Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

K enya

I was so stunned after the man had left, I hadn't been able to move. When I finally had, I'd needed to sit on the bed for a few seconds to collect myself. It was obvious Beckham was dangerous, not just from the weapons or my gut telling me they were hiding out from some other bad people, just from the gleam in his eyes.

He enjoyed the hell out of intimidating people.

I was intimidated but even worse, I was also fully aroused. It was one thousand percent insane that a group of dangerous thugs had indeed broken in and I was wet, my thighs sticking together from juice that had trickled past my bathing suit.

I thought of the perfect man characters I'd mentioned to Janie, now regretting it. As far as I knew, I hadn't rubbed a bottle with a genie inside.

Groaning, I dropped my head into my hands before I willed myself to move. The last thing I wanted was to be in a bathing suit around them. As I stood, I tried to think if there was anything I could do to get myself out of this scenario. My car was parked in one of the garages, my keys downstairs with my purse. If the man was observant, he'd already taken them away. If not, maybe I'd have a chance to escape later if I distracted them.

What better way than to appeal to four men's stomachs?

Smirking, I headed out of the guest room I'd used, moving to the suite that was all mine, including the small attached office and bathroom. I was now freezing to death, my fingers and toes cold. I knew I couldn't take very long and rushed into my closet, finding a pair of jeans and a shirt. After grabbing underwear, I hurriedly yanked on the clothes before heading into the bathroom.

With the rush of anger still flowing, when I brushed my still damp hair, I could feel the burn in my scalp from the roughness used. What did I care? I had no clue what they could do or if good ole Beckham would keep his end of the bargain, but as he said, I had no choice.

When I finished brushing, I yanked my hair into a ponytail, taking a few additional seconds to stare into the mirror before reminding myself I'd become their personal chef for the night.

See, Janie? I know how to have fun on a Friday night.

Who was I kidding? I was utterly terrified. I was also curious since I'd heard the name spoken in different circles, and not because of their past political aspirations. As I left the room, I tried to think if perhaps they were a client or something. Nothing came to mind.

However, they had the stink of my former family, my father as bad to the bone as they came.

As I headed downstairs, I realized the four men had converged on my kitchen, likely making a mess.

I walked in quietly, able to catch a tiny bit of their conversation.

"If you ask me, it's still Renkoff Sergio. You know he wants nothing more than to move up in the New York Bratva."

The guy talking was blond, more the epitome of some surfer guy than a criminal. I hung back, hoping I was hidden.

"Nah, it's not him," the oldest of the four men said. "Not his style to disguise who and what he is, a true fucking savage. Sure, he's been making noise about crashing into the Kennedy territory, but I doubt he'd got the balls or the backing to take us down to that degree."

"I agree with Camden. The Bratva are hardcore. And they would have finished the job, which means we would have died in that explosion." Beckham was still holding court.

"Then who the hell is chasing us down like dogs, setting up a ruse like they did?" the other guy asked, obviously exasperated.

"That's what we're going to find out but not until we have some goddamn internet service. Can you do something about that, James?"

I took that moment to walk in, giving all four of them a hard look. "You don't have permission to touch anything. I spent a hell of a lot of money bringing this place up another notch. You're not going to destroy it."

"Good to see you've decided to join the party. Gentlemen, this is the lovely Kenya Markham, the owner of this fine B he was obviously a white-collar criminal, the only time he managed to get dirt under his fingernails when he was killing someone.

Great. The ugly thought wasn't doing my psyche or my anxiety any good. I forced myself to concentrate on how sexy he was instead, which only made my mouth water. This was ridiculous.

I counted off another two minutes then couldn't stand it any longer, turning over so I could untie the shackle with my free hand. It took me a little longer than I expected, Beckham's rope skills a bit more advanced than I'd realized, but I was finally free. I took a deep breath before swinging my legs off. I had to be very careful or one of the men would hear me. Tiptoeing toward the door, I opened it a crack, peering out into the darkened hallway. Other than leaving the light on above the stove, everything was pitch black.

After listening for any sounds, I slipped into the hallway, taking my time to creep down the stairs. I knew the exact locations where two of them squeaked, narrowly avoiding them. When I was on the first floor, I glanced up the stairs, fearful he'd be standing right there with that shit-eating grin.

Thankfully, he wasn't. With no time to waste, I headed into the kitchen, yanking my purse from the floor. While I'd been stupid enough to put on floppy shoes that I could stumble in, there was no chance of getting another pair. I also might freeze to death considering he'd waited until I'd changed into my nighttime PJs, which consisted of boy shorts and little more than a tank top. I was no fool. I know exactly why he'd insisted I do so, escape impossible on foot while wearing next to nothing in April in Maine.

While we were experiencing a May-like warmth, it was still chilly outside since the sun had gone down. I refused to allow that to be a deterrent. All I had to do was to get back to my little house, which the bastard had no clue about and couldn't find in the middle of the night, and I could put on warm clothes.

And I could call the police.

The plan seemed perfectly acceptable to me.

I moved to the back door, searching the deck. I had a feeling the soldiers would concentrate on the front of the house given the boat access was still difficult for those who didn't know the area, and impossible at high tide, which it was currently.

Seeing no one, I headed outside, staying close to the building until I was at the corner, the garage a straight shot away. After taking several deep breaths, I crouched over and rushed toward the building. When I made it there, I took another series of deep breaths, doing what I could to keep myself on track.

There was a small door on the side, but I'd still need to open the garage door in order to leave. I had to risk it. There was no other choice. Still in stealth mode, I moved around to the side, taking another quick look before heading in through the door.

I was panting by that point, my pulse racing but I moved toward my Camaro, opening the passenger door so I could toss my bag. When I reached inside searching for the keys, my heart sank.

"Oh, shit." They weren't there.

Suddenly, the light was flicked on overhead and I froze, taking a few seconds before I could turn around.

There stood the chocolate-haired god under the light. In his hand were my keys. "Looking for these, princess?"