Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

K enya

Training.

I'd had extensive training by two sources, which allowed me the ability to react, not think. What I'd forgotten about was the recoil, and not from firing a weapon but from the aftereffects of killing someone. It had been a necessary evil in my former life, but I thought in my heart I'd never need to experience the guilt, the blackening remorse ever again.

Now, as I stood staring at the man behind the reason fading into my past had been necessary, I had a hard time breathing. Beckham slowly removed the second weapon I'd grabbed, giving me a nod after doing so.

I wasn't certain how to react after his proclamation I was going with him. I lifted my head, staring into his eyes.

"I can't. I have a bridal party coming in on Tuesday."

Beckham snorted. "Well, you're going to need to cancel them. Tell them the place suffered a fire."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Don't fight me, Kenya. Get a few things together and the keys you took a few minutes ago. We need to get the fuck out of here," he said in a low, husky voice. "You've just witnessed firsthand how dangerous these men are."

"Yeah, I get it but they want you. I can't leave. I won't. Fighting wars isn't my life." I managed to back away by a few feet but almost tripped over one of the dead bodies. It was all too surreal, the echoes of the shots still pinging in my ears.

He was right there grabbing my arm, jerking me closer. "Take a look around you, Kenya. This is just another attack. I assure you there will be more. The location of where they discovered us has been sent to whoever is behind this. Do you really think they'll allow any loose ends, especially after going to this much trouble to play this twisted fucking game?"

"You're hurting me," I said, which was ridiculous. I was shaking at this point, the rush of adrenaline I'd felt when the asshole had attacked me in the bathroom starting to fade. There were dead men littering my beautiful bed and breakfast. "What is happening? You still have no idea?"

I watched as he shoved the weapons into his pockets. "We're under attack. That's all that matters right now. Get some things together."

He nodded toward the stairs and I wasn't certain I had any other choice. I'd been smart enough to grab my purse and the keys, hiding both in my closet earlier. I'd been afraid he'd want my car, the single real gift I'd given myself after all the money I'd made. I also had my phone inside. I moved up the stairs, fighting the horrible fear crawling through me.

As soon as I walked into the bedroom, I was forced to stare into the vacant eyes of the man who'd tried to kill me. I'd seen countless dead bodies but most in protecting freedom.

But not all.

I couldn't do this again. I couldn't be forced to face a dangerous life. How long was the bastard planning on keeping me? I wasn't for sale. I wasn't a woman who could be…

The second dead man wore the same branding. What I found odd was that I had seen it before but had no recollection of where. It must have been on the television or in the news but it was obvious learning its origin was vital to Beckham and his crew.

This was insane. Who lived like this?

Tears finally formed in my eyes, several salty beads slipping past my lashes before I could blink them away. This was unlike anything I'd been through before, including the fact I had no choice in the matter.

I was about to become someone's hostage.

As I lowered onto the edge of the bed, I couldn't take my eyes off the dead man. Beckham had easily killed him, as if taking the man's life meant nothing at all. I wanted to be disgusted by his actions but if he hadn't acted quickly, I would likely be dead. I slowly dropped my head into my hands, my body convulsing.

This time I didn't feel his presence until he'd placed his hand on one of mine. I jerked my head up, my initial reaction wanting to yank my hand away, but I didn't.

Beckham was wearing an entirely different expression. Where he'd been amused the night before with my antics, all business when killing several people, now he had a slight softness about him that could almost be described as engaging.

He cocked his head, rubbing his thumb from one side of my right eye then the left, collecting my tears. "Where did you learn to fight and shoot like that?"

"Does it matter at this point? Besides, it's none of your business."

Sighing from exasperation, he looked away. "We don't need to make this any more difficult than it already is, sunshine."

"Stop calling me cutesy names. You know my name."

"Fine, Kenya. I don't how to be any clearer than what I've been. Now, it's unfortunate you were dragged into this bloody mess, but at this point it can't matter. This is business."

"This is my life."

"You can either come with me willingly or I'll put you in chains and dump you into the trunk."

"You wouldn't dare."

"You obviously haven't figured out that I'm not a good guy."

"I knew that the moment you showed up inside my house uninvited but as you can see, I can take care of myself."

"Not against an army."

I knew that. Of course I did. "Fine."

"We can make this easy or it can be very difficult on you."

"This is my world. This is very important to me."

"And I've already dispatched a cleanup crew that will arrive later today and dispose of the bodies and remove every stain. I'll have them cancel your guests if you'll give me the contact information."

"How nice of you. I'm curious. Does that mean I'll be allowed to return home when the nightmare is concluded?" I sounded like some helpless girl at this point, which I certainly was not.

