Stoking the Embers (New Adult Romantic Suspense): The Complete Series

by Johnson, Leslie

  Still stunned, I get dressed and, just before I’m ready to step out of the room, my phone beeps. Filled with dread, I walk back into the bathroom where it’s still covered by a towel. I pick it up and swipe the screen.

  The message says: Ha ha ha Bellagi-HO

  The next morning, I wake up in Ken’s arms, the sunlight streaming through the hotel windows. I don’t even ask myself if last night was a dream; the bruise on Ken’s shoulder is a reminder of how very real it was.

  After the text message, I’d joined the group and filled out the necessary police reports. Happily, everyone but Officer Cook and one other man had left, giving me a reprieve from having to look at the men who had seen me trussed up like Thanksgiving’s turkey.

  Beth had been pissed as hell… easier for her because she hadn’t been naked. Neither had Gage, believe it or not. I would have bet money that those two were getting it on as hard and fast as Ken and I were.

  After the officers had left, the four of us had just stared at each other, Ken holding a bag of ice to his head while Gage held one to his lip. He had fought back too when the team had broken into the front door. He and Beth had been making out on the couch and he’d taken an elbow to the face. Thank goodness he hadn’t tried to go for his pistol or he, very easily, could have been shot.

  Around two a.m., the Bellagio repairman left. They’d had to replace the main door as well the master bedroom door after the team had literally broken them apart. The manager on call had come by and assured us the damages wouldn’t be charged to us, which had been a relief.

  Finally, we had been able to go to bed. Gage had started to stretch out on the couch, but Beth grabbed his hand and asked him to stay with her. She’d given me a big hug before closing her bedroom door behind them.

  Back in our room, I’d gathered up all our ‘gear’. I picked up the nipple clamps and tossed them at Ken. “Never ever, ever ever ever, ever ever ever, again.” He’s said nothing, just grinned and tossed them in the trash.

  Damn, my nipples still hurt like crazy this morning. Turning over to better watch Ken sleep was mini-torture. He opened one eye, then the next, then kissed my forehead and pulled me closer.

  I keep waiting for him to leave, waiting for the moment when he decides enough is enough. It doesn’t seem like this morning is that time, so I hold on tight. I won’t ask him to leave again, at least I don’t think I will. I’m still very worried about him, now more than ever. But I need him. It’s selfish, but I don’t want him to go.

  “Morning, beautiful.”

  “Morning, handsome. How’s your head?”

  “Better. Leg hurts like hell.”

  I try to raise up and check it, but he won’t let me go. “Later. There’s something that hurts worse than my leg.” He takes my hand and guides it beneath the covers. “Blue balls suck.”

  I laugh. That’s right. We’d gotten swatted before he could come.

  I begin to scoot down his body, first kissing his chest, then his abs, then lower. “Lucky for you. Nurse Stephanie to the rescue.”

  After we check out of the hotel, we decide to go to Gage’s house after all. We stop by all of our apartments to grab swim suits and towels. We drop Gage off at the repair shop to pick up his truck. Beth rides with him.

  We’re having a blast. Gage’s pool and hot tub are amazing. The guys are grilling steaks and baked potatoes while Beth and I toss together a salad and make strawberry pies.

  “You okay?” Beth asks me for the hundredth time today.

  I roll my eyes at her. “Believe it or not, still yes. It’s like it happened to someone else. Weird huh? You still okay?”

  She glances out the window at the two guys manning the grill. They look to be having a serious discussion. She smiles and nods. “Yeah, really good.”

  “So, last night. Did you and Gage do the deed?”

  She twirls like a ballerina, salad tongs straight up in the air. “Is that a yes?” I ask her, smiling as she gets dizzy and nearly loses her balance.

  “Actually, Miss Smarty Pants, it’s a no.”

  “No? Then why all the twirls and smiles?”

  She leans against the counter top and drops her chin on her hand. “Well, before the SWAT team came busting in, we were absolutely heading in that direction. I’d already decided to have sex with him, but didn’t want to miss out on all that first time foreplay.”

  “Good, huh?”

