Surrender (The Titans of Founder's Ridge Book 3)

by Nichole Greene

  Copyright © 2021 by Nichole Green

  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.

  Cover Design: Mayhem Cover Creations

  Contents

  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

  Acknowledgments

  Contact

  Playlist

  Also by Nichole Greene

  This book is dedicated to those who find us in our darkest moments and stay.

  The ones who hold our hands and lead us out of the darkness.

  The ones who believe in us.

  The ones who fight for us.

  1

  CLAIRE

  “Hey Claire, wait up!” Friday yells in her southern accented voice from behind me. When I turn to wait, I’m greeted by the sight of my wild, red-headed best friend ripping her pointe shoes off. She grimaces, taking in her bloody toes but shoves them into her beat up pair of TOMS without much more than a quick wipe down.

  “You going home?” I ask as she steps up beside me. We just finished a grueling day of practice at James Modern Ballet Company where we are both about to audition for a principal slot for the upcoming show. Pushing open the door of the industrial studio, we’re hit with a cool spring rain.

  “Yeah, I’m meeting up with Donovan tonight,” she says ducking down under an awning to avoid the rain above us.

  “Donovan as in the guy you met on Tinder who ghosted you three times?” I raise an eyebrow at her. “Donovan who has three cell phones? Donovan who asked out one of your roommates?”

  “Donovan who has a horse dick.” She wiggles her eyebrows.

  “I thought southern belles were supposed to be demure and charming,” I lace my voice with sarcasm. Friday is bisexual and goes through phases of dating nice girls or complete fuck boys. When we met last year, she’d just broken up with her boyfriend of two years and decided to try dating only women. Her taste in women is far superior to her taste in men.

  “I thought billionaire heiresses were supposed to be wild party girls, guess we’re both fucked.” She lays her head on my shoulder, and we both dissolve into a fit of laughter. We’ve been best friends since our first day at the James Dance Academy. “Besides, you know my spirit animal is a bull, the way I charge toward all those red flags.” She puts her fingers up at the crown of her head pretending to be a bull.

  I shake my head at her antics until my ride pulls up. “I’ll talk to you later,” I say over my shoulder darting past my driver, Marco, and diving into the back seat of the Range Rover.

  “I need to make a quick pit spot before we go back home.” I live in a penthouse in the building my family’s corporation, Volkov Industries, owns. My brother, Connor, and his wife, Lilith, live there part of the time on the same floor as me. “We need to stop at NNC Tower. I shouldn’t be too long.”

  “No problem, Miss Volkov.” He pulls out into thick Friday afternoon NYC traffic.

  For a second I worry about whether Griffin will still be at work this late or not, but I quickly shake that idea off. Griffin Potter is the literal epitome of a workaholic. I doubt he goes home before ten p.m. any day of the week.

  I haven’t seen him since I fell asleep beside him early in the morning following Connor and Lilith’s wedding four months ago. I had always had a crush on him growing up; he’s so focused and smart. I never thought it was ever going to be anything other than a silly crush on my older brother’s best friend though. Until we were dancing and drinking, his hand sliding from my ribs to my hip. The way he pulled me closer as I leaned into him. The hesitation we both had just outside the door to my room and the way we crashed into each other all night. He was uninhibited and dominant, so different than any other guy I’ve ever been with.

  I look down at myself and realize I’m not really dressed for what I’m about to do. I’ll be lucky to get past security looking like this. The black leggings I pulled over my pink leotard are skin-tight, and I just had a cropped, off-the-shoulder sweatshirt to pull over my head. I use the rearview mirror to check my hair which has pieces of my long, raven hair that have come loose from the bun they were secured in this morning. I don’t ever wear much makeup, and today is no exception.

  Marco pulls up to the building and starts to climb out when I reach over and squeeze his shoulder. “I’ll be fine. Stay in and dry.” Before he can argue, I’m darting out onto the sidewalk in front of the massive glass and steel building.

  I let out a sigh of relief when I see the guard standing in front of the elevator to the executive offices. He’s worked at NNC for years and knows my family well, I shouldn’t have any trouble getting up to the top floors.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Volkov. You just missed your brother,” Jerome says.

  “Good, I see that mean mug of his every day.” I give him a wink. “Is Griff still up in his office?”

  “At almost six p.m. on a Friday?” He gives a good-natured eye roll, “Of course he is. Go on up.”

  “Thank you,” I treat him to the full charm of a rare Volkov smile before passing his kiosk and hitting the up button on the elevator. I step on when the doors open, and thankfully no one steps on behind me. It gives me a whole minute or two to focus on how to spin the favor I need to ask of him. My stomach knots as I step off the elevator straight into a reception area.

  A receptionist who can’t be more than two or three years older than me is sitting behind a glass desk. Her skirt just borders on too short for a work environment, and her bra is peeking out of the top of her unbuttoned blouse. When her eyes meet mine, I see a quick dismissal before she speaks.

