by Ella James
“Oh fuck, the gun!” Hell yes! The gun I brought from Race’s house is right here on the floor.
I grab it and turn around to find the two of them locked in a struggle on the rug. Race is on top, but Bob is pointing a gun at his head.
Nothing—nothing in my entire life has ever scared me more than that. I guess it’s true what they say about itchy fingers. I feel a flush of heat bloom all over my body, but especially my palms. Suddenly I have no choice—I have to move. I point the gun at Bob, pinned down under Race, and I fire without a second thought.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THE BOSTON JOURNAL
Nine days later
A Charleston, South Carolina hospital today released Robert Bennett into the custody of federal agents. Bennett is the first cousin of James Wolfe, falsely accused almost seven years ago of murdering his wife Cookie Smythson and her lover Byron Paige.
Bennett’s transfer from a medical facility to an arm of the FBI follows a series of dramatic events on an island off the coast of Charleston—a family showdown in which Bennett appeared at Wolfe’s home with a gun, threatening Wolfe and girlfriend Sarah Ryder before confessing to the murders of Smythson and Paige. Bennett has also been implicated in a New York State drug-smuggling ring. Recently, according to police reports, Bennett had been abusing cocaine and prescription drugs.
In 2008, Wolfe endured a grueling trial for double homicide and only narrowly avoided conviction. He was widely condemned in the court of public opinion, and has spent the last six years living in seclusion.
Three days ago, the Journal found out James Wolfe is the popular contemporary nature artist known as “W.” His most recent painting, Fox and Stallion, sold yesterday at auction for $8.4 million.
EPILOGUE
RED
Have you ever fucked your boyfriend under a palm tree on the beach? I have. And guess what? I’m doing it again—sometime today, if history is any indicator.
The private island Race rented so we could escape the media frenzy is only about half the size of our island off the coast of Charleston, but what it lacks in size, it makes up for in beauty.
We’re somewhere in the Virgin Islands, somewhere so rural I don’t even know the name, but believe me, it’s breathtaking.
It took us three and a half days to get here. There was a lot of chaos after what happened with Bob, and Race had to get his bicep patched up. I’ll admit, I was pretty much a wreck that first day. After I shot Bob, I passed out like some swooning debutante. Race says he caught me just before my head hit the hardwood.
At that point, Bob was out—because I shot him in the liver. Have you ever seen the hashtag sorrynotsorry?
We had to talk to the cops a jillion and one times, but eventually they decided our stories matched up. Just today, we got a call saying they’d arrested Tom Boyer, one of Cookie’s old bodyguards and my tree house tormenter. He was the last holdout of the group of five who Bob hired to try to murder Race. I don’t know how much time they’ll get, but it won’t be a little.
As for Bob—Race’s lawyers think he’ll probably get life. He can try to use the drugs as an excuse (he was clearly high as a kite that day at the island) but what he did to Cookie and Bryson Paige was premeditated. Juries don’t look kindly on that sort of thing.
So far, the only dark spot on this trip is Bob. I’m not going to lie. It’s been really hard for Race. A few times I’ve found him sitting in one of the beach chairs, right at the edge of the ocean. He’ll have his legs hanging into the sea and has face tipped back toward the sun—and I know he must be thinking. I’m learning Race isn’t the type to laze around and just enjoy himself. He likes to stay busy.
That’s where I come in.
He doesn’t know this, but before we got on the plane, I downloaded the entire Kama Sutra onto my iPhone, and while he swims or paints or thinks, I’ve been reading.
Some of the positions I’ve found have made him come for hours.
Yeah. I’m that kind of girlfriend.
Race is throwing me some curveballs, too. Like how he sleeps all curled around me, how he doesn’t mind rubbing my shoulders every time I ask, and the way he kisses my forehead right before we go to sleep.
And Race in the bedroom? Well, I’m still surprised by that.
I’m chopping mangoes when he strolls into the kitchen, a towel thrown over his shoulder, swim trunks on his sexy hips. He comes up behind me and starts kissing my neck, and I just know.
He takes me by the hands and leads me out onto the patio, past the hammock, to the grove of palm trees just beside the water’s edge. He lays me down and peels my swim suit off.
The last thing I see before I close my eyes is his face between my legs.
Isn’t that the best view?
-THE END-
Part four concludes the story of Red and Wolfe. I hope you enjoyed it! Part one of my next erotic fairy tale, Beast, is coming August 18, and can be purchased as a pre-order here: http://amzn.to/1qYrodD
Check out these excerpts of Beast:
* http://www.therockstarsofromance.com/6/post/2014/07/exclusive-excerpt-reveal-beast-by-ella-james.html
* http://anasattic.com/exclusive-beast-by-ella-james-chapter-1/
To celebrate the relase of Red & Wolfe four, I’m giving away a signed Red & Wolfe 1-4 paperback and a paperback copy of the BEND Anthology. To enter, go here:
* http://www.therockstarsofromance.com/3/post/2014/07/release-day-giveaway-fun-win-red-wolfe-signed-books-50-gc.html
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Looking for something else to read? Try Selling Scarlett, a free, full-length, new adult romantic suspense by yours truly:
* http://www.amazon.com/Selling-Scarlett-ebook/dp/B00CCRTFSC/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1365967821&sr=8-1&keywords=selling+scarlett
I’d like to thank the following people and blogs who’ve helped me with this release and much more:
Rachel and Chelle from Mark My Words PR, my agent Rebecca Friedman, the wonderful women of Indie Inked and The Erotica Consortium, The Rockstars of Romance, Angie’s Dreamy Reads, Nerdy Dirty Girlies Book Blog, The SUBClub Books, Shayna Renee’s Spicy Reads, The Literary Gossip, New Adult Addiction, Ella’s Elite, my sister Ashley, my husband and kids, and many more friends and supporters—without whom I would be much less happy and much less successful.
