.”
My tummy flutters. Those words will never get old. His breath skates along my neck as his soft lips tenderly kiss behind my ear, with a lick and a nip to the same spot. My thighs rub together in a poor attempt to satiate my growing need. Spinning me to face him, his mouth covers mine, tattooing me with his love.
“I love you too,” I murmur against his lips. My fingers sinking into his silky, longish, blond locks. “I’m so glad we’re doing this.”
“Me too. Let’s christen this place,” he suggests with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
“I like the way you think,” I quip, loving his playful side.
His teeth lightly nibble on my lower lip while his hands cup my bottom, deliciously digging into my flesh. I’m right where I always want to be. In his arms.
With a loud smack, the front door hits the wall. Immediately, we twist our heads in that direction. Four menacing men march in, ripping us apart within a flash. My terrified screams are matched by Griffin’s roars. He’s overpowered before he can react.
“What the fuck?” Griffin bellows, his light eyes now dark midnight. “Get your fucking hands off me. Don’t you fucking touch her.”
Strong arms band my chest. “Let me go,” I screech.
Effortlessly, I’m hoisted over one man’s shoulder while another tapes my mouth. Griffin curses as tape is also placed over his mouth. Who are these guys? What are they going to do with us? How will we get out of this?
In the elevator, no one speaks. The deafening roar of my heartbeat drowns the silence as Griffin and I stare at each other. A multitude of emotions flash through his intense gaze, each grimmer than the one before.
If only I’d known that was the last time he would look at me. The last time I would truly see him.
It’s the small, fleeting moments that rock you to the core. The moments that only register when it’s too late. With time and retrospect, they weigh heavy on your heart, robbing you blind and leaving you cheated, with only the what ifs or if onlys. Till the day I die, I’ll never forget the look in his eyes. All the emotion, concern, strength, determination, and most of all, love, brimming in his baby blues, searing my soul.
Before we exit the elevator, a black hood is placed over his head. Despite the tape over my mouth, I attempt to plea for mercy. My muffled sobs are the only sound echoing through the eerily empty lobby. Not even the doorman is there.
Two black SUVs idle at the curb. I frantically look for someone to yell to for help. It’s a Saturday afternoon in a trendy area of Chicago and not a soul is around. What the hell?
Griffin is hurled into the back of one SUV, a man on either side of him. I’m thrown into the other. My mind’s a ball of confusion. I’m unable to form a coherent thought.
Once in the car, things begin to make sense. Bobby. He kidnapped us. He sits comfortably in the front seat. His smug expression stills my heart and chills me to the bone. He doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t need to. We’re screwed.
Everything goes black as a hood is draped over my head. The darkness suffocates not only my mind, but also my lungs. I can’t breathe. I can’t seem to get enough oxygen. I can’t think. I can’t see a way out of this.
Fear clutches my lungs like eagle talons, piercing and hindering my life force. Closing my eyes, I try to focus. Bobby’s here. I ran. I thought he lost interest. Oh, my God, this is not going to end well.
We finally stop. Again, I’m tossed over someone’s shoulder for a short distance and then roughly deposited on a cold, hard surface. The hood’s yanked from my head, revealing a large, well-lit warehouse. The cement walls and floor are painted black. Crates and boxes are sporadically stacked around the huge cavernous space.
Tearing the tape from my mouth stings, causing me to yelp. Arms tightly bind around my chest with a strong hand clamping my throat, preventing my head from moving. Where’s Griffin? We need to get out of here.
Across the room, Griffin’s still hooded and tied to a chair. I helplessly watch, never taking my eyes off him, as he thrashes in vain. Bobby and my father stand to the side.
My father. Of course, he’s here.
Catching my glare, he strides toward me with a stern, unforgiving look. I haven’t seen him in years and in this moment, I remember why.
“This is about me. Leave him alone. Let him go,” I beg, wetness coating my cheeks.
All eyes are on me. Bobby’s face twists into a vile leer of satisfaction. My father stops in front of me; our noses practically touching. Gripping my jaw ruthlessly, his cold, merciless words are like fists to my gut, “Tate, you better shut up or you’ll be next.”
Thwack.