  She does another twirl and then plops back onto the counter. “The best.”

  “So, after swatageddon, what changed?”

  She laughs at my new name for it, then grows dreamy again. “I don’t know. It’s not like things burst between us. More like we just clung to each other. Is that stupid?”

  I remember clinging to Ken. “No, not stupid at all.”

  “He asked me to stay with him tonight.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “And…?”

  “And what do you think? Of course.”

  I remember Ken talking about Gage not being the relationship type and try to decide if I should warn her. Of course I should. I’d be pissed as hell if she didn’t warn me. “From what Ken says, Gage gets around a lot. He actually mentioned he hopes you don’t get hurt.”

  Instead of being upset, Beth grins even bigger. “Aw, that’s sweet of Ken, worrying about me. But, tell him I’m a big girl. I’m not looking for a relationship either. If this lasts a day, a week or a month, I’m just going to have fun. It’s been a long time, you know.”

  Yeah. I did know. Beth hadn’t allowed anyone close to her like this since our freshman year, when she was raped by two frat guys. She had dated, and had even had sex since then. The sex part had, at first, almost been like a challenge to the universe. She would have sex with guys just to prove she wasn’t afraid to. Once she got that out of her system, she just hadn’t found anyone she was excited enough to sleep with.

  Until now.

  I hug her and sniff back the tears. She blinks back her own tears and we laugh. “Dang, we can be such girls,” she says.

  Hours later, Ken and I are heading back to my place after saying goodbye to Beth and Gage. I’m driving and keep checking my rear view mirror, paranoia sweeping over me again.

  Back in the apartment, Ken and I crash on the couch and are watching Netflix when there’s a knock on the door.

  “Expecting anyone?”

  I shake my head and stand up. Looking out my peephole, I see a man in a dark suit. I scan through my memory. He doesn’t look familiar.

  Cautious, I call through the door. “Yes?”

  “Stephanie Vonnegut?”

  “Yes.”

  “Detective Andrews here.” He holds a badge up to the door. “I have a few questions about last night’s incident. Sorry for stopping by this late.” He smiles at me and tucks the badge back into his jacket pocket.

  I look at Ken, who shrugs. I agree. Might as well get it over with. I unlock the door and pull it open.

  “Thank you, Miss Vonnegut, I’ll only take a moment.” He steps in and his eyes widen when he sees Ken sitting there, his leg propped up on the table. Ken starts to stand, but the detective urges him to stay down. They introduce themselves. “This is good,” the detective says, “I was going to be stopping by your place after this.”

  “What can I help you with?” I ask, hoping to hurry this along. I feel talked out; I don’t want to explain anything else. “Please have a seat.”

  “I’m sure last night must have been very upsetting for you, Miss Vonnegut,” he says after we all take a seat. I nod. “My job tonight is to understand the extent of pain and suffering you’ve undergone during this entire experience.”

  What? I look at Ken, who looks as confused as I do. “What do you mean? Why do you care about my pain and suffering?”

  The detective leans back in the chair and crosses an ankle over his knee. “Our purposes aren’t your concern. Answering my question is.”

  Ken lurches forward, dropping his foot from the table, getting read
y to stand. “Wait a minute…”

  He freezes when the detective opens his jacket to expose a gun.

  “Pretty boy, don’t do anything stupid.”

  Ken sits back and I hold onto his arm, my heart hammering in my chest as the man pulls the weapon from its holster. He takes something from his pocket and screws it on the end. A silencer? Oh my god. He pulls out a pair of gloves and slips them on.

  “That’s better,” he says. “I’m very glad you’re more willing to answer my questions.”

  “Who… who are you?” I ask and the corners of my vision blurs as the man looks from Ken to me, and smiles, as deadly as a shark.

  “That is of no importance.” When he speaks this time, his voice changes, a hint of an accent peeking through the words.

  “What are your questions?” Ken asks, lifting his chin as the gun points in his direction. I open my mouth to scream, but it dies in my throat as I’m suddenly staring down the barrel.

