Claimed By Her Best Friend's Dad Read online

  Instead, I push all of that deep down, focusing on the magical perfection of this moment, my body pushed nakedly up against the man I’ve been crushing on since I was a young girl.

  His words ring out in my mind.

  Better than I ever imagined.

  Yep, I have to say I agree, one hundred freaking percent.

  “Jamie, we’re going to be okay, aren’t we?”

  “Okay?” he growls, kissing me hotly while making patterns in my hair. “We’re going to be better than okay, princess. We’re going to fucking fly. We’re going to soar. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. I …”

  He trails off.

  I love you?

  Was he going to freaking say I love you?

  But then he grows quiet with a rumbling sigh, and I