by Linnea May
A dark and sad silence sets between them, making me feel awkward and like a disturbance. Both of these men look hurt, deeply hurt and troubled, marked by a life that neither of them asked for. A life I can't even begin to imagine.
"Will you be okay?" Keane asks. "Do you know where to go? Do you have the money?"
Tom laughs, raising his hand in an appeasing manner. "Don't worry about me. I'll be all right. But I needed to see you again, man. I needed to know that you'll be okay, too."
He casts me a suspicious look from the side.
"I'll be fine," Keane assures him, obviously trying to pull his attention away from me. "We will be fine."
He turns to me, casting me a warm smile.
"Won't we?"
Even from afar, his affection hugs me like a warm security blanket, soothing me. Telling me everything I need to know.
That everything will be okay.
Epilog 1
Keane
~ Three months later ~
The redwood forests have always intrigued me from afar. They promise serenity and rest, a retreat far away from life as I know it. I had a clear picture in mind when I set up my getaway plan.
I saw myself, living in secluded tranquility, chopping wood for the big ass fire stove that becomes vital in fall and winter, sipping on a good bourbon, watching all the movies that have been piling up on my list, and only interacting with other people if I absolutely had to. I always knew it wouldn’t be my life forever, but it was what I craved when the Covey still had its hold on me.
When they still owned me.
They no longer do.
But things didn’t go the way I’d planned them out. Libby was thrown into my arms, quite literally, and her appearance turned everything upside down. Including the final destination of my getaway plan.
It’s still the same cabin, encircled by giant redwoods that tower over the house with an overpowering self-evidence that some would perceive as daunting. I’m still chopping wood, and that fire stove really did turn out to be a lifesaver.
But now, a girl stands on my porch every single morning, turning and rotating her wounded shoulder as she slowly fights her way back to health. I took her to the local hospital shortly after we got up here, testing both of our new identities once again and fearing for the worst while she got a thorough checkup. It had been a long drive, and an even longer flight before that, and a lot of hassle on even the strongest men.
But Libby once again proved her perseverance. She has been fighting ever since our feet touched the ground after jumping off the roof that night. Her strength and determination have always impressed me, and I'm pretty sure they're the main reason she's already back to where she is now.
That, and the fact she still insists on bracing the cold morning air, even now when it has become almost unbearably cold.
"You'll catch your death!" I warn her from the door, the warmth of the fire stove comforting my back while my face is hit with the piercing cold outside. Libby is wearing tight yoga pants, a thick tracksuit top, and a scarf and a wool cap, but she still looks like she must be freezing to death in these temperatures. She has been working out, her cheeks glowing and her bright blues eyes sparkling as she turns around to me.
"Death doesn't know how to find me," she argues, marching back to the house in wide steps, wearing an equally broad smile on her face. She gets on her toes, planting a kiss on my cheek. "Good morning, sleepyhead."
"Not everyone likes to get up at dawn, you crazy girl."
She shrugs with both shoulders. A gesture that wasn't possible for her just a few weeks ago.
"Coffee?" she asks as she squeezes past me. I hurry to close the door behind us, eager to keep the goddamn cold outside.
"I already made some."
She takes off her cap and scarf, her tousled brown hair flying as she makes her way to the open kitchen. The color suits her even though the dye was born out of need rather than a styling decision.
I follow, taking a seat at one of the high chairs at the counter that separates the living room from the kitchen, and watch as she pours both of us a hot cup of coffee. She's using her left arm as if nothing ever happened, carrying the cup to me without spilling a drop without even shaking. But I know she's not quite back to normal yet. She still can't lift her arm properly, and she still can't put a lot of strain on it. It will still take weeks, maybe months, until she's fully recovered.
I wait until she's taken her seat next to me, carefully tasting the hot beverage while she casts me a smile from the side. I have something to tell her, and I don't know how she will take it. But I know I can't keep it to myself.
Ever since we made it up here, I've had to keep an eye on things back home in New England. I've had to be extremely careful, making sure to get an idea about the aftermath of the terrible things we let behind, without letting anyone—the Covey especially—know that we're here and that Elizabeth Caroline Abbott is neither dead nor missing, as it is presumed over there.
She's just gone. Forever.
Back home in Massachusetts, she's considered a missing heir. The death of Margaret and Clyde Abbott has hit the news, as has the fact that they left behind only one living relative, a niece who hardly anyone knew about. Once that detail was out, it was also known that she was enrolled in Humboldt State University, but the last amount of information they had was that Libby was matriculated a few months before she returned home to show up at the event at the Abbott Tower, where she was last seen just moments before the shooting took place.