"That's my hope. But only if you learn to follow the rules."

His hope. His rules. Fuck him.

He stood, nodding toward the closet. "Get your things. I'm not going to tell you again. We cannot take any additional time."

No choice. I'd never faced a situation quite like this, even though I'd had enough training to know when I'd been boxed in. I'd need to wait for an alternative way of escaping, but I made a promise to myself I would escape. Period.

I jerked up from the bed, grabbing the same duffle bag I'd brought with me so I could spend the weekend. He didn't seem to understand or care that I had guests coming, orders that would be delivered, people that would worry about me when they realized I wasn't here.

What was I supposed to do?

My stomach was in knots as I threw together everything that had been taken out, which wasn't much. In being forced to step over the asshole, the sickeningly sweet stench of blood caught me off guard, filling my nostrils and I almost threw up. I fought it as I grabbed my makeup, finally returning to the closet and grabbing my hidden purse.

"Give me the keys."

"You're not driving."

"Yeah, I am."

I glared at him again as I reached into my purse, yanking them out and slapping them into his hand.

"Come on."

I hadn't fully understood the extent of just how many assassins had surrounded the place, trying to eliminate the four men who'd been at the center of their attack. Blood was running down several walls, glass broken everywhere. The amount of destruction was horrific, seeming to occur from something that lasted much longer than it had.

Although I admitted I wasn't entirely certain of the timing. Everything had seemed buried inside thick fog. I was left standing in the kitchen for about a minute as the four men conferred and when Beckham returned, he stared at me for what seemed like an eternity. The man didn't trust me any more than I did him.

Even if the night before had been unusually spectacular.

I'd never felt so alive, so electrified. Just being able to let go, to be myself around him had been fantastic, the most exciting thing I'd done in years. The push and pull between us had made the carnal adventure even more enticing.

But this was no happily ever after, only a game where a lot of people ended up dead. I had no intentions of becoming one of the lifeless bodies. I didn't fight him as we left the house, feeling numb inside. The only other thing I felt was terror, more so than I'd thought I'd ever be forced to experience again. It brought back too many horrible memories, the kind that had once given me constant nightmares.

We made our way from the now locked B & B toward the garage. All three soldiers were doing their best to scan the surrounding area. There was no sign of how the assassins had gotten here, which meant they'd walked through the woods, possible from the main road.

Once at the garage, Camden took control of opening the door, ushering us inside. He grabbed my bag, shoving it into my trunk. I was pushed into the backseat, sandwiched between James and Beckham, Jeff in the passenger seat and Camden driving. The cramped space was another reminder how dangerous the situation was, or maybe that I was stuck in the middle of a nightmare.

Outside, Camden floored it, weaving his way down the curved main driveway as if he knew it like the back of his hand.

"Did you contact the pilot?" Beckham asked.

"He's on standby," Jeff answered as he glanced over his shoulder.

"Good. I have a feeling we're not done with the bastards yet."

"What the fuck is this show all about?" James asked from beside me.

I remained quiet, trying to glean every word.

"That's exactly what it is," Camden snarled. "They're putting us on notice that the real show will begin when they say."

"Any lead on who the fuck they are?" Jeff asked.

Beckham sighed. "No, but my father had soldiers searching the streets, talking to our associates."

Associates. Jesus. This was like sitting in on an episode of The Sopranos .

With them having a jet, I guessed they were heading to the small airport only locals knew about. When Camden took a left instead of a right out of the driveway, a sick sense pooled into my stomach.

"Where are we going?" I hated the quaver in my voice. That wasn't like me.

"A small pitstop. I'm curious, my little fighter. Do you live on the property?" Beckham asked as he slowly turned his head in my direction.

"You were in my bedroom." What was he getting at?

He had his elbow on the raised area under the small backseat window, slowly rubbing his index finger across his bottom lip. "You will learn that lying to me isn't in your best interest."

"Why would I be lying to you?"

Camden threw us a look in the rearview mirror. It was obvious I was the butt of some joke between them. They'd found my little house. Shit. I hadn't through they'd go that far.

"You have a house on Lakeshore Drive," James answered. "You found a sweet deal on a quaint Cape Cod for just over five hundred thousand, which was a steal eighteen months ago in this area. You worked a deal with the bank that included the mortgage on the bed and breakfast, and I must admit you proctored yourself one of the best loans I've seen in a long time. While you did put almost one hundred thousand dollars down for both, you made certain you kept a good share of your earnings to handle payment of renovations to the bed and breakfast. Unfortunately, you didn't anticipate needing a new well and sewer pump or the number of electrical problems you were forced to face. That has left you with four thousand six hundred fifty-two dollars in Franklin Savings with another CD with ten thousand in it. You were banking on the tourist season."