The loud, devastating sound echoes throughout the warehouse, followed immediately by a muffled scream. Griffin. Oh, my God, what are they doing to him? My father turns to look, giving me full view of the horrific scene unfolding.
Thwack.
Bobby swings a baseball bat through the air, smashing a crumpled and moaning Griffin. He jerks in pain, stifled cries pass through the tape and hood, his blood quickly fills the space on the floor.
“Let him go!” I wail.
Thwack.
“STOP!”
Thwack.
“Oh, my God!”
Thwack.
Bobby savagely strikes at a broken and bloodied Griffin, who is curled in on himself, attempting to shield the blows he’s unable to see coming. Even muted, his agonizing screams pierce my heart.
“STOP!”
Griffin’s hood and tape are both whipped off. My heart breaks at the sight of him. The glaring light temporarily blinds him as he tries to focus.
“Let’s hear pretty boy scream. It makes me hard. For you,” Bobby sneers at me.
“Let…Tate…Go,” Griffin roars, his neck taut and red with strain. He doesn’t glance my way. I’m not even sure if he can see me. “Do what you want to me. I won’t fight, just let her go.”
God, he wants to save me when he’s the one in danger. With each blow, fragments of my heart splinter like his bones. Whimpering, I relentlessly chant stop. Stop. Stop. Stop.
His blond hair is matted, darken by the crimson river of blood streaming down his face. He’s cradling his right arm, protectively. It’s likely broken. Rivulets of tears match my uncontrollably mounting sobs as Griffin takes another crushing blow to his face. His head violently bobbles back and forth.
Deep, dark scarlet blood sprays everywhere. Red is all I see. His life bleeding out of him. My red rage building, boiling, as I helplessly watch his impending demise like an unrelenting, bloody fist squeezing the existence out of a pumping heart. I’ve got to help him. Get them to stop.
My guttural cries fuse with Griffin’s haunting howls. Squeezing my eyes shut, I irrationally will his torture to cease. For a brief moment, the black nothingness is welcomed.
But I force my eyes open. He doesn’t have the luxury of shutting it all out and neither should I. I must look. Witness this. His suffering is my fault. My guilt swallows me. My despair assaults me. There must be a way out.
Amidst my frenzy, I notice the grip around me has slackened. Without thought or hesitation, I lunge at my father. My fingernails, like swords, slash his face. Red bloody streaks seep through his flesh.
Air whooshes out of me as I’m scooped up from behind and slammed against the wall. A big, solid body presses hard into my back, holding me in place.
“Stop fighting or we’ll kill you too,” my father threatens.
In my peripheral vision, a needle nears my neck. Prick. Griffin’s soul-crushing cries and the wallops of the bat are the soundtrack to my final seconds of consciousness. Black spots overrun my vision. Darkness descends.
WITH THE TIGHTENING OF MY shoelace, I rise to press the elevator button. Before I’m able to, the doors open into our penthouse and Bobby exits.
“Good, you’re here,” he barks.
His dark, soulless eyes gut me with their belligerence. Roughly gripping my elbow, he drags me further into our penthouse. Dread seeps into my bones. I was seconds away from escaping. I have a meeting with my handler that I’m now going to be late for. Shit. My insides tighten in trepidation, if I’m lucky, late is all I’ll be.
My gaze connects with Anthony, my bodyguard, standing by the elevator. He’s my shadow, reporting my every move to my husband. Watching Bobby haul me down the hall, his expression is stern, yet uncertain. His lips mashed into a firm line. The elevator doors open and he enters. Never looking back.
Alone with my tormentor. Bobby’s hungry eyes wander my body. A lion eyeing its pounced-on prey.
“Bobby, what’s going on?”
“Tate, this is going to be quick and dirty,” he orders, punitively palming my ass. My breath stalls, lodging in my throat at his words. Brusquely pulling me close, his slimy tongue licks down my neck and collarbone. I’m going to be sick.
Harshly shoving my shirt open, my breasts are bared. Like the animal he is, his teeth tear into my tender flesh. A burst of fire-red heat sears across my chest as my painful scream fills the air. His sadistic chuckle skitters across my breastbone. My pain always brings him pleasure.