It's assumed that she's been kidnapped from that event, but no one knows by whom and why. Authorities are very much mistaken if they think that whoever took her is after her inheritance. Libby is fucking loaded, one of the richest girls in the country.
Or, she would be, if she hadn't forfeited her inheritance.
Her family's representative has tried to locate her for months without success. Because Libby had to make a choice. Either give herself up to the authorities and accept her generous inheritance—she'd live with a target on her back for the rest of her life because the Covey is after her—or take on her new identity, forfeit the money, and start a new life as someone else, hoping that no one will ever find out who she is.
I gave that choice to her. I may have taken her away by force, and made her part of my own getaway plan, but once we'd reach the safety of this house, hidden in the redwood forest, I told her that she was free to go.
"And live in constant fear?" she responded. "Locked up in a gilded cage, never able to move around freely, always fearing they will get me? And... without you?"
She looked hurt at the suggestion. And she stayed.
Her inheritance was held in trust by the state.
Until yesterday.
I look at her, happily sipping on her coffee, still with that fresh morning glow on her cheeks.
"They've stopped their search," I let her know, giving it a moment before I elaborate. "Your inheritance is no longer held in trust. They will start searching for the next heir in line—"
"There's none," she throws in. "The Abbotts are dead."
I nod, accepting her cold and distant remark as a way for her to cope with the tragedy that is her family.
"Yes, but they will have to make sure," I add. "Before the money goes to the state."
"I hope it does," Libby says. "It won't make up for all the shit my family has done. But maybe the state can do something good with it like build some school, roads, hospitals."
She pauses, letting out a deep sigh before she concludes, "I for sure don't want anything to do with that dirty money. I'd rather starve to death."
I chuckle. "That will never happen. I will make sure of that."
She smiles at me. "I know you say I don't have to worry, because you've saved up and we have all the money we need, but I want to work, eventually. As soon as I can. I want to do something, earn my living, have a purpose in life."
I reciprocate her smile, nodding along as she speaks. "I g
et that. And I won't stop you from pursuing that."
"I know." She's beaming at me. "That's exactly why I love you."
Epilog 2
Libby
Oh my God. Did I really just say that? The words came out before I could stop myself. They jumped over my lips, leaving no time, no room to reconsider.
I mean. It's so obvious. We've been living together for more than three months now. We have already experienced so much more together than most couples do in a lifetime; we've been intimate on so many levels, sharing things with each other that we never shared with anyone else. We've been thrown into a life together that others take years to grow.
And it works. Despite everything, it works.
No. It doesn't just work. It's wonderful.
We had to leave our first little sanctuary in such a hurry that there was no time for me to mourn our departure. But I was sad to leave it behind, thinking that nothing could ever live up to that illusion of peace we managed to build out there.
Luckily, I was wrong. This house, hidden deep inside the beautiful redwood forest that I've come to live during my years down in Northern California, not only lives up to our first safe haven, but it surpasses it.
Here, I've had time to rest, to heal, and to overcome the things that have happened to me.
And Keane was right there with me, protecting me, keeping me safe, and comforting me. It still baffles me that a man like him, a ruthless killer who has been a hired assassin for most of his life, could display such a soft and caring side.
I can tell that he's haunted by nightmares just as much as I am. I am not the only one who needed this time to heal, to come down and recover from living through hell. He needed it just as much, and it's exactly why he prepared all of this and made sure he could hide out here in the woods secluded from everyone else. Surrounded by nothing but the sounds of the forest and the iridescent light shimmering through the branches of the massive trees.
He thought he'd be by himself. A lone wolf, responsible for no one but himself. Bringing me up here was his choice, and maybe one he didn't think through, but I never felt that he regretted it. On the contrary.
And now I told him that I love him. Out of nowhere, as if it was the most natural thing to say.
Because it is. Nothing has ever felt more natural to me.
He looks at me, his expression soft and affectionate, so very different to the look he had on his face during the very first night we met, when the strain of his old life was marking his features.
I don't expect anything from him. He doesn't have to respond, and he doesn't have to reciprocate these feelings. I don't want to pressure him into saying something he might not be ready to say.
And I want to tell him that. I don't want to put chains on this strong, lone wolf, this man who put it on himself to save me, and burden himself with the responsibility for my safety.
But when he reaches for my hand, intertwining his fingers with mine while his affectionate gaze rests on me, I realize that I can declare my concerns null and void. He doesn't see me as a burden, and when he responds to my declaration of love, he doesn't do it because he feels pressured to do so. He just gives voice to something that's been there all along.
The words come natural to him. They don't force their way out—they are an airy kiss, breathing life into something that's still flourishing between us.
"I love you, too. Libby."