I slowly turned my head in James' direction, my heart thudding in my chest. Their words were meant to show me they knew everything about me and could use whatever they wanted against me. Now I had to worry just how far they'd gone into my past. A lump formed in my throat, another wave of fear more debilitating than the one before. "What do you want from me?"

"It's simple, my beautiful captive. Truth and respect. You have excellent skills with a weapon, which of course tells me you have used one before, likely in the line of duty. Is that the case?"

Beckham's tone was still smooth like velvet, perhaps even more so, but he was back to being all business. The difference this time was that he was pretending to be a businessman and not what he was.

A criminal.

I knew his type far too well. I knew what he was made of and how he operated.

It should do nothing more than scare me to death, not be a sensual draw, but here we were sitting closely together, and I was almost as aroused as I'd been before.

"If by that you're asking if I am or have been a cop. The answer is no."

"Hmmm… Well, I doubt you're a notorious criminal on the run. That leaves me with more curiosity. However, I'm guessing you have a stash of weapons at your house, which is only another mile from here. Am I correct?"

He was very worried there would be another attack. "Fine. Yes, I have a few but it's not like I store much ammunition."

"As long as it buys us enough time to get to the airport, that's all I need. I assure you I'll replenish your stock once you're allowed to return home."

"What about paying me for the damage caused to my beautiful establishment since you know how little money I have? In addition, you'll need to make up for the business loss I'll have over this next week or however long you decide to keep me as your prisoner. And you're going to triple the payment for my hospitality. I hope I'm making myself clear."

The wicked grin from the night before returned to Beckham's face.

"She's a tough one, boss," Jeff said almost as if I wasn't sitting in the backseat a mere two feet from him.

"Yes, she is. Would a check be sufficient?" Beckham was clearly almost as amused as the day before, but it would seem he was also mindful I wasn't just a girl with an hourglass figure and a business to run.

"I prefer cash."

He allowed his grin to become a full smile. "That can be arranged. If you're a very good girl while you're my… prisoner, then I'll throw in a bonus."

"Oh, goody." The way he exaggerated the word jabbed at my anger, but I could do nothing but create more hardship for myself, which I didn't need. "You're one arrogant asshole of a man. Has anyone ever told you that before? Let me guess. If they had then you would have put a bullet in their brain."

He shifted his gaze to Jeff, who was watching the play by play with amusement. This time he didn't respond, merely keeping his heated gaze focused solely on me. I shuddered inwardly, refusing to allow him to see he troubled me in any way.

As Camden pulled into my gravel driveway, this was the single time I wished I had close neighbors. I was thrown by the way it made me feel to see the little house I adored. It wasn't that much but it was mine, including the six acres of land. Everything in Maine was such a far cry from what little I had in New York.

I'd felt as if I could breathe here, free from the chains I'd allowed myself to be placed in. Maybe I was destined to be some asshole's prisoner for the rest of my life.

Camden stopped the car, keeping it idling while climbing out to allow Beckham and me to exit onto the gravel. I already had my keys in my hand, the strange sense I'd never see the place again almost pushing me into another emotional moment.

I yanked it back, moving ahead of them to the front door. At least it hadn't been shot up.

Yet.

As soon as I opened the door, Beckham pulled me aside, shaking his head silently then nodding to Jeff. As a dutiful soldier, he already had both hands secured around his weapon. Oh, God. This was very real. His soldier was checking to ensure no one else was inside the house.

Given the size of my little Cape Cod in comparison to the bed and breakfast, it took no time for him to search every room.

"Clear," he said as he returned.

I walked inside, pushing aside Jeff. I knew he was just doing his job and that the stakes were high for the great Kennedy organization, but they were for me as well. I stood a significant chance of losing everything while Mr. Handsome decided to play cops and robbers. Or whatever it was called in his line of work. I found it fascinating that while he and his family obviously used old world mafia tactics, including killing anyone who got in their way, they insisted the corporation was legitimate.

What? Billionaires gone bad?

I was pulled back by the great, sexy man, his eyes piercing mine as he stared down at me. I knew my acts of anger and defiance weren't helping in the least. I also gathered the reason I was so angry, other than the obvious, was that I'd allowed my guard to fall for a few hours.

And look what had occurred.

Total chaos.

My bed and breakfast walls were stained with blood. I shivered even as similar electricity we'd both experienced attempted to heat up my skin and every red blood cell to a million degrees.

