by Amy Brent
Sean decided to speak again – which was probably a bad idea considering what he had to say. “So, why are you so protective of this asshole's daughter, eh? I mean, we're already on the old man's shitlist as it is. Why not scratch and itch and have some fun with her – ”
“Because it's not about her, asshole. My hatred for her father has nothing to do with her,” I roared. “She didn't ask to be born an Antonelli – she's innocent in all of this. And I'm not about to let you do something to her just because no other woman will fuck you. You have money, go to a fucking whore, asshole.”
“If she's innocent in all this,” Sean continued, “then why are we kidnapping her in the first place?”
“She's a bargaining chip,” I said, my patience wearing incredibly thin. “A bargaining chip and that's it. And I'll tell you this, nno harm will come to her while she's in my care. Do you hear me? Do you fucking understand?”
EMILIA
Voices were coming from the other room – or at least, I thought they were. The voices sounded distant at first, but as I started to wake up, I realized that they weren't in another room. They were actually coming from right beside me. Unfamiliar men were talking around me, and as a fear-fueled adrenaline coursed through my body, I tried to sit up and my head started spinning immediately.
“I'm going to get sick,” I said, not realizing I'd said it out loud.
Someone – one of the men from the bar – put a trash can beside the bed. I leaned forward, but didn't throw up. I just sat there for a few moments, trying to recover my senses as I tried to figure out where in the hell I was and who I was with. Bits and fragments of the evening were flashing through my mind, but I felt so fuzzy-brained right then that I was having trouble grabbing one and remembering the details.
One face in my jumble mass of memories stuck out to me though – the blue-eyed stranger from the bar. The one who'd been watching me. The one who'd struck up a conversation with me when Tabitha had kicked me out of the restroom. Slowly, the fragments were beginning to coalesce and it was all coming back to me.
Somehow, the stranger had known my full name. He'd said he knew all about me. But how? I'd never met him before in my life, I was sure of it. At first, I thought he might be British because of is accent. I'd been so freaked out and anxious to get away from him that I hadn't really stopped to analyze his accent. But as I thought about it a little harder, I realized he was Irish.
And once that little nugget of information clicked in my brain, I knew why they had me. Or at least I had a pretty good idea.
“I want to speak with Deacon Murphy,” I said, looking at the men in the room.
The men laughed, obviously amused by my demands.
“Oh you do, do ya?” said one of the men. “And what do ya think ya know about Deacon, love?”
“I know he's the head of the Irish mafia,” I said quietly, trying to keep my voice even – doing my best to keep it from trembling and letting them know just how scared I was. “I know that he's the one to talk to if I want to make a deal. Not little pissants like you.”
I saw anger color both of their faces, but I tried to remain strong. Tough. Not let them see me tremble and shake. The only language cretins like this knew or responded to were threats and force. If I showed them that I was unafraid of them, I would earn a measure of respect in their eyes. The trouble was, I was downright terrified and felt like I was barely holding that in check.
“And what if Deacon doesn't want to make a deal with ya, love?” the man said, leaning down and getting in my face.
The smell of whisky and stale cigarettes saturated the air between us, causing my stomach to roil once again. I almost wished I had gotten sick in that moment so I could have thrown up on the man. That would have been amusing for me, at least.
“I'm sure he will want to make a deal with my family,” I said, looking the man in the eye. “Or else my father will kill him.”
More laughter from the two other men. They thought it was hilarious – everyone except the blue-eyed man who watched me closely. He kept his distance, standing near the door, saying nothing, and merely watched.
“What are you staring at?” I asked him, putting some real fire into my voice. “Like what you see, huh? Well you better get a good, long look now while your pretty blue eyes are still intact, because if you don't let me out of here, my father – ”
The look on his face sent a chill down my spine. A predatory grin spread across his face as he slowly shook his head. The room grew suddenly quiet, everyone stopped what they were doing as the handsome stranger walked toward me. All eyes shifted to him as the man hunkered down, putting himself at eye-level with me.
“Your father will do what, Emilia?” he asked, his voice calm and quiet. “Go on then, I'd love to hear more about your father's plans for me and my guys.”
“Your guys?” I sputtered.
He nodded slowly, his smile no less unnerving.
“You said you wanted to speak with the boss,” the guy from earlier said. “You're lookin' right at him.”
“You're Deacon Murphy?” I asked.
“One and only, love,” he said.
“Don't call me love.”
“Would you prefer that I called you the soon to be Mrs. Tony Bellini?”
I cringed at the very mention of being called Mrs. Bellini like it was an involuntary reflex. At that point, it probably was. Even in the face of the man who'd just abducted me, I wanted to be as far away from any mention of that man as I could.
“Not yet,” I snapped. “It's just Emilia, thanks. As if you actually care what I'd like to be called.”
Deacon looked amused. “Emilia it is, then,” he said. “And hopefully we can make your stay with us as pleasant as possible. There's no reason for this to be adversarial or unpleasant. But that is all going to depend on what your father – and your fiance – are willing to do. If they play ball with us, it's all good, lo – Emilia. If they don't... ”
He let the sentence trail off, the threat more than implied. A cold finger of fear slid its way down my spine and it took everything in me to suppress the shiver. I wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of seeing fear in me.