  The man leans forward and does the strangest thing. He turns my laptop around, taps a few keys and turns the screen back towards me and Ken. I see the two of us, staring back at the screen. He’s turned on the camera. It’s recording us right now.

  A tear slides down my face. It’s recording our execution.

  “Stephanie,” the man says to me. “On a scale of one to ten, how scary has this entire experience been?”

  “T… ten,” I answer, and the man nods.

  “Stephanie,” he says my name again. “On a scale of one to ten, how humiliating was it to be found naked and hog tied by ten of Vegas’ finest?”

  I lift my chin and say nothing. He lifts the gun and points it directly at my face.

  “T… ten.”

  He lowers the gun, but then uses the barrel to scratch his head. His hair moves; it’s a wig. I look at him closer, trying to drill the detail of his face in my mind. His skin looks a little too smooth. A mask? If it is, it’s a good one.

  “Jerome?” I ask and watch for a flicker of eyes. The man ignores me. I look at him more closely. It can’t be Jerome. This man is many inches too short and much thicker.

  “Ken,” the man turns his attention to the one beside me. His fingers tighten on my hand. “On a scale of one to ten, how scared are you right now?”

  Ken tightens his fingers around mine even more. “I’m not scared.”

  The man holds up the gun and points it at his face. “Now?” he asks.

  Ken repeats, his voice louder. “I’m not scared.”

  The man turns the gun to me. “Now?”

  I hear Ken swallow. “Ten.”

  The gun lowers. “Very good. I have one last question. Stephanie…” he looks at me… “Which of you should die first?”

  Another tear slides down my face and drops off my chin. I turn my head to look at Ken, who’s shaking his head.

  “Me,” I say.

  “No!” Ken says, “Me. Leave her alone.”

  The man just clicks his tongue… tsk, tsk, tsk. “Looks like we need a tie breaker.” He scratches his chin with the gun. “I know. It’s an oldie but a goody.”

  Ken raises my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles as the man begins.

  “Eenie, meany, miney, moe…”

  I look away from the gun that alternates its direction between the two of us.

  “Catch a tiger by the toe.”

  I look at Ken, his face is blurred by the tears that build and spill from my eyes. “I love you, Stephanie,” he says. His face is so soft, his eyes tender. I didn’t need to hear the words to know it was true.

  “If he hollers, let him go.”

  My heart cracks open at the unfairness of it all. I lean to him and touch his lips with mine and whisper, “I love you too, Ken.”

  “Eenie, meeny, miney, moe.”

  End of Book 2

  Book 3 — Chapter 1 - Jerome

  Settling down with a bowl of popcorn, I kick my feet up on the desk to watch the show. I guess a part of me feels a little bad at what’s about to happen… a very little part. The rest of me is as excited as a child going to see his first horror movie.

  Checking my watch, I pop a fat, buttery kernel in my mouth, washing it down with a long gulp of beer. I dig in my pocket for my pills. It’s a little early to take another one, but, what the fuck, I’m craving the clarity they give me. My body, my life… right? I’m fucking sick of people telling me what I can and cannot do.

  The alarm on my watch begins to beep and a new shot of adrenaline runs through me. Show time!

  “Ladies and gentleman,” I say to the room in my best announcer voice, “our feature film for the evening should begin in… three… two… one.

  The computer screen in front of me crackles and then springs to life, exactly on time. Exactly as I planned it. The ruse worked perfectly. Of course it did, I expect nothing less than perfection.

  At first, it’s only Abram filling the screen as he logs into Stephanie’s laptop and finishes live streaming the video. He looks very FBI, very professional in a navy suit and red tie. The dark brown wig we purchased gives him a perfect douche bag appearance. The make-up and silicone prosthetics are flawless, and the contacts change his eyes from light to dark. We thought of everything. I thought of everything. I wouldn’t have recognized him myself.

  What should have been the hardest part of the process was actually the simplest. The FBI badge was disgustingly easy to replicate. The president of the good ole US of A wouldn’t have known it was fake. Homeland security is a joke.