"Where are the weapons?" Beckham asked in a much softer tone than I would have thought possible given the circumstances.

"They're hidden in my bedroom closet. I'm no fool. I won't allow anyone to find them who isn't authorized."

"A very good girl. Let's go."

He was more forceful, holding me by the elbow as he continued to scan whatever window came into view. I was sick inside, wishing there was an easy way out of this. There was no chance I could romanticize what was happening. A dangerous man was in the process of kidnapping me.

I wasn't a betting woman, but I'd say if I were, the odds that I'd be returning to my beloved new city were slim to nil. As he assisted me walking up the stairs, a bad feeling swept through me. What if we didn't make it to the airport, which was still thirty minutes or more away from my house? What if I died because I'd been far too accommodating?

As if I had a choice.

I was thinking crazy thoughts now, maybe from fear or lack of sleep. The huge man had ensured I wasn't going to go anywhere the night before.

Not by shackling me to the bed with a rope. No siree.

He'd decided to swing his sculpted leg over both of mine, pinning me in place. And he'd wrapped one arm around me to add insult to injury. Or maybe fuel to the fire. I'd laid awake for what had felt like hours, listening to his breathing. He hadn't fooled me. He hadn't slept more than I had. Sex didn't allow you to trust a person. He was a criminal after all.

I headed into my bedroom, fighting a sob threatening to show just how frightened I was. I'd enjoyed making the room feel special to me and me only. Maybe because Daniel had made fun of everything, from the colors I'd used to the number of pillows I'd insisted on.

God, what had I seen in the bastard?

Sure, on paper the dude had looked perfect. Harvard educated, coming from an excellent and very wealthy family. He'd been employed with the most opulent and powerful firm in the city, purchasing all the bling most women would die for.

But he was a snake underneath it all.

Maybe that's why I'd allowed myself to engage in something carnal with a man who appeared on the opposite end of the spectrum of being respected and considered a decent human being. Maybe everyone was pretending to be something they weren't.

I moved to the closet door, throwing it open. The duffle bag was easy to find, the weapons a collection of items I'd been building for years. I'd tried so hard to pretend I'd left my old life behind but it seemed that had been impossible to do. Some of the guns had been gifts from my father. Instead of things like iPhones or iPads, frilly clothes or concert tickets for his only daughter's birthday, I'd often been given various weapons. I'd learned how to shoot as require then stored them away.

I'd developed a better appreciation of them years later, although a significant part of me hated the thought of keeping guns in my house.

I didn't bother looking inside, handing him the bag as soon as it was in my hands.

But Beckham did as I knew he would. I heard the slight glitch in his voice. I knew exactly what he was thinking. Good girls who'd grown up to be stockbrokers didn't have this kind of weaponry.

"Most are military grade." There was a hint of incredulousness in his voice.

"Yes, they are. I told you before. I'm not the girlie girl you think I am."

"Yeah, you are. But you're so much more. I will learn every nuance when it's the right time and place. Come on."

He slung the bag over his shoulder, taking a cursory look around the room before leading me back into the hallway. As soon as we were downstairs, Jeff was suddenly right there, beckoning his boss with a head nod.

I glanced where the soldier had been and sighed. So the bastards would soon learn I wasn't going to play the damsel in distress. A few seconds later, I followed the two men, leaning against the doorjamb with my arms folded. While I was very proud of my service to my country, I didn't have my credentials or photographs of members of my unit plastered on the wall. I also didn't sport a Marine tattoo, a requirement of MARSOC, an elite unit often mistakenly referred to as Black Ops.

That meant Jeffie boy had searched through my office drawers. The bastard.

I kept a hard glare on both men even as Beckham tipped his head over his shoulder, scowling as he stared at me.

"What's wrong?" I asked. "You can't handle a powerful woman?"

He handed Jeff the Silver Star I'd received, taking his time to close the distance. I refused to budge. As he'd done several times before, he cupped my jaw, his hold firm but not painful. I'd realized it was his way of asserting his power. Whoop-de-do.

"I adore a powerful woman, my little fighter. What I don't appreciate is you not providing all the details or the fact you were in perhaps the single most lethal group of military soldiers in the business. I'm curious as to why you didn't volunteer that information." He was hypnotizing in almost every way, his three-day stubble covering his square jaw and the way his eyes locked onto mine as sexy as everything else.

But I learned a long time ago what being addicted to a man and his masculine wiles could do. It would never happen again under any circumstances.

I shrugged, easily able to jerk my head away from him. Before heading off, I smiled. "You didn't ask."