Drawing strength deep from within, I lock down my primal red fury and steel myself for the inevitable. My life with Bobby is a constant battle of extremes. Whether it be pain, fear or hatred. My emotions overwhelm me like a bloodbath of turmoil. Locking down my feelings is a never ending defense. As my body tenses, he peers down into my blank eyes. Disdain or annoyance shadow his brooding face.
“Tate, stop with the fucking theatrics. Every goddamn time you pull this shit,” he grumbles angrily. “I’m your husband. It could be so much better for you, for both of us, if you’d just cut this out and enjoy.”
I remain mute. Since I’m not going to agree with him or give in, I’m better off saying nothing at all. With his hands on my hips, he twirls me around to push my stomach flush against the top of a kitchen chair. My back is to his front. The clank of his belt buckle and zip of his fly confirms what I already know is about to happen.
Angry at my shuttered body and mind, he growls, “At least I don’t have to look at you.”
My mind methodically readies itself for the intrusion, seeking the dark nothingness I’m so familiar with. This is nothing new. I’m a master at going within, shutting it all out. I focus on the brick-red wall of our dining room off in the distance. My eyes blurring as I focus, retreating within. Vaguely, I’m aware of the discarding of my pants and the crude yanks, bites and pulls at my body.
His unforgiving entry briefly jolts me to the present. Before panic can set in, I close my eyes, focus on my breathing and shut out the harsh reality of his brutal, unrelenting thrusts. With his grunts and groans, I fall further into the dark oblivion.
“Fuck,” he yells in pleasure. Whacking my ass hard, he abruptly pulls out with a quick bite to my shoulder. I remain motionless, statuesque. I dare not breathe as the familiar rustling of fabric signals he is getting dressed.
Bile rushes up my throat and I deeply inhale, forcing it back down. My hands curl into the leather of the chair, hanging on both physically and emotionally, as I patiently wait for him to leave.
“I wish I had more time. I’m still hard. I could take you again,” he growls, his fingers piercing the flesh of my ass. “I’d fucking wreck you into tomorrow if I had time,” he menacingly promises.
With one more spank, he str
ides past me, out of the room. Silently, I wait. I learned a long time ago, any opportunity to escape is never to be screwed with and always the best course of action.
When I think it’s safe to do so, I frantically rush to the bathroom, securely locking the door. With my clothes discarded, I force myself to look in the mirror. My chest is swollen and bloody. Seeing the raw, deep, rouge indentations of his teeth on my flesh is a waving red flag and I’m the bull. His violence only feeds my will to survive. I hate him. I can’t wait to make him bleed.
I deliberately refrain from further scrutinizing my flesh as I scrub my body with copious amounts of soap and scalding hot water. On top of the bite marks, there’s most probably bruising on other body parts that he cruelly groped. I quickly dress and stealthily leave the penthouse.
Anthony is waiting in the parking garage. Almost a decade younger than my father, some would wonder why a fifty-something Italian is my bodyguard. He’s the epitome of a wise guy with his swarthy complexion, dark hair and stocky build. He’s solid muscle and his unforgiving features deter many from approaching.
I should loathe him. But, funnily enough, I don’t. His familiarity brings an odd comfort, especially in times like these. Entering the car, we share a brief, loaded stare. He knows what I endure. I’m a prisoner at the mercy of that fucking bastard.
We drive in silence to the yoga studio, hitting traffic on the way. I’m not really going to yoga. It’s a cover, one of many. Anthony will unknowingly wait outside while I slip out the back exit to meet with the FBI.
I’m plagued with thoughts of Bobby. It’s been a while, about a month since we last had sex. I almost thought he’d lost interest. Wishful thinking. I know better. From day one, he’s always been interested and he only knows one way to be: vicious. No matter how many times I shut down during sex, he always gets angry. He may take my body without permission, but I won’t let have me. I won’t let him have my heart, my mind, my soul. He’ll never have me.
***
Five Years Ago
MY LONG, BLOND LOCKS VEIL my view like a curtain. My neck is taut, with gravity having pulled my chin onto my chest. I’m a rag doll. Slumped over and motionless. If only I could move, relieve some of the strain. Yet even in my dazed state, I won’t ignore my internal, deafening screams to not move a muscle. I’m in trouble. I’ve the unmistakable sense of being watched. But, by who?
