“Ashes to ashes—” he says, and a pistol shot rips through the rain, Soo-Young Pak jerking as the first shot takes him down. Screams and pistol shots fill the air, with people diving for cover. Jacob Waters’s bodyguards form a human shield around him, and I make my move, expecting Sarah to head toward the car, but instead, she runs the opposite direction, surprising me.
The grass is slippery, and I need to shove three people out of the way before I see her. She’s most of the way up the hill that dominates the side of the graveyard and gives it the name Forest Hill before I’m clear. I have to trust that Marcus is organizing the rest of the action while I chase Sarah up the hill, wishing I could have worn something with more tread than dress shoes as I slip, my knee sliding in the mud. I’ve got my own pistol, but I don’t want to draw it unless I must.
We enter the trees that provide the other half of Forest Hill’s name, and Sarah’s running hard like she’s running for her life. I think about calling out her name for an instant, but I don’t, running harder. The fact is, she’s long-legged, and while she might be in heels, she’s on her toes and sprinting, her own coat billowing out behind her as she loses her hat and makes a turn around a tree.
She glances back, seeing me, her eyes going wide, but it’s a mistake as she doesn’t see the tree branch in front of her that catches her on the side of her head, knocking her to the ground. I close the gap, grabbing her just as she struggles to her feet, wrapping my arms around her from behind.
“No! Let me go!” she yells, twisting like a wet cat in my arms. “Let me go!”
“I don’t think so,” I growl, slipping my arm around her neck, feeling her body writhe against me. I hate that I’m doing this, but it’s necessary, and I’m still careful not to hurt her.
I’m not one to engage in violence against women—that’s part of my own personal code of honor—but this is for her own good, and I choke her out quickly, waiting until she’s unconscious to pull the syringe from my coat pocket and inject her with enough ketamine to keep her down for a good half hour. She’ll have a sore spot on her ass for a few days, but at least she’ll be alive. Ketamine doesn’t fuck with your breathing or heartbeat.
I sling Sarah over my shoulder and head over the hill, looking around to see if anyone’s following us. I reach for the earpiece that I put in for just this sort of clusterfuck. “Marcus, I need a pickup.”
“Where?” he says as I emerge from the forest, seeing the north entrance to Forest Hill in the distance.
“On the north-side road, closest to the hill. Hurry.”
“One minute,” Marcus says, and I squat down, making sure to stay in the shadows. It’s actually a minute and ten seconds by my count when Marcus comes around the corner and I rush down the hill, slamming the trunk closed on Sarah Waters’s knocked-out form before jumping in the back of the car. Marcus peels out, not slowing down until we’re a half-mile away and we’re approaching the freeway.
“What’s the count?” I ask, untying the belt on my coat. I don’t really want to know, but I need to.
Marcus knows exactly what I mean. “Two of our guys down, one wounded. We got our main target. Also . . .”
“Yeah?” I ask, worried that Marcus is about to say that an innocent bystander got shot.
“Jacob Waters is going to be walking with a limp,” Marcus says, looking up into the rearview mirror with a grin. “I put a round right in his ass.”
I can’t help it, I laugh. “Okay then. Let’s get to the house, and we can discuss what to do after we get a hot shower and some fresh clothes. That rain was icy.”
Chapter 6
Sarah
The first thing I feel when I come to is a bump, and my left knee hits something hard. I yelp in pain, but I don’t think anyone can hear me. I can’t sense that anyone is near me.
It takes me a minute to realize where I am—the trunk of a car. I can hear the sound of the pavement whizzing underneath me, the sound of the engine up front, and the occasional sound of something pinging off the bottom of the car.
Whoever it was that took me, I suspect that they don’t work for Jacob. It’s not particularly his style of sadism. But then again, no one has ever attacked him like this before.
