Innocence & Betrayal

by Brittney Sahin

  “Call out to your friend and tell him you took care of me.”

  Did he understand me? The same line in Spanish slipped fast from my lips.

  He shook his head before reaching into his pocket and revealed a knife. The silver blade flashed toward my face, but I shifted to the side, just avoiding the cut, and smacked the butt of the gun against his skull.

  I stepped around his crumpled body and strode down the hall. The vibration in my pocket alerted me to another call. Perhaps I should have powered down my phone . . . but that would introduce its own risks. If someone got the drop on me, at least my government pals would be able to track my phone.

  “Hello?” A young girl’s voice. “Help! There’s one more . . .”

  At the end of the hall, I peered around the corner to my right. A tall, lithe man stood beside the girl. Her shoulders slumped forward with her head hung down. She was unconscious.

  “Drop your gun,” the man warned as he gripped her by the hair and yanked her head back, holding a knife to her throat.

  With no time to think I blasted a round from my weapon. Something told me the world wouldn’t miss this asshole.

  But I didn’t kill him—I didn’t need to. Although damned if I wanted to after seeing the girl unconscious.

  The bullet grazed the man’s neck, forcing him to drop the knife and apply pressure to the wound at his throat.

  “Back away from her.”

  He mumbled, “I’m not paid enough for this,” as he sank to the floor.

  “Cuff yourself.” I chucked a pair of handcuffs in his direction.

  His lips curved and twisted into an ugly scowl, but he followed my command quickly. He rushed his cuffed hands back to his throat to help control the bleeding.

  I hurried to release the girl from her restraints, not knowing how long it would be until the men from the courtyard came barreling in. Or, perhaps, the real man in charge.

  The girl was light in my arms. Aside from the recent blow, she appeared to have been unharmed.

  “Tell your boss that if he ever plans on kidnapping another American in Mexico, I’ll send ten men just like me down here to deal with him.”

  ***

  “Thank God,” Lydia’s mother cried.

  A smile tugged at my lips as she wrapped her arms around her daughter in a warm embrace. “These people are animals. They’ll go after anyone for money, but they don’t always stick to the deal.”

  I grimaced at the thought of what might have happened to the girl if I hadn’t gotten to the house in time. If I had a daughter . . . damn, I couldn’t even imagine. I’d be one of the fathers who stand in the door with a shotgun in hand when my daughter went on a date.

  What in the hell was I thinking? I would never marry. Never have a daughter.

  “I don’t know how to thank you.” With a shaky hand, the girl’s father held out a check. There was an absurdly large number written on it.

  “I don’t want your money.”

  “But you did a job for us, a job the police couldn’t even do.” He exhaled a deep breath. “When I called Michael for help, I wasn’t expecting a handout. I’d pay anything to get my daughter back. Thank God he was willing to help out an old veteran like me, even though he was on his honeymoon.” He set the check on the kitchen table and rubbed the nape of his neck. “I—I just can’t believe they came after us. After my precious Lydia.” He looked over at his wife, who cradled their daughter in her arms.

  Sadness snaked its way up inside me. I wasn’t sure why—this had all ended well. “Sir,” I started before clearing my throat, “I think you should consider coming back to the States. The situation down here in Mexico is getting worse. I understand your wife has family here and all.”

  The man held up his hand. “Of course. We’re leaving immediately.”

  “Well, good luck to you, sir.” My phone vibrated in my pocket as I made my way over to the mother and daughter. “Are you okay?” I asked, placing my hand on her shoulder. “You’re one strong girl. You know that, right?”

  She wiped away the tears from her cheeks and flung her arms around my neck. “Thank you,” she cried into my ear.

  I allowed myself a brief feeling of relief. “Stay safe.” I tried to ignore the strange swell of emotion in my chest. “Goodbye.”

  On the way back to my rental car, I shoved my hand into my pocket to see who was calling.

  An unknown number.

  “Hello?”

  “Connor?”

