Vanished (A Born Bayou Novella)

by Suzanne Steele

  Kindle Edition

  ©Vanished

  ©Born Bayou Series

  Copyright © 2013 Suzanne Steele

  Published by Suzanne Steele

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of Fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales, are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All other characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and not to be construed as real. The author acknowledges the trademark status of various products and locales referenced in this fictional work, which have been used without permission. The use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. All rights reserved. No part of this book can be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Cover photo © Deposit Photos

  Cover Copyright © Suzanne Steele

  Cover Design by Book Cover by Design

  Edited by Patricia Marie Commander Editing

  Formatting by Suzanne Steele

  Thank you for downloading this e-book.

  Your support and respect for the property of this author is appreciated.

  All content herein is protected under copyright law.

  This e-book is Rated 17+

  To the Reader

  The men I write about are Alpha males in every sense of the word. They are the men society warns you about. They are dominant males with controlling tendencies. They are the men you know you should stay away from even as

  you are drawn to them like a moth to a flame.

  Each and every character I create has demanded that their voice be heard. I have been true to that calling and I have stayed true to their personalities, which the reader may not always agree with. If you are looking for a sweet romance, you won't find it here. What you will find; however, is dark passion. Often, my heroes carry what would be considered an obsession for the women they love. They are dark, they are gritty, and many times their love is dysfunctional, but nonetheless, it is real.

  Stalk Me…

  Suzanne Steele’s Blog: http://suzannesteelesblog.wordpress.com/

  Suzanne Steele’s Twitter:

  https://twitter.com/Suzanne_Steele_

  Suzanne Steele’s Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/author/suzannesteele

  Suzanne Steele’s Facebook

  https://www.facebook.com/pages/Suzanne-Steele/160387180790420?ref=hl

  Acknowledgements

  First and foremost, I want to thank God. Without him, none of this would be possible.

  I want to thank my family, who carry the weight of everything so I can write. I love you guys and I couldn’t do what I do without you.

  I want to thank my editor, Patricia Marie Commander.

  I also want to thank you, the readers, for believing in me and supporting my work. I’m always humbled by the love I get from you all. You’re the reason I keep following my dream. Thank you for believing in a girl with a dream. I love you.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  Ashleigh

  “You’re late.”

  I don’t need to look up to see it’s my boss already starting in on me.

  “My office now.” He barks out as he parades into his office carrying a mug of hot coffee that I wish he’d accidently spill on his starched white shirt. The only problem with that scenario is I’d probably have to clean it up.

  I brace myself for the ass chewing I know is coming and follow behind the man responsible for giving me grunt work and shit jobs. My stomach does a flip when he stands waiting for me to cross the threshold of his office and shuts the door. I was hoping like hell you wouldn’t do that.

  I tug at the hem of my skirt in an effort to show as little leg as I can to the man who sickens me with his bloodshot hound dog eyes. I don’t think the man has any concept of sexual harassment laws.

  “It wasn’t like I could help it. I had car trouble.” I’m such a liar. I’m only five minutes late and it isn’t like I work a clock in type job. My hours are more like 24/7.

  “Well… perhaps if you were a little more compliant you wouldn’t have to drive that thing you call a car.”

  Compliant!?! Seriously? I bite my tongue to keep from saying what I really want to.

  “Perhaps if you let me do my job, rather than sending me on shit jobs, you’d see I’m a good reporter.”

  His jowls droop with disapproval only adding to the permanent frown he has on his face. It’s like his face is stuck in a perpetual state of displeasure, and lately, it’s been directed towards me.

  “I’m not certain where this sense of entitlement comes from, Ashleigh. We all have big dreams when we start out in our careers, but then idealism gives way to realism and we grow up.”

  What you’re really saying is because I won’t fuck you you’re trying to stifle my career.

  “Yes sir.” I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Right now I just want out of the hot seat, and if agreeing with him hurries up this little lecture, I’m willing to swallow my pride.

  The smug look on his face gives testimony to the fact he thinks he’s won.

  His fat, sausage-fingered hand plops a post it note down in front of me. “I want you to do an interview here.”

  “What’s the interview for?”

  He looks at me with an arrogant smirk on his face and answers, “You’re supposedly such a fabulous reporter, you figure it out.” He raises a sardonic brow, daring me to pursue my inquiry. “Run along, Ashleigh.” Once again, I’m disgusted by his fat, sausage-fingered hand as he waves me away like a pest.

  Wonder how your wife would feel if she knew you try to fuck anything in a skirt.

  I can feel his eyes on my ass as I almost trip over my feet in an effort to hurry up and get out of his office, before he can humiliate me any more than he already has.

  This isn’t what I envisioned when I started this job. How I went from the dream of being an anchor woman for a major TV station in the Louisville Kentucky area, to being the gopher girl for the real reporters, is beyond me.

