by Kane, Jessa
“Then I’d have to withdraw that big amount from the bank.” She makes a gagging sound. “I’d rather not. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, okay?”
“Okay,” I say weakly, the phone dropping to my side when it goes dead.
I didn’t even get a chance to tell her I’m pregnant.
Because it didn’t feel right.
Something didn’t feel right.
Struggling against the urge to call Jack, possibly interrupting an important meeting, I pace the room for fifteen minutes, then pick up the envelope of money and airline ticket to Belize. I try to ignore the churning sensation in my stomach when I hear the familiar sound of her car pulling up out front. There doesn’t seem to be anyone downstairs in the house, not Bonnie or Charles. It’s so silent.
I clutch the envelope to my chest, shifting in front of the door a moment before I open it. Just a few inches. And there’s my mother smiling back at me.
All at once, I feel utterly ridiculous.
This is my mother, the woman who raised me. I’ve lived with her for eighteen years. We’ve had our ups and downs but there is no reason to feel so nervous. Maybe it’s the pregnancy already causing my stomach to act up?
I push the door open wider and step outside.
Her smile disappears.
There’s a second car. One I didn’t see before. A silver Rolls Royce parked farther down the driveway, the engine still running.
Something cold presses to the side of my head. “Don’t make a sound,” says a man’s familiar voice.
Oh God. My mother…she’s not alone. There’s a tall imposing figure that was standing just out of view. Without turning my head, I swing my eyes in that direction. And I find Winston Creed smiling at me, smug and collected. Well used to aiming guns.
“Why…what do you want?” I whisper, my entire body beginning to tremble. “Mom, why are you with him?”
To her credit—I guess?—my mother does seem kind of sheepish. But not sheepish enough, apparently, since she has no issue grabbing the money and plane ticket out of my hands, her mouth moving as she flips through the bills, counting it. “I’m sorry, Maisy. He offered me money if I could bring you to him. He’s been camped outside the apartment for days, but you never showed. So when you called, I had to take the opportunity.”
My mind struggles to play catch up. “I…I don’t understand,” I say, trying my best to remain calm. “What do you want with me, Mr. Creed?”
I hear rather than see him lick his lips. “The men are demanding a repeat performance. They’re willing to pay through the nose for a chance to be your leading man this time. Seven figures a pop.” My skin crawls and I know he’s checking me out, right there in front of my mother. My mother who just sold me out. “You made quite an impression, little lady.”
“What’s he talking about, Maisy?” my mother asks, fanning herself with the plane ticket.
Indignation clogs my vocal passages, making my words sound strangled. “You brought him here without even knowing what he wanted from me?”
“He offered a lot of money,” my mother explains, though she looks nervous now. “What does he mean…repeat performance?”
I close my eyes. “I accidentally ended up at one of his sex parties last Friday and…I had no choice to participate. It’s a long story. One I thought was going to end happy.” When I open my eyes, the image of my mother is blurred through an onslaught of tears. “I can’t believe you would do this to me. How can you be so greedy?”
My mother opens her mouth to respond, but Winston interrupts. “Get in the car, Miss Whitaker. The men are so worked up for a taste, they’re willing to break protocol and have a meeting in the middle of a weekday. Hasn’t happened in decades.” He trails the gun down the side of my face. “I plan to test the goods myself once I’ve made my money on it.”
Acid fires up my throat and I almost hurl on the steps.
“You can’t just kidnap me,” I gasp. “You can’t j-just—”
“I can do whatever the fuck I want. If you decide to talk, it’ll be the word of a social-climbing teenager versus the most powerful men in the state. Men who regularly donate to law enforcement and line the pockets of judges.” He gives me a little push off the steps. “Now get that high-priced piece of ass in my car.”
“Jack is going to find me.” I turn toward the house, frantically searching for a member of the staff. “Help!”
That is the last word out of my mouth before a rag soaked in something foul is clapped over my mouth and I vanish into unconsciousness.
14
Jack
I went a little overboard on the diamonds.