  As the engine purred to life, my hand fell from the keys and onto my lap. “Mason? Mason, is that you? Are you okay?” Worry seized my body as my face grew taut with concern. Images of my own time in Afghanistan flashed into my head: IEDs, shrapnel, terrorists . . . had something happened to my kid brother? “Mason?”

  Static.

  “Mason, what’s wrong?”

  “Shit, Connor. I’ve been calling . . .” Interference. “I’m about to board . . . back to the States.”

  Did I hear him right? “Are you hurt? Why are you leaving? What’s wrong?”

  “I’m okay, but . . .”

  “What?” Panic strangled my nerves. Something wasn’t right.

  “No one could reach . . .”

  “What? You’re breaking up. I’m losing you.”

  “Dad’s dead.”

  Chapter Two

  Olivia

  The sound of his voice instantly gave me the chills. “Olivia?”

  “Oh jeez, what does he want?” Claire took a sip of coffee from her oversized, hot pink mug.

  I rolled my eyes and squirmed in my office chair, trying to get comfortable. “How did your date go with him, anyway?”

  She shifted in her four-inch leopard print heels and continued to chew on her lip without making eye contact—I knew what she was going to say.

  Claire set her cup on my desk. Her young, porcelain skin assumed a barely-there frown. “Um. He’s a total asshole. It wasn’t even a date. It was an ‘I want to screw you’ kind of thing.” She pulled on the strands of her raven black hair and squinted at me.

  Thoughts of pounding our boss in the face with my killer right hook shot into my mind. The cheap plastic arms on my chair melded with my palms as I gripped them in a frantic attempt to keep my thoughts to myself. It was even harder than usual not to say more than I should about the jackass of a boss we worked for. “Claire.”

  Even with her shoulders slumped forward, she was incredibly tall. Why was she a secretary when she should’ve been a model? She had crazy long legs and a bust size that should be X-rated.

  “We skipped dinner and went straight to his place.” She looked at me with hooded eyes. Ugh, why him? Anyone but him.

  I must have lost my poker face, because she said, “Don’t give me that look, Liv. I couldn’t help it. He’s just so damn hot.” She fanned her face with her free hand and rolled her shoulders back. “I know you don’t like him, but it was just sex.”

  “Okay.” I stood up and reached for my tablet.

  “He totally looks just like this super sexy DJ I have the hots for, who spins at The Phoenix. You know the one I’m talking about, right?”

  “Um . . .” My mouth parted as I waited for her to continue, knowing that I probably didn’t want to hear what else she had to say.

  “And Declan’s kind of kinky,” she whispered. “Into all that Fifty Shades stuff . . . and you know how I have a thing for bad boys.” She sat in my vacant chair and sipped her coffee.

  “He’s not a good guy, Claire.”

  “Shit. I know, and I resisted his approaches for the last two months that I’ve worked here . . . but I’m weak.”

  Something in my chest physically hurt to hear her talk. “I wish you would stay away from him. I don’t want to see you get hurt.” That was all I could say. “Be right back.” My lips puckered sourly as I left my cubicle, and a tingling coursed through my body as disgust swallowed me whole.

  I wish I understood why men like him existed, not to mention wh
y women are attracted to them.

  “Come in,” he ordered when I tapped on his door. “What took you so long?” Declan Reid, owner and CEO of Reid Enterprises, was the same age as me. Twenty-freaking-nine. His father had retired three years ago and left Declan his failing portfolio of businesses. Somehow, the inexperienced young owner had managed to turn everything around. It didn’t impress me, though—not with what I knew.

  Declan turned away from his wall of windows and sipped his coffee, and I indulged in a mental image of his coffee spilling and burning his chest as I stepped inside what I had nicknamed Lucifer’s Den. “Just wrapping up a discussion with Claire.” I cleared my throat and sat in the bright red leather chair in front of his desk. Red—the devil’s color. How perfect.

  I set my tablet on his silver desk, which was massive and had no drawers. “What can I do for you?” The sound of my overly pleasant voice was enough to make me nauseous.