  As if I’m not humiliated enough from my encounter with Mr. Sausage Fingers, my car backfires as I’m leaving the parking lot. It probably wouldn’t be so bad if my boss wasn’t standing in the window with a sneer on his face laughing at me.

  What an asshole. Who sends somebody on a job and doesn’t even tell them what it is? My life has been reduced to being subjected to this. I knew when I started this job that it’s a highly competitive field. I expected to have to deal with rancorous anchor people who fight for the limelight. I didn’t expect my biggest challenge to be my boss. What ever happened to a person’s work speaking for itself? I never have, and I never will, sleep my way to the top of the food chain. As soon as I can, I’m looking for another job.

  Television changes people—some for better, and some for worse, but it always changes you. I’ve seen
what anchor people will do to ensure they’re getting the most exposure in front of a camera, and it’s downright ugly sometimes. Not only is my boss humiliating me, he’s causing my colleagues to not take me seriously. The man is ruining my career little by little and there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it. If I don’t get out while I can, I won’t be able to secure employment at a rival station. There’s only a handful of television stations in this area, and I don’t want to move out of Louisville. It doesn’t matter what city you go to; there are only so many television jobs. I’m beginning to second guess my decision to go into such a highly competitive field.

  The ride to the mysterious destination is uneventful. For a woman who thrives off of excitement, to find uneventful to be refreshing, is testimony to the morning I’ve already had.

  I take one last look in the mirror and freshen up my lip gloss before I get out of my car and make my way into the truck stop. If nothing else, maybe I can put in an application here—no doubt it would be more exciting than my present job. Right now, my challenge is finding out why I’m even here.

  Country music plays in the background from singular small juke boxes placed at each booth. It gives the place a vintage feel, and for the first time this morning I feel myself relax because of it. It’s odd how the small things can make such a difference in our moods. Men in cowboy hats and baseball caps eye me with curiosity as I approach the counter. The waitress is simultaneously calling out orders to the cook in the back and getting me a cup for coffee. No doubt she doesn’t have an easy job either, but she sure seems to have mastered it.

  “Hey sweetie. Can I get you some coffee?” She’s already pouring it like she knows I’m going to say yes.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m supposed to be meeting someone here for an interview.”

  “That’d be that ole boy sittin’ over there in the corner booth.”

  “Thank you,” I mouth, as I purpose to leave her a good tip. The way I see it, we girls have to stick together. I head over toward the booth. Placing my coffee on the table, I extend a hand to introduce myself. The man seated on the other side appears to be in his late fifties. He’s dressed in jeans and a western shirt. The look on his face tells me he’s as baffled as I am on why we’re both here.

  “My name’s Ashleigh Arlington. The station sent me here to interview you.” As I scoot into the booth, my insides are churning at the thought of having to tell him that I don’t know what this interview is about. At no time would I trade off professionalism to prove a point—clearly my boss has no qualms about it though.

  He takes his hat off scratching his head.

  “Name’s Bob—Bob Bryant. Not sure it’s much of a story. I just don’t understand why in the world they’d want to steal what I was hauling.” Thank God, he’s given me enough to work with here.

  “And what was that Mr. Bryant.”

  “Sugar.”

  And that was the beginning of the story that would change my life…

  Chapter One

  Bo

  Watching her sashay through the parking lot in that tight little skirt she’s wearing is about the most entertainment I’ve had since my daddy sent me here. If that damn boss of hers wasn’t so nosey I’d be back in Louisiana right now. The only thing keeping me from resenting the fact I’m still stuck here is that I do love to hunt. Mr. Hemingway himself knew the thrill of a good chase, or he never would have written the quote: “There is no hunting like the hunting of man, and those who have hunted armed men long enough and liked it, never care for anything else thereafter.”

  The sound of her car backfiring puts me on high alert. Her boss is standing in the window with a shit eatin’ grin on his face like he hopes she breaks down. Not sure what that’s about, but by the time I’m finished with these two, I’ll know more about him than his own momma does.

  Bad as I don’t want to be here, I do understand my daddy’s way of thinking. He recognized a long time ago that I was different. I can’t ever remember a time I didn’t have a taste for blood, fear, and violence. The first time he let me hunt one of his enemies, a switch inside me clicked, and I’ve never been the same. I’m beginning to wonder if hunting this little ole gal isn’t going to be more fun than any of my other escapades. It’ll be the first time I’ve ever hunted someone of the female persuasion.

  I pick up my cell phone and call my daddy in Louisiana.

  “Daddy…I got eyes on ‘em.”

  “You better keep more than just your eyes on her, boy. I got no time for some nosey ass reporter to be causing me problems. You know what you need to do. Now don’t call me back until you’ve done it.”