It’s strange that as I shift around to get my hip away from the warm spot that the exhaust pipe’s causing, I feel something inside me wake up after a long sleep. When the shooting started at the funeral and Jacob’s bodyguards collapsed on him, I don’t know why I reacted the way I did. Maybe I’m not as willing to die as I thought, because instead of just standing there or following Jacob, I used the momentary distraction to run the opposite direction, up the hill and into the trees.
I’d thought that the man who chased me was just another of my husband’s men, that he had four men instead of three. And amazingly, I felt fear. It was tangy and delicious in my mouth as I ran in a panic, although it also led to me being stupid and looking back.
Still, for the rest of the ride, I lay on my side quietly, savoring the flavor of my fear. I thought that everything inside me was dead, but now, there’s something still kicking inside Sarah Desjardins that might still want to live a little bit longer. I turn it around and around in my brain, wondering if there’s a chance that it’ll spark the rest of me into wanting to live, but I’m so tired, and whatever they used to knock me out is still throwing me for a loop. I think I was injected. I’ve got a sore spot on my right ass cheek that reminds me of when I had to get a rabies vaccination after an animal on set bit me when I was thirteen.
We keep going for I don’t know how long. Time feels weird when you’re locked in a trunk and are kicking relentlessly to get out. Eventually, the car stops. I can hear the echo of an enclosed space, and the engine stops.
Fresh fear strikes me as I hear two doors open and then shut, and two sets of footsteps approach the back of the trunk. “So how do you want to do it?”
“Let’s see if she’s willing to be cooperative,” the other voice says, and I hear the clicking sound of a key being put in the trunk’s lock. Suddenly, I’m staring up into bright fluorescents. I squint, trying to see my captors, but I can’t see anything except dark blobs against a bright white background. “Shit, I didn’t see that before.”
“What?” the second voice says, and I feel something cold press against my ankle before there’s a snipping sound, and I realize what they saw. I’ve worn my tracker anklet for so long that I barely even feel it anymore.
“Take this and throw it in the river,” the one says, and I can’t make him out very well. My eyes are still dazzled by the sudden brightness after the darkness of the trunk. “It’s got a tracker chip in it.”
“Gotcha. Is it dangerous?” the other asks, and I can hear in the voices that they’re related somehow. Their voices are pretty similar.
“No, I don’t think so. Hurry, though.”
The other one walks off, and I’m left to look at the one who stayed behind. “Well, the ketamine’s still got you a little rubbery-legged, so I guess you’ll have to go up the old-fashioned way,” he says, reaching in and grabbing me with immensely powerful hands. I’m not that big a girl, but I am nearly six feet tall and that means that I’m no feather, yet still, he puts me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and closes the trunk, heading for the elevators. “Can you talk?”
“I can talk,” I mumble, vowing that as soon as I get a chance, I’m going to get away from here. I never could get away from Jacob, and I’m not going to just be passed around like a bargaining chip from one abuser to the next. At least with Jacob, I knew what to expect. I have no fucking clue who these men are and I’m afraid to find out. They must be on another level of scary if they’re willing to take on Jacob. “You’re a dead man. He’ll find me,” I say, hoping to scare them I guess. “You can’t hide from him.”
“Oh, I know he’s going to know where you are,” the man says in amusement, walking into the elevator. The doors close and we go up fast. This must be some sort of an express.
“Because I’m going to tell him exactly where you are and who has you. I just sent Marcus to throw your anklet in the river to give us a few hours to get you situated and to get this place secured.”
“I won’t make it easy for you,” I whisper, trying to hit his back, but either I’m weaker than I thought or he’s made of granite because my fists just bang off his back without him feeling them at all. “Let me go, motherfucker!”
“You’re not going anywhere, Sarah,” the man says. “And if you keep hitting me in the back, I’m going to put you in an arm lock to walk you off the elevator. I’d prefer not to do that. This will be a lot easier if you just cooperate. If you do, no harm will come to you. You have my word.”
So, this asshole has some sort of code of honor. I can hear it in his voice. I note that and remind myself that as soon as I get a chance, I’m going to have to use it against him to make a break for it.
The elevator stops, and we step off, my captor letting me down to stand on my own two unsteady feet. “Will you walk, or will I have to carry you inside?”
I can see his face now, and I’m surprised at just how handsome this man is. He’s got that sort of face that doesn’t look like it should belong to a man in the twenty-first century, with blond hair and icy blue eyes that look like he belongs in a Viking action drama, not wearing a wet trench coat and looking like he’s ready for a business meeting. Still, there’s profound intelligence there, intelligence and a sort of cold-bloodedness that tells me that while he might not like the idea of hurting me, he will without a second’s hesitation if I make an issue of things.
“I can walk,” I reply, and he takes my upper arm in a strong grip, not squeezing but still iron hard, uncompromising. Still, compared to what I’ve felt over the past five years, it’s almost a gentle caress, and I follow him without as much fight as I thought I might at first.
We go through the main double doors to what is obviously the penthouse suite of whatever building we’re in, and I’m taken aback at the unexpected luxury of the space. There are large open ceilings, and all the furniture is beautifully modern, with lots of rich, deep tones in leather, dark tiles, and metal accents. “Your boss has good taste, whoever he is,” I say, fishing to see if he’ll say who his boss is and not intending it to be a compliment.
“I am the boss. Unlike your husband, I don’t mind getting down and taking ownership of my work,” the blond man says, leading me on. “But thank you for the compliment.”
His thanks sound reasonably legitimate, and I don’t know why but my fear both ratchets up and relaxes a little at the same time. It takes me a moment to realize why, though. It’s that Jacob started the same way, complimenting me before he turned into the fucking devil.
The man leads me into one of the bedrooms, where I look out and am once again impressed with the view, looking over the lake and off into the distance. “In the afternoons at sunset, you’ll have some direct sunlight in your eyes, but we’ll be pulling the curtain anyway.”
He leads me to the dresser, where I see pieces of rope and a set of handcuffs already laid out. It causes me to struggle, but his hand is still iron hard, and he ignores my attempts to get free as he quickly cuffs my left hand, twisting my arm behind my back and pushing me onto the bed. “No, please! Please, don’t rape me!” I plead.
He pauses for a second, then I hear the other end of the handcuff click around the bed post. “I wouldn’t do that,” he says, backing away. “That’s the sort of sick shit your husband does. Not me.”
The way he’s cuffed me leaves me room to turn over and even get off the bed if I want. I lie there instead, looking at him with suspicious wonder. “You don’t?”
“A real man doesn’t need to force a woman,” he says, disgust in his voice. “What sort of fucking monster do you think I am?”
“You kidnapped me, for one,” I reply, sitting up as much as I can. “And you’ve handcuffed me to a bed. Why should I think you’re any better?”
“With a handcuff that gives you room to move,” he points out. He goes over to the dresser and picks up the rope. “And the only reason I’m doing this is for my protection and yours. There’s no lock on the room door, so for my safety, I need to keep you in here. For your safety, the elevator’s on a pin code control, so the only way outside for you is the balcony. We’re forty-eight floors up, and you’re not Spiderman.”
He runs the rope through his hand, then puts it back on the dresser. “I’ll make you a deal. If you promise not to act a damn fool, I’ll let you stay with just the handcuff. If you get up to any fuckery, though, I’ll tie your ankles together and truss you up on this bed like a Christmas ham. Deal?”
I nod, shifting back to sit up. “Deal. So . . . why’d you do it? Money?”
The man laughs in genuine amusement, shaking his head. “Not that there won’t be money involved eventually, but no. No, I did it because I’m going to kill your husband. I’m going to take his empire away from him, and the last thing he’s going to see is my hand holding his throat and the knowledge that I’ve taken everything from him—his empire, his money, his position, his honor . . . and yes, even you. His debt to me and my family will finally be paid.”
I think about it, then nod. “Good.”
The man blinks, and I think that for the first time, I’ve shocked him a little. I don’t give a fuck if he is or not. I hope he succeeds. “Good?”
I nod, my lip curling unconsciously. “Good. I wish I could give you something that would help you kill the fucker. But I don’t know anything.”
“I see. That surprises me a little, and sorry if I don’t believe you, Sarah. But if you’re telling me the truth, then I may have to move a little faster in my plan,” the man says. His eyes burn with intensity, and finally, I need to look away from him, out through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows out over the lake.
“Why didn’t you kill him then?” I ask him, not looking him in the eyes. “You had men there. You had a shot for sure. I remember seeing your hat, thinking not too many men know how to wear a hat like that anymore. They either come off like hipster douches or kids playing dress-up.”
The man goes over to a chair and takes off his trench coat, revealing a splendid suit underneath. Whoever he is, he’s got style, that’s for damn sure. “I didn’t kill him because, like I said, I want to take everything from him. Killing the fucker is too easy. I could have done that a year ago. No, I want everything taken from him like he took everything from me. He owes me a debt.”
There’s something in his voice that shows me a deep-seated pain, and I twist my head, looking up at him. “What’s your name?”
For the first time since opening the trunk, I know I’ve angered him as he gets up, undoing his coat and pulling off his tie. “You’re going to pretend not to know? How the fuck can you just sit there and say you don’t know who I am? You’re half the fucking reason I’m where I am today!”
I don’t understand what he means. “How would I know you?”
He crosses the room in what feels like the blink of an eye, reaching for my free hand to pull me up to look at him more closely. I have no idea what he’s doing, so I try to fight him, but with the handcuff, I can’t do anything except try to push him away with my right hand and my feet. He grabs a hold of my coat and dress, looking me right in the eye. It doesn’t feel like he’s trying to assault me, but out of instinct, I kick. His grip on my dress doesn’t loosen though, and my dress tears. The man goes stumbling back while I go rolling off the bed, my left shoulder sending shooting pains up my arm as I twist, but I feel more alive than I have in years. I feel a fight in me that I thought Jacob had taken away. I feel like a human being again.
The man turns, his blue eyes flaring with anger before he stops, staring at me in open shock again. He raises a hand, pointing. “What . . . what are those?”
I look down, and I see that my dress is torn worse than I thought and that most of my right side is revealed, except for the part of my breast covered with m
y bra. Still, I’m not sure what he’s talking about. I’m just pissed and scared. “It’s my right breast, you fucking idiot. Is this how you normally introduce yourself to a woman? Don’t tell her your name, assume she knows who the fuck you are, then rip half her dress off before asking her what a tit is?”
I can see the anger flare in his eyes for a second before something else takes over, and he shakes his head. “Not that. Under your bra strap. And in . . . in your cleavage.”
I know what he’s talking about, but I still look down, seeing the deeply puckered welt in my flesh, and my rage disappears as my embarrassment starts. Then I look up at my captor with shame in my eyes. “It’s why I hope you do end up killing that bastard who calls himself my husband. It’s not all he’s done.”
I shrug, getting the rest of my dress off my upper body, and I turn around, showing him my back. When I turn back around, he’s looking at me with an expression that nobody has used with me for five years. It hurts worse than any punch or kick that I could have expected, and I feel tears start to trickle down my face. “So, what do you think?”
He steps back, gathering himself as he goes over to his suit coat and picks it up off the carpet and heads to the door. “I think I’m doing the world a favor by killing your husband. It doesn’t make me a saint, but at least I’m not a monster. By the way . . . the name’s Ryker. Ryker Johns. Someone will be back later with some dry clothes and dinner for you. In the meantime, feel free to use the blankets, and hell, tear that dress off if you want. Welcome to my home, Sarah D.”
Sarah D. Nobody’s called me that in years, and as he closes the door, I wonder just what the hell is going to happen to me. I do know one thing. For the first time in a while, I want to live.
Something in Ryker’s strength and in the way he spoke sparks a memory inside my head. And it dawns on me—he’s the cute security guy, the one who threw that creepy bastard on his ass.
Begging for Bad Boys Page 17