“And what exactly is it that you want them to do for you?” I asked.
Deacon stood, shaking his head. “Oh no, I'm not going to show my hand this early in the game, love,” he said. “You'll just have to wait and see. I've heard you like surprises – well, at least surprises you're not expected to marry – so, I'll just leave you in suspense a wee while longer.”
“Don't call me – ”
One of the other guys reached his hand out to slap me, but Deacon caught it before it landed on my face. With a scowl, he turned and pushed the other man back, hard, throwing him into the wall with so much force, it rattled the pictures hanging on it. I thought the frame might come down, but it somehow stayed on the wall.
Deacon looked at one of the other men – a tall, very large redheaded man – and said, “Don't you fuckin' touch her, you hear me? There better not be a hair out of place or a scratch upon her delicate little body. Not unless I say so – got it?”
The red-haired man scowled and held back, but he didn't speak again. He simply nodded and turned away from Deacon.
“Colin, please restrain her now that she's awake – ”
“Restrain me? What?” I almost shouted. “Are you afraid of a tiny little girl or something? Afraid I might get the drop on your morons here?”
“One thing I've learned is that one can never be too careful, Emmy,” Deacon said.
“Don't call me Emmy either, asshole,” I said.
Only my closest friends and family could get away with calling me that. Though, as I looked at the glint of amusement in his eyes, I had a feeling he used my nickname on purpose. It was to make a point – maybe as a way to prove he knew all about me. I glared at him, hate filling my eyes as we gazed upon each other.
“He can call you whatever the fuck he wants, sweetheart,” the
man referred to as Colin said.
“Like hell he can,” I muttered, mostly to myself.
Colin reached for the restraints and started to tie me down while Deacon watched. I saw him flinch as I struggled and fought back against the man trying to tie my hands down. For a big, tough guy, he didn't like to see them getting rough with me, that was for sure. I filed it away in my mind, thinking that maybe it was a chip I could somehow cash in later. It was a weakness in him and I needed to find all of his weaknesses in order to better exploit them and improve my odds of getting out of there whole and intact.
“How long are you going to keep me here?” I asked. “What if I have to go to the bathroom or something?”
“Tell the guards,” Deacon said. “We'll get ya a bedpan.”
“Please, no – ” I begged – being forced to use a bedpan would be the ultimate form of humiliation and degredation.
For the first time, I felt real fear. I was tied down to a bed, surrounded by the enemy – and I had no idea how I was going to get out of there alive. My father would likely be looking for me, sure, but would he find me in time?
“How long do you intend to keep me here?”
“As long as is necessary, I'm afraid,” Deacon said, turning toward the door. “Hopefully your daddy and fiance cooperate quickly. If they do, you can probably be home in time for breakfast tomorrow.”
I had a feeling that whatever he wanted from my father wasn't going to be that easy. Nothing with guys like these ever was. Whatever these guys were after, my family wouldn't hand it over so easily I was afraid.
“And what if they don't cooperate?” I asked, my voice shaking.
He looked at me for a long moment, something inscrutable passing behind his eyes – something that chilled me to the very bone.
“We'll cross that bridge when we get there,” he said.
DEACON
Once she was restrained, I sent the others out of the room. I sat on a chair in the corner and watched her, waited for her to say something. Anything, really. I thought she'd want some answers or have some questions – but she just stared at me with eyes filled with hate. It was just me and her, and for the longest time, she wouldn't even speak to me.
“I know what you want. Or rather, what you don't want,” she said to me after some time of petulant silence. “And I can get it for you. But I need to speak to my father first.”
I tried not to laugh. “Oh, if only it were that easy, Emelia.”
“It can be that easy,” she said, looking over at me, her eyes large and taking up most her face. “Do you think I really want to marry Tony Bellini? Do you think that was my choice? I'd do anything to get out of that engagement. Believe me, we're on the same page here.”
My ears perked up. “Anything, huh? You'd go against your family and work with the enemy? All to avoid marrying a man most women would sell their soul to be with?”
“I don't love him,” she whispered.
“You don't love him?” I scoffed. “Oh that's so incredibly sweet, Emmy. And so incredibly naive.”
“Look, I didn't ask for any of this. I never asked to be auctioned off like a damn prize horse,” she said. “I didn't ask to be born into this family or this life. I just want to be left alone. I just want to do my own thing.”
Her sweetness and naivete were almost too much. It was actually downright adorable. I couldn't help but stare at her and gaze into those doe eyes. But then my eyes began to wander and slowly, deliberately, moved down the length of her torso. While her face made her look much younger than she was, she most definitely had the body of a grown woman. With her perky boobs and those curves in all the right places, there was no mistaking her for anything but a woman. I could see why someone like Bellini would be anxious to wed that gorgeous little piece of tail.