  The line goes dead. My daddy is a man of few words. There’s a lot of money riding on shutting this girl’s boss up, and that’s exactly what I plan on doing. I’m willing to bet she has no idea what that man she’s working for has got her involved in. Is he tryin’ to get the girl killed? I’m more interested in killin’ him. Her… well, that remains to be seen. I may as well have some fun on this job.

  As intrigued as I am with her, there isn’t a piece of ass on God’s green earth that’s worth getting on my daddy’s bad side. Lozado’s idea of discipline is stringing up a body in the barn and taking a horse whip to their back. He’s the most sadistic man I’ve ever encountered. Daddy or not, I’m not subjecting myself to his wrath.

  Following the girl’s easy enough. She’s preoccupied with whatever music she’s listening to. Watching her belt out whatever song it is, like she’s on one of them TV shows lookin’ for new talent, while her fingers drum against the steering wheel of her beat up hatchback, is funny.

  When she pulls into the truck stop, I park far enough away to not be noticed, but close enough to use binoculars. It’s amazing what you can do with a good pair of digital camera binoculars, a memory card, and a supply of batteries.

  It isn’t just the thrill of the kill for me, it’s about the whole package. There’s a certain kind of power with watching somebody when they don’t know it. Stalking is my drug of choice. This is the first time it’s been a woman. That hot little body and cute little country girl face of hers is definitely adding to the excitement.

  I learned how to read lips years ago—picked up on it from so many years of spying on Daddy’s enemies. The word sugar is unmistakable. I wonder if this little ol’ gal realizes how much that one word’s going to change her life.

  One thing’s for damn sure: she’ll never look at sugar the same way after today.

  Chapter Two

  Ashleigh

  As soon as Bob says sugar I feel like I know what this story is about. Even though I sense there’s a newsworthy story in the making, I’m not coming to any conclusions without proof. I had enough time on my ride back to the office to ponder over my conversation with the truck driver. I also made sure to get his contact information.

  I take a deep breath before I tap on my boss’ door.

  “Come in.”

  I’m shocked when I enter to see Melanie behind my boss’ office chair pointing to something on his computer screen. It probably wouldn’t be so bad if her tits weren’t hanging out over Mr. Marks’ shoulder. He’s found a new mark alright. At least his surname fits his creepy douchebag personality—he finds his mark and makes his move. Yeah… I’m looking for another job. I absentmindedly touch my button up shirt assuring there’s no cleavage showing. I wouldn’t give this guy a glimpse of my toes, much less my tits. What an asshole.

  The smug look on his face is proof he knows what I’m thinking. The look on hers is nothing short of clueless. I almost feel sorry for her, but the jury’s still out on that one.

  “Spit it out, girl.” This time I don’t resist the urge to glare at him with disdain. Did he seriously just say that to me?

  “What would you like for me to spit out, Sir? You sent me on a story without telling me what I’m reporting on.”

  “Melanie, would you excuse us for a moment, please?” His tone is sickeningly sweet… until he directs his att
ention back towards me when she leaves, shutting the door behind her.

  “I’m not sure I like your attitude, missy.”

  “Missy!?! You can’t be serious. I find that to not only be offensive, but demeaning as well.”

  He points his finger in my direction stabbing at the air. “This is exactly what I’m talking about. That sense of entitlement you have is not going to fly here. I’m the boss. You work for me. If you went on that interview and didn’t get a story after bragging about what a good reporter you are, that’s not my problem. Looks to me like you’re just a little too full of yourself.”

  “Looks like you’ll fuck anything in a skirt to me. I think we both know what this is really about. When you hit on me and I didn’t respond the way you thought I should you started giving me shit jobs.”

  “That’s it. You’re fired.”

  I can feel the rage rolling off of me in waves. At this point, I don’t care about this job.

  “Fuck you! I quit.”

  He follows behind me like some kid on a playground who still has a point to make, when I leave his office and head towards my cubicle.

  “You better make sure you get all your stuff because I’m banning you from the building.” He’s still frantically waving his finger around in the air in an effort to justify his argument. By now, we’ve drawn the attention of everyone in the office, but I’m too pissed to care.

  “You act like a two year old. Look at you, your face is all red and you’re screaming like you’re having a temper tantrum. I’m waiting for you to fall on the floor and start rolling around. Put your two inch ego back in your pants. I wouldn’t come back here if you were the last job in this town.” I can hear secretaries sniggering in an effort to hold back laughs. The sudden knowledge of knowing I’m not the only woman in the office disgusted by his antics gives me a feeling of empowerment.

  His high shrill follows behind me as I walk towards the elevator.

  “That’s good, because you’ll never get a job with media anywhere in this town after I’m done smearing your name.”