  Live streaming complete, Abram turns the laptop and sets it on the table, and she’s there. So is he, the bastard. Stephanie, looking frightened and beautiful, her face pale and her eyes wide, huddled next to the asshole. The rage that has simmered inside me for weeks now begins to boil and bubbles over as I watch the fireman touching my girl. MY girl. His hands are wrapped around hers, his thumb moving back and forth on her skin.

  I throw the half empty beer against the wall and watch it explode in a torrent of foam. This should be over with by now! The fireman should be dead or at least dying, run down yesterday at the accident scene. I’d had him followed for that purpose; to take advantage of any opportunity to take him down. He was lucky; walked away with only a cut. A cut!

  No. No. No. Dead. He should be dead. That should be me comforting Stephanie after her terrible loss, promising to take care of her, having her cling to me. Needing me. Only me. Just me. Forever me.

  But no…

  My attention is drawn back to the screen when I hear Abram say, “Stephanie, on a scale of one to ten, how scary has this entire experience been?”

  I take a deep breath and glory in the tear that slides down her face. I touch the computer screen and follow its path as it hovers on her jaw line and then drops to her shirt. She’s such a crybaby, crying at everything. I tried to toughen her up. I tried to make her brave. Nothing I did seemed to work.

  “T… ten,” she stutters, her entire face jittering as her teeth chatter together. She never seemed this afraid with me. I must not have been a good teacher. She would never had left me if I’d been able to maintain this level of control.

  “Stephanie.” Abram is speaking again. “On a scale of one to ten, how humiliating was it to be found naked and hog tied by ten of Vegas’ finest?”

  Stephanie’s mouth tightens, so does the asshole’s and she lifts her chin in defiance. I growl at her. I hate when she does that. I hate that look of petulance. She’s not following the rules. She knows how I feel about the rules. The look lasts only a few seconds before her eyes widen and she stutters, “T… ten.”

  Better.

  There is silence on the screen for a moment and I watch Stephanie’s eyes open wider again and she leans forward and whispers, “Jerome?”

  Everything inside me lurches at the sound of my name on her lips. My heart beats harder and my cock grows thicker. She said my name! She’s thinking of me even in what has to be the worst moment of her life.

  Does that mean
she still loves me? She just got sidetracked by the fireman? Was the rescuer in her simply draw to the rescuer in him?

  I trace her face on the screen, the lovely heart shape angle of her chin, the full lips, the magical green eyes. I miss this face. I need this face. She’s the only person in the world who’s ever looked at me with love.

  Stephanie is the only person on the planet who has ever told me she loved me. Ever.

  No. That isn’t right.

  Mr. Paul used to tell me he loved me when he crawled into bed with me at night to tell me a story. Mr. Paul would make me feel good and would tell me how good I made him feel. After living in Mr. Richard’s house for so long, after the beatings I’d gotten at Mr. Richard’s house, living with Mr. Paul had been wonderful. Mr. Paul never beat me. He only loved me and made me feel good. He’d whisper my name and kiss me and touch me. It was our little secret and I never told anyone, not even after the bad police took Mr. Paul away. They tried to make me tell on Mr. Paul, but I wouldn’t. Even when I found out that Mr. Paul had loved other kids, that I wasn’t the only one he loved. I still never told anyone our secret.

  No.

  That isn’t right either. I told her. I told her. I told her how I missed Mr. Paul and she shouted at me when I sucked my thumb or had bad dreams. She told me I needed to be a man and stop being a child and that if I wanted my life to be better, I had to make it better. She told me if I wanted Stephanie to be obedient, I had to make her be obedient.

  But I had tried, hadn’t I? I’d tied Stephanie up. I’d tried to force her to listen to me and do what I wanted, but she wouldn’t and didn’t and she left me.

  Is this all her fault?

  I dig my fingers through my hair and rock in the chair. Stephanie left me and I couldn’t make her come back. She left me just like Mr. Paul left me and losing her felt like daggers in all four chambers of my heart.

  Anna has made it better. She told me to knock off the crying. She told me to be a man. She told me to take what I wanted and make anyone pay who didn’t listen. Stephanie still didn’t listen. She kept fucking the fireman. She kept fucking the fireman. She kept fucking the fireman.