  “Hello, how can I help you?” She manages to sound sincere.

  “I need to speak with Griffin.”

  “Did you have an appointment? I don’t see anything on his schedule.” Her long fake nails tap on the keyboard.

  “No. I don’t need an appointment. I’m a friend.”

  She gives me another slow up and down, judging me based on my appearance. “Sorry, he’s not to be disturbed unless someone has an appointment.”

  I lean against her desk, “Listen, honey, I am a family friend, and I need to speak with him.” I infuse my voice with all the ice of the generations of Russian aristocrats I descend from.

  “What is your name?” She glares back at me.

  “Claire Volkov.”

  “You aren’t on any of the lists I have for guests always welcome to interrupt his day.” She smiles this time.

  “Listen, you can either announce me,” I slap my palm on her desk, entirely finished with this haughty bitch, “or I’ll go into his office and tell him how incredibly rude his receptionist has been. What’ll it be?”

  “Baby V!” I turn at the sound of my nickname being yelled by a familiar voice. “What are you doing here?” Gwen Potter wraps me in a tight embrace.

  “Hi Gwen,” I throw an icy glare at the receptionist, “I’m here to ask
Griff a favor, but she won’t let me in.”

  Gwen turns and addresses her receptionist. “McKenna, this is Claire Volkov. She is always welcome here. In fact, there’s about five people you should never turn away from Griffin’s office. She’s one of them, along with Connor and Lilith Volkov, Levi Marsh, and Ivy Bane.” When the receptionist just gives her a blank stare, Gwen snaps, “You should be writing this down.”

  “Come on,” Griff’s sister wraps her arm around me and guides me toward their offices. She, two of her sisters, and Griff took over operating the media conglomerate so their parents could retire and travel when Griff finished college. “You live in Manhattan now, right? Let’s grab dinner sometime and catch up.” Gwen is only a year older than Griff and danced at the same studio as me back in Founder’s Ridge where we all grew up.

  “I would love that.” I stop in front of the door to Griff’s office. “I’m learning an audition piece for the next couple weeks, but I’m pretty flexible in the evenings.” I ramble off my cell number for her, and we exchange another quick hug before she pokes her head in Griff’s office.

  “Hey, baby bro, look who I found.” She pushes the door open to reveal an incredibly handsome Griff sitting behind a large mahogany desk.

  “Claire,” he stands and walks around the desk to give me a quick hug. “Thanks, Gwen.” He dismisses his sister and sits back down behind his desk.

  “Hi.” My stomach is back in knots now that I’m sitting across from him. He’s wearing a navy suit, slim fitting with his tie loosened around his neck. A vintage Rolex adorns his left wrist, and he’s wearing black-framed glasses. His red hair looks slightly mussed. He takes me in with curious eyes, and I realize all I’ve said so far is hello. I swallow nervously, but no words form on my tongue.

  “What’s up?” His brows furrow with concern. “Are you okay? Do you need water or something?”

  “No,” I shake my head, “to both questions. I need a favor.”

  “Okay, what is it?”

  “I need you to do a catch and kill.”

  Surprise flickers over his face, and he leans back in his chair. “On what?”

  “Anything to do with me.”

  He pulls his glasses off and tosses them on the desk before pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why?”

  “Can you just trust me? Do the catch and kill, and I’ll consider it a personal favor.”

  “No.” He shakes his head. “I need to know what is going on.”

  “You can’t tell anyone. Especially Connor.”

  “Don’t you think we have enough secrets we’re keeping from him as it is?”

  The air fills with hot tension as his words hang between us like forbidden fruit. “I’m not ready for anyone to know. This is bigger than a one night stand.” Regardless of how amazing it was.

  “Claire, I’m starting to worry. What’s going on?”

  “Promise you won’t say anything until I’m ready?”

  “Fuck.” He stands up and starts pacing. “Yes.”

  “I’ve been diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis.” I can’t bear to see the pity in his eyes, so I look down at my feet, fighting back the pinpricks of tears gathering in my eyes. I can hear him stop pacing, and then he’s crossing over to me. I see his Italian leather loafers enter my field of vision.

  “Claire,” he drops to a squat in front of me, his large hands on either of my knees, “I’m so sorry.”

  I nod once and turn my head away. Hot tears fill my eyes as I fight to keep my cold mask of indifference in place. There is nothing worse than showing weakness.

  “Look at me,” he commands softly. When I shake my head again, his fingers gently grip my chin and turn my head. “Talk to me, explain everything.”

  “How about I explain the parts you need to know to help me with the catch and kill?”

  “Everything.” He holds his hands up in front of him, “I swear I won’t tell Con a word.”