The floor of the limousine is a collection of little blue bags tied with white bows. Necklaces, bracelets, earrings. A tiara—couldn’t help it. There’s an engagement ring the size of fucking Montana in my pocket and I’m dying to get home and slip it onto her finger.
She’s mine.
Legitimately. Without being coerced.
I can’t believe it.
This girl I marveled over from afar for months, gut sick over not being worthy enough to touch her…she was already planted in my heart. Forever. But then she found a way to dig into the deepest chamber, expose me, teach me things about myself I never would have known. Redeem me. For so long, I’ve operated under the belief that I’m an unlovable son of a bitch, but if Maisy wants to be with me, I must not be all that bad. And I’m going to get better. I’m going to learn what makes her so good, so forgiving, and apply it to my own actions.
The limousine pulls up into my driveway. I don’t wait for the driver to open my door. I’m already out, instructing one of the maids to have the bags of jewelry brought inside.
As soon as I step into the house, though, my step slows.
It’s so quiet.
Not just sound-wise. It’s the lack of energy. Whenever Maisy is around me, I’m charged, my muscles poised. Anticipation pumps in my veins. But I feel none of that right now.
“Maisy!” I take the stairs two at a time, hurtling into our bedroom. The bed has been made. There’s no one in it. No sound of the shower running. But I stride to the bathroom to double-check, needing to be sure. No one.
Just before I’m about to turn from the room, I see the white test resting on the edge of the waste basket. My breath seizes in my lungs and it takes me a few seconds to approach, to look down and register what I’m seeing.
Pregnant.
Maisy is pregnant with my child.
My first reaction is joy. Undiluted, it spreads in my chest, heat prickling the backs of my eyelids. I’m going to be a father. But where is Maisy? She’s not here. Intuition is already telling me that. Still, I wheel out of the bedroom and bark questions at everyone in my path. Where is she? When is the last time they saw her? None of them have any answers. None of them know where she could be. They left to run errands this morning and assumed she was upstairs once they returned.
Fuck fuck fuck. My head feels like it’s splitting down the middle, sweat beginning to streak down the sides of my face. Did she take the two million dollars and split? Was I delusional to think she’d actually choose me once she had another option?
No.
No, my heart won’t let me believe that.
The way she ran to me in the driveway, her heart in her eyes, couldn’t have been a ruse. She is no a liar, my girl. She’s honest and right—and she told me she loved me.
I believe her. I have to. My sanity is at stake.
“Sir…” I turn to find Charles looking anxious, tablet in hand. “There is something you need to see. Security footage from just over an hour ago.”
Watching the scene play out in black and white, my blood turns to pure ice.
And then I’m ruled by a blistering combination of fear and rage, a violent tremor wracking me, head to toe, my teeth grinding down in the back of my head.
The distress on Maisy’s face shreds any hope for calm or practicality. That is the love of my life. My very h
eartbeat. The mother of my child. And she was kidnapped. Stolen from me.
I shouldn’t have taken her safety for granted.
This is my fault. If I’d been here, this never would have happened.
God, the pain she must be feeling. The betrayal. Her own mother.
My chest threatens to cave in. The fucking room is spinning around me, making me dizzy. But if I want to think clearly enough to find her, I can’t allow myself to consider what Creed might want with Maisy. What he’s planning. If I dwell on it, I’m going to implode.
Just find her. Find her. Bring her home.
“Call the police!” I shout, urgency carrying me back out the door, grabbing the keys for my Bugatti on the way out. “I want a fucking SWAT team at the Creed estate immediately and the commissioner put through to my phone.”
* * *
Maisy
I wake up in a dark room.
My head is fuzzy and I’m slightly nauseous, but I fight through the haze, alarm spiking in my blood when I remember being kidnapped outside Jack’s house. I’m at Winston Creed’s home. He plans to…
No. I don’t want to think about it.
I won’t let it happen.
Jack will come—and in the meantime, I’m going to find a way out.
That, or fight like hell.