Thank you for reading!
The Tower is just one of the many stories in the Cards of Love Collection.
Which card will you choose next?
https://www.cardsofloveromance.com/
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Also by Linnea May
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His Secret Muse
Prequel to The Velvet Rooms Series
The Velvet Rooms (Prequel)
Dark Billionaire Romances
Stories of dark seduction, twisted desires and fateful encounters.
The VIOLENT Series
Silent Daughter
Black Velvet
Blue Velvet
Red Velvet
New Adult Billionaires
New Adult Billionaire Romances with a college twist.
MASTER CLASS
For my Master
Billionaires & Bohemians
Bad Boy Billionaires and their artistic counterparts.
TAMED: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance
BARRED: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance
VIOLENT DELIGHTS
A Dark Billionaire Romance
BLURB
She agreed to play. She agreed to be mine.
I won't let her change the rules of the game.
Violence has always been part of my life. I was angry as a child, underchallenged and neglected, with no outlet for my dangerous rage.
Years have passed, and I’m no longer a victim of my own aggression.
I’m in control now.
A control that many seek to surrender.
Just like her.
My Pet.
The beautiful blonde who agreed to submit to my will.
She agreed to be kidnapped and locked away until our contract is over.
She’s here to play a role.
But her defiance seems too real, her terror too honest. Watching her struggle is bone-chilling.
She’s getting to me like no one ever has before, seizing a heart that cannot love.
Prolog
Joseph
She is the best one yet.
I have played this game with many girls before, but no one ever caught my attention like she does.
She’s waiting for me, kneeling with her thighs spread wide, her perky ass resting on her ankles, her back already arched, chest pushed forward, her neck stretched, her head held high, and the focus of her eyes is lowered to the floor. Her hands are resting, palms up, on her thighs.
The perfect pose of the pleasure slave.
Her chest is heaving in a steady rhythm and her eyelashes flicker when she notices me approaching.
It’s the most alluring sight.
My Pet.
There is a dark side to everyone, they say. While that may be true, I doubt that most people’s dark sides even come close to those that cast their sinister shadow over the part of myself that I keep hidden.
I’m consumed by the fury of a raging beast, something so dark and violent that even I was scared of myself once. I tried to ignore its existence, tried to push it away, but the effort was futile and only led to more chaos.
However, I am no longer that furious boy I used to be.
Violence has always been a part of my life, but it no longer controls me.
Now I’m the one in control.
I know who I am, I know how to deal with the beast raging inside, and I know what I need. I found what helps me to cope, and no one has to become part of it, unless they want to.
This is what’s at the heart of it all.
Choice.
Consent.
Rules.
A safe setting.
Every time I browse through the catalog of women who are willing to offer themselves to me, I am confronted with the reality of human psychology. For every sick person out there with these dark desires and needs, there is someone else who is willing to serve those demands. Together they meet the needs of each other’s twisted minds and bodies.
We humans, as a species, are pretty fucked up.
It’s a glorious thing.
My Pet is here because she chose to be here, even though the reality of it may frighten her. She agreed to my offer to buy her, and she’s proving to be the perfect Pet, tailored exactly to fit my desires.
I have been this agency’s client long enough for them to understand my personal tastes right down to the most minute detail. They know what I want from these women, they know what I will do to them, they know what traits a woman must possess, not only in regards to her physical attributes, but also her psychological makeup. And they know what I am willing to pay to satisfy my wishes.
Thirty-nine days, just the two of us, no safe word, no escape. Absolute surrender to my will.
She has entered a world of contradictions, a mix of freedom and discipline doled out in equal measure. One cannot exist without the other. She remains under the agency’s protection, as do I.
However, these thirty-nine days belong to me, and there is little to no way for her to break the established routine. I want to make every second count.
I don’t like interruptions. I need for both of us to be totally immersed, otherwise our arrangement doesn’t serve its purpose.
Its purpose to fulfill my darkest needs.
To satisfy my desires.
To keep me sane.
We are playing a game that few are able to handle. It’s more than just simple role playing in the bedroom. This feels as real as it can get. The only difference is that she knows she will get out alive at the end of it. She will return to freedom, to real life, and be an incredibly wealthy woman once our thirty-nine days are over, and she will never hear from me again.
This is how it works, and this is how it has to work.
She lets out a soft sigh when I caress her cheek, leaning gently into my touch instead of jerking away from it as she did only a few days ago.
She is different. Her defiance seems real, her struggle at times too much to bear, even for me.
She is here to be trained, for me to hurt her, to teach her. But I struggle to maintain my harsh demeanor. I struggle to train and inflict torture on her as I did to all the others before.