  “I have a limited amount of time that I’ll be able to dance professionally. The MS is already affecting my ability to memorize choreography. There are a few dancers who have been watching me like sharks in the water, waiting for me to fuck something up and lose my position. I can’t risk any of the dance companies finding out about my diagnosis before I get at least one run at being a principal dancer.” I stand up and walk to his window, looking down onto the dark, wet city. I just want one run being on stage, feeling the music move through my body.

  “How long have you known?” he asks from behind me, close enough to feel the warmth from his body.

  “I started noticing things were off last fall. Part of me was hoping it was just a trauma response from being kidnapped.” My eyes meet his in the reflection of the window. “I was officially diagnosed in February. So far it’s just neurological symptoms manifesting.”

  “Who’s your doctor? What type of treatment plan are you on?”

  I spin. “No.” I point up at him. “This is exactly what I don’t want. Why I don’t want to tell my family. They’ll all try taking over. I don’t want to be micromanaged.” I can tell by the look on his face that he’ll be researching MS as soon as I’m out the door.

  “Okay, let’s just sit back down, and you can tell me the names and information of the other dancers, so the net I toss can be tighter.” He grabs a legal pad and pen from his desk and pulls out two chairs for us at the conference table in the corner of his office.

  I go through the list of dancers who might be interested in exposing me. I know that by coming to Griff I’m not just asking for him to shield me. I’m also getting his protection, which will include quietly strategic attacks.

  I stand to leave when we finish discussing details, but he grabs my hand, brushing his thumb back and forth over my knuckles. We look into each other’s eyes for a minute. I try to hide my vulnerability from him because no matter how much I trust his discretion, I don’t trust myself not to fall into him. His gaze is direct, and it feels like his gorgeous hazel eyes are already peeling back my layers with no words even spoken between us.

  “Do you want to grab dinner?” he asks. “I was basically done for the night, and you must have come straight from rehearsal.”

  A rare moment of indecision settles over me. I want to say yes, but I’m scared that he’ll see right through me. He’s too perceptive, and I’m already raw after a grueling day during which I made several obvious mistakes. A polite decline is about to leave my lips when his fingers link with mine.

  “Let’s go. I’m not going to accept no to the invitation, plus I’m hungry.” He squeezes my hand once before letting go. “We don’t have to discuss this any further. We can catch up on the past four months.”

  He leads me out of his office with his hand firmly on the small of my back, his fingers tracing circles over my leotard. I make sure to send the receptionist a look that is two parts icy glare and one part smug satisfaction. I can feel the anger and envy rolling off her while we wait for the elevator.

  We get down to the lobby, and he hesitates when his eyes land on my car. I immediately know he’s concerned about Con finding out that we were having dinner together tonight. I share that concern, so I reassure him.

  “Marco isn’t employed by us; he’s one of Lilith’s guys, and he only reports to her if she asks.” One of the many reasons I love my sister-in-law is that she understands how smothering Connor and my dad can be at times with their fiercely protective natures. “No one will know.”

  2

  GRIFF

  I’m not sure why I thought getting dinner with Claire was a good idea. I’ve done a good job of pushing her to the back of my mind the past few months, but I haven’t been able to touch anyone else since our night together. I’ve tried with Sarah, one of the submissives that I have a casual thing with, but it just wasn’t the same. It wasn’t the same with Ben, another submissive, either. I even did a scene with both of them at the same time and felt nothing, not even the slightest twitch. I ended up just watching them.


  She looks stunning sitting across from me. Even the shitty florescent lighting in this dive cafe doesn’t dull the luminous light of her jade eyes and pale skin. Her hair is up in a bun with pieces that haven fallen out, framing her face in the most accidentally perfect way. It takes all my effort not to reach over and tuck them behind her ears, especially knowing how soft her hair is.

  My mind wanders to the night of Con and Lilith’s wedding. I’m so lost in the memory of how her hair looked wrapped around my fist as I fucked her for the first time against the wall. The way the strap of her dress fell down her shoulder and how her dress looked bunched around her waist.

  “Griff?” she says, pointing at the server. Both of them stare down at me expectantly while the sound of cutlery on cheap plates echo around us.

  “Oh, I’ll take a burger, fries, and I’m fine with just the water.” I slide the sticky laminated menu back into its slot with the condiments as Claire orders.

  “What were you lost in thought about?” she asks with her head tilted to the side after the server walks away.

  “Work.” The lie slips easily from my lips.

  “Liar.” She calls me out on my bullshit with her eyes narrowed.

  It’s unnerving how easily she can read me. Honestly, it kind of pisses me off. Her gaze hold mine steadily, showing her strong will. Being challenged like this awakens something dark in me, the part of me that can bring powerful men to their knees with quietly spoken threats across a boardroom. The part of me that enjoys watching my wishes carried out obediently by people who wish to please me, regardless of how perverse those wishes may be.