  Declan remained standing in front of the windows, which overlooked the water. Our office sat near the docks, as the majority of the business was handled overseas, and cargo shipments were made on a daily basis. “How would you feel about a promotion?”

  My shoulders arched back as my attention focused on his black dress shirt.

  “What?”

  He squinted down at my black heels. Then his eyes wandered up over my calf muscles to the hem of my modest, black pencil skirt.

  What sinister thoughts were going on in his head?

  I bit back my desire to curse at him as his heated stare settled on my chest, which wasn’t even exposed. He’d just imagined me naked, hadn’t he?

  I hated that Declan was so good-looking, with his spiky black hair and haunting brown eyes. He was fit and strong, but not muscle bound, and he had black ink on his forearms, which I noticed whenever he rolled his sleeves to his elbows.

  My hand slipped up to my chest, double checking the buttons on my blouse.

  “Mr. Reid?”

  He approached his desk and set his coffee down before sliding into the nearby leather chair. A quick image of red leather and whips popped into my head as I remembered what Claire had said.

  “Olivia, you’ve been a valuable asset here at the office, but I think I’d prefer to offer you a different position—one outside of Reid Enterprises. Or at least, outside of this building.”

  “What did you have in mind?” I rolled my tongue over my front teeth as I considered the implications. I didn’t mean for it to come across as sexual, but it must have because he narrowed his eyes on my face. His attention pinned to my mouth.

  “I’d like you to work for me as my personal assistant,” he said after shaking his head a bit. “It’d be more of a nights and weekends kind of deal. I want someone who can help me with the nightclubs and restaurants I own.”

  Oh wow.

  “Olivia, I need someone I can trust, someone always by my side. But the job will require a lot of hours, as well as travel. I’m opening a new club in Vegas soon, and I’d need you there with me. We’d probably go to Vegas a lot.” His lips quirked into a quick smile but faded as he stood up. “I respect you, Olivia. You’re not like most of the women who work here.”

  Yeah, I’m almost thirty. I cover my cleavage. And, oh yeah, I don’t want to sleep with you.

  “I know I have a certain reputation at the office.” He rubbed the nape of his neck. “And it’s not that I’m not attracted to you.” He grinned, exposing his bright, almost too-perfect, teeth. “You’re by far the sexiest woman here, in fact. But I need to exercise restraint when it comes to you because I see big things for your future.” He walked around behind his desk and took a seat in the leather chair, which looked so much more comfortable than the tiny red one on which I was perched.

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “My goal is to groom you to run one of my nightclubs someday. Maybe even more than one. Business is booming for me, but it’s exhausting to directly manage my manufacturing companies as well as my entertainment ones. It’d be nice to bring you up in the ranks so that you could help me out.”

  “Are you serious?” I couldn’t believe it. Not really.

  He nodded. “You have an MBA—you shouldn’t be wasting your time as an admin.” He scratched his chin and tilted his head. “I have no idea why you took the job to begin with, but I’m glad you did. I have greater plans for you.”

  “I don’t know what to say, Mr. Reid.” I did know what to say, but I figured I should act meek. Maybe bat my eyelashes a few times for added measure.

  “Say you’ll start now. And stop calling me Mr. Reid. From here on, I’m just Declan to you.” He reached into his desk drawer. “Here.”

  I reached out and caught the set of keys he tossed my way.

  “One is a key to my club, The Phoenix, and the other is to your company car. I hope you don’t mind driving an Audi?”

  Was that supposed to impress or excite me? “Wow. I’m a little shocked by this.” I stood up and set the keys on top of my tablet. Fortunately, after the last eight months, I’d mastered the level of flattery required to impress such a narcissist.

  “You can go ahead and pack up your desk. You won’t be reporting here anymore. I have an office set up for you at The Phoenix.” He looked pleased with himself as he leaned back in his seat.

  “Thank you,” I bit out.

  “Be at the club at eight. We’ll have a briefing to discuss your new roles and responsibilities before we open.” Declan glanced down at his ringing cell and waved me away with his hand.