As I let my eyes roam all over her body, I started to think that she was still a virgin. Pure and sweet and ripe for the taking. All of this talk of love and romance made me think she was waiting for The One, that she was saving herself for her Prince Charming. If only such things existed in the real world, then maybe she'd be able to wait for him to ride up on his white horse and sweep her off her feet. But the fact of the matter was that Prince Charming didn't exist, but with her wealthy and powerful family, her life was as close to an actual fairy tale as anything else in this world – and was as close as she was going to get.
“Why would you think I care who you marry?” I asked her, leaning in close.
She flinched away as I moved in probably a little too close. I could feel her breath against my face and caught a faint whiff of her perfume.
“Because once I marry Bellini, the alliance between our two families will have the power to take over the city,” she said. “The whole city. Including Irish territory. Which would be very bad news for you.”
“How do you know all this?”
Perhaps I shouldn't have been, but I was alarmed that she was so well informed. But tried to play it off, not wanting to see that she'd scored a direct hit. She was obviously a smart girl. I'd underestimated her – a mistake I wouldn't make again.
“I am the heir to my family name,” she said quietly. “Do you think I don't listen? That I'm not privvy to certain details and plans?”
Most women in her position wouldn't care about the politics. They cared about the money, the shopping, the nice clothes and raising children that would eventually take over the family name themselves one day. They left the politics up to the men and concentrated on more banal pursuits. At least, in my experience they did.
But clearly not Emelia. Or not completely, at least. Still, she seemed to have an awful lot of naive thoughts running through her head and ddin't understand just how cutthroat this life could be. Especially if she thought we could team up and help one another. That was most definitely not going to happen.
I could think of plenty of things I'd like to do with this little hottie, but working out a deal with her? Not happening. She was right about teaming up being a mutually beneficial proposition, but I wouldn't risk it because there was no way I could trust her.
Sitting back in my chair, I watched her carefully. “Your father and your fiance will be hearing my demands shortly,” I said.
“And you think my father is the kind of man who takes well to demands?” she said.
No, but I'm sure you do, I thought to myself. Imagining that tight little body bent over the bed, her skirt raised and her ass cheeks bared for me, waiting, her tight little opening, glistening and ready...
“When it comes to his precious little girl, one would hope that he will listen to what I have to say,” I said. I pulled out my phone. “Here, why wait? Let's see what your father has to say on the matter, shall we? Now's as good a time to call as any, since he's had a few hours to search for you – a search I can guarantee you was completely fruitless. And I will have to assume that he probably knows you're missing by now. I would hope that Tabitha would have sounded the alarm when she came out of the bathroom to find you gone.”
Emilia scowled at me as I punched in the numbers and called her father. The man on the other end of the phone answered on the first ring, and he knew who I was – though perhaps, not by name just yet. But he seemed to know exactly why I was calling – instantly. Clearly, word had gotten around quite quickly. Which pleased me greatly.
“You son of a bitch, Deacon,” he roared. “What have you done with my daughter?”
“Your daughter is fine. She and I were just having a little fun together – weren't we, Emmy?”
I winked at Emilia and she spat at me. I tamped down the momentary flash of anger and wiped away the saliva that was slowly running down my cheek. The girl was a spitfire, that was for sure.
“Let me talk to her,” he said.
“Patience, mate. You'll get to talk to her soon enough, but not just yet,” I said. “First, you need to hear me out. Because what you do next can have very real, very serious consequences for your beautiful little girl. And I have to sa
y in all honesty, she's even more beautiful than I imagined. All that dark hair and pale skin, and those tits... ” I let out a low whistle of approval. “I'm sure her fiance is dying to get his hands on those perky little things.”
“Let me talk to my daughter, asshole,” he said, his voice low and fierce.
“Only if you ask nicely,” I taunted.
“How do I know she's not dead already?” he asked me. “I refuse to say anymore or even deal with you until I have proof that she's alive and unharmed.”
I rolled my eyes – her father was not a fun man to play with. He didn't enjoy the game like I did. Of course, knowing I had his little girl probably wasn't the best way to start off a fun and frivolous conversation. But, whatever.
“Fine, talk to your darling Emmy,” I said.
I held the phone out toward Emelia, putting it on speaker and said, “Talk to daddy, honey.”
“Emelia, are you okay?” I heard him say on the other end of the line.
“I'm fine, daddy,” she said, her voice low – almost too low. I feared he might not be able to hear here from there, so I moved closer.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
“No, I'm not hurt. Not at all, I'm fine,” she said, tear welling up in her eyes.
She held them back though. No screaming, no crying, no begging for her father to find her. This girl wasn't like most others. She was tough and wasn't going to give me the satisfaction. I had to admire that. Her eyes widened slightly though, when I took the gun out of the holster beneath my jacket – just the sort of reaction I'd been hoping for.
“Stay strong, Emelia,” he said quietly. “We'll get you back.”
I turned off the speaker and put the phone back to my ear. “Only if you do as I say, Antonelli. Remember that. I have your daughter, and if you ever want to see her again – in one piece – you will do exactly as I say.”
“I will fucking kill you for this,” he growled. “Mark my words, I'm going to make you suffer. You're going to wish you were dead long before I'm through with you.”