I struggle to my feet and feel along the walls, willing my eyes to adjust. My hands bump into shelves, built in kind of a honeycomb shape. After a moment, I realize the entire wall is a built-in wine rack. Down towards the bottoms, the tops of wine bottles poke out and I take one in my fist, ready to use it as a weapon. Slowly, the room starts to take a little more shape around me and I see the door, a faint outline of dim light around the edges. No sound on the other side, just the hum of whatever cooling unit controls the temperature of this room.
Above my head, there’s a creak, footsteps coming down the stairs.
Moving on the balls of my feet, I position myself outside the door, wine bottle braced in hand. Keys rattle and I hold my breath.
The door opens and I take only a second to acknowledge my target is indeed the man who kidnapped me. I swing the bottle as hard as I can, catching Winston against the side of his head, making a loud, sickening thwack.
He stumbles backward, clutching the spot. “Bitch!”
I don’t hesitate. I just run. I find the staircase and—still battling grogginess—I scale it as fast as possible, clinging to the railing, the walls moving in and out like an accordion. I can already hear Winston’s pounding footsteps behind me, his slurred cursing. But I throw myself into a sprint, carrying myself through a long room lined with paintings, gold statues winking at me in the dimness. This feels like a nightmare, running through a maze, no idea where I am. Only that I need to escape.
I skid into a room and make a little yelp noise in my throat.
A dozen men, staring back at me. Drinks in hand.
Blatant lust in their eyes.
Winston enters the room behind me and I’m caught in the middle, the crowd of men on one side, a seething Winston on the other. There’s nowhere to go. No exits. They’re closing in.
Frantically, I search for a weapon.
“Accept it, Miss Whitaker,” says Winston, holding a throw pillow against his bleeding head. “Play nice and be grateful. After all, we’re going to make you a very wealthy little whore. Twenty percent, remember?”
“We watched the way you rode him,” says one of the men. “Wild for cock.”
“We’ve got plenty of those right here.”
Laughter.
“It won’t be like that,” I choke out, fear fluttering in my throat. “Not with anyone but Jack.”
“You better make sure it is,” Winston grits out, lunging for me.
I feint sideways and avoid him, but my distraction gives the other men a chance to reach out, grab me with greedy hands. I’m caught. They’re dragging me toward the back of the house, the room with the red light. I try to dig my heels in, but there are too many of them. I throw back my head and scream—
Glass shatters to my right.
Three men in black vests crash into the room, decked out in helmets, goggles, semi-automatic weapons in their hands. They shout at everyone to get down on the floor with such authority that I obey without thinking, along with the stupefied group of men, folding my hands on the back of my head. When I peek up at the action, I notice another dozen armed men filling the room from the opposite end, Jack at the had of the pack with a crazed expression—and I slump in relief, sobs hiccupping their way into my mouth.
“What the fuck is she doing on the floor?” I’m picked up, cradled to Jack’s chest possessively and it feels so good, so perfect, that tears clog my throat and burst out of me in a torrent. “Oh, Maisy. Baby, I’m here now. You’re okay. You’re safe. I’m never going to let anyone touch you. Ever again. Are you hurt? Are you fucking hurt?” He makes a hoarse sound, his eyes scanning me anxiously. “I’m so sorry, angel.”
“I’m okay,” I hiccup, clutching the front of his shirt. “I’m not hurt.”
Holding me tightly, he takes two steps and slams his foot down between Winston Creed’s eyes. “You’re lucky I called the police and didn’t kill you myself, motherfucker,” Jack seethes, his powerful frame shaking with rage, his unsteady hand stroking my hair in an unconscious gesture. “Come near her again, breathe in her direction again and I won’t think twice. Do you fucking hear me? I will end you.”
It seems Jack is going to do just that, perhaps changing his mind about going the legal route, when a man in a suit steps between us and Winston. “No one is killing anyone today.”
“This is outrageous!” Winston screams from the floor, spittle flying from his mouth. “You have no right to be on my property, Commissioner. This is trespassing.”
“Actually,” drawls the man in the suit—no, the police commissioner. I recognize him now from press conferences on television. “We’ve been watching you and this club for months, Creed. Financial records to prove money exchanged hands for sexual services. Had more than enough evidence for a judge to sign off on an emergency warrant. Now we can add kidnapping to the list of charges against you.”
Winston sputters. “She’s here of her own free will.”
Jack growls through his teeth. “Bullshit. And my security footage says different.”
“He’s a member of this club!” Winston pipes up with frantic satisfaction, pointing a finger at Jack. “If you’re going to arrest us, you better cuff him, too.”
A line forms between the commissioner’s gray eyebrows. “That true, Lincoln?”
“He only joined last Friday night to save me,” I say in a clear voice, my anxiety over Jack getting in trouble cutting through my residual terror. “He wasn’t going to make me…participate. But we didn’t have a choice. They were holding us at gunpoint.” I look into Jack’s adoring eyes and emotion impacts me in the chest. “Please. He’s the father of my child.”
Jack’s throat works, his mouth coming down to rest on my forehead. Kissing me hard. “I’m taking her home now. Where she belongs.”
“We’ll need a statement from Miss Whitaker,” calls the commissioner to Jack’s back.
“Later,” Jack shouts back, holding me tighter in his arms. “Much later.”
When we walk outside, I’m relieved to find Charles there, prepared to drive home Jack’s Bugatti. His driver is there as well, holding open the back door of the limousine. Jack climbs inside with me in his lap and we don’t talk on the short ride home, Jack simply rocking me in his arms, warming my chilled skin with his hands. He seeks to calm me, but I can hear the unruly tempo of his heart and know how terrifying the last hour has been for him.
Carrying me inside minutes later, he mutters unevenly, “I thought you’d left. For just a moment, I…thought you’d changed your mind.”
A weight sinks in my belly. Grief over what he went through before finding me. “No. I’ll never change my mind about you, Jack Lincoln. Or my
heart.”
There’s a wealth of relief in his exhale. “I’m so sorry about your mother,” he says thickly. “Goddammit, I should have been here to protect you, baby. I—”
“No one could have known he’d go that far, Jack. We’ll be more careful now.”
“Damn right we will. I’m hiring enough security to populate a village. Installing a gate. Buying an armored car—”
I lay a finger over his mouth. “Let’s just be grateful for now. I’m safe. We have each other. Nothing is going to change that.”
Momentarily appeased, he carries me to our bedroom and settles me on the edge of the bed. Kneeling in front of me, he takes a ring box out of his pocket. Opens it to reveal a diamond so large, I can barely fathom that it’s real. “Jack…”
“Maisy. My angel.” Intensity radiates from him. Love. Bottomless love. “The first time I saw you, the world became a place of…miracles. It was always a gray, broken place for me, but how could it be broken if you, with your smiles and selflessness, existed? And now you’re carrying my child, you’re here. In my life. If that’s not proof of miracles, I don’t know what is.” He stops to gather himself. “But if you could grant me one more and marry me, I’ll be your miracle, too. A vengeful bastard turned into a devoted husband. Dedicated father. I promise to be those things. Just promise to be my wife.”
It’s hard to speak when my heart is preparing to burst into confetti, but I swipe at my tears and sob, “Yes. Yes. I promise, Jack. I love you. Make me your wife.”
His breath releases in a heave, closing his eyes for a moment before sliding the ring onto my finger. I reach out and tangle my fingers in his hair, bringing him toward me for a kiss that is loving, sweet, reassuring, but quickly becomes something hotter. Sinful. A wicked meeting and retreat of tongues, harsh inhales mingling over the scrapes of teeth.
“Maisy, no…” Jack pulls back, his breathing rocky. “What you went through today…”
“Means I need you even more.” I wrap a hand around his tie and lie back on the bed. Using his tie like a leash, I guide Jack down on top of me, both of us groaning when he settles in between my spread legs, my dress pooling around my hips. “Love me, Jack.”