  “Well, what did he want?” Claire asked as soon as I returned to my cubicle.

  “Don’t you ever work?” I motioned for her to get out of my seat.

  “Did he mention me?”

  “No, Claire.” Clearly she didn’t intend to heed my earlier advice. “He offered me a new job.”

  “What?” she gasped. “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wow. What job?”

  “His personal assistant. I guess I’ll be helping him with his nightclubs.”

  Something that sounded like a squeak escaped her lips. “Oh my God. I’m so jealous. Can you get me on the guest list for a VIP booth at The Phoenix this weekend?”

  “Um. Sure.”

  As I sat down at my desk, the red logo of Reid Enterprises swirled across the screen of my computer, ricocheting against a black backdrop. For the first time in eight months of working at Reid, a bubble of hope swelled inside of me.

  Chapter Three

  Connor

  “I still can’t believe he died of a heart attack.” Mason scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “I mean, I know he had heart issues in the past, but I just didn’t expect this.”

  “Technically he died of a stroke to the brain,” my dear old mom chimed in.

  I stood in the doorway to the lawyer’s office, not overly enthusiastic to hear my father’s will. “Why are you here?” I snapped at her. “And why are we having this meeting right after the funeral?”

  My mother looked up at me from her seat. She ran a hand through her auburn hair and wet her red lips. Really, Mom? Fire engine red? At least she had managed to wear black. I’d half expected her to show up in glitter and feathers.

  “I have to get back to Scottsdale today. Jerry has an important golf tournament.” She pressed a hand to her chest as the lawyer cleared his throat behind me. I stepped aside and allowed the lawyer entrance to his office.

  “You shouldn’t even be in this meeting. You really think he put you in his will?” I tried not to laugh at the absurdity of my hard-ass father leaving anything to my mother, who was now his ex-wife—the woman who gave up custody of my brother and me in exchange for the yacht and a home in Aspen. Well, maybe that wasn’t quite what happened, but it was pretty damn close.

  She ignored me and directed her attention toward Mason, who was a lot less jaded than me. He didn’t know what I knew about our parents, however. He didn’t have the privilege to see how ugly they could be.

>   Guilt pulled at me as I fought the continued urge I had to be angry with my father. The man was gone—there was nothing left to say.

  “How are you feeling, sweetie?” My mom rested her hand on my brother’s shoulder, but his attention was still on me.

  “Let’s just get this over with.” He gestured for me to join them.

  “I’ll stand.” God, I didn’t want to be there. Even if my father put me in his will, I didn’t want anything from him.

  “Connor? Mason?” The lawyer perched his black rimmed glasses on his nose and slid two envelopes in Mason’s direction. “A man dropped these letters off the day after your father passed away. He told me that your dad wanted you to have them.”

  Mason reached out and grasped the envelopes. “Take it,” he urged, pushing his arm toward me. My name was written on the envelope in black capital letters.

  I sighed and grabbed the letter, feeling the slight weight of it in my hand, then folded it in half and stuffed it in my back jeans pocket without more thought. I swallowed the lump in my throat, crossed my arms, and moved to the window, which overlooked 5th Avenue.

  “Who delivered the letters?” Mason asked.

  “I believe it was your father’s personal driver,” the lawyer responded.

  “Tyson?” I turned back around. I hadn’t seen Tyson in years. He was a good man, a former Marine. My father had hired him over twenty years ago, and Tyson had been with him ever since. Where was he now? Who would he work for now that my father was gone? “Do you have a contact number for him?”

  The lawyer looked at me. “I don’t, but I’m sure your father’s office will have his information.”

  I nodded and turned back to the window, making a mental note to call my father’s secretary, Elsa. God, I hadn’t seen her in years, either. How long had I been away?

  Still not long enough . . .

  “I really must get going. Perhaps you could go ahead and start?” My mother’s voice grated on my ears. Was it wrong that my own mother got on my damn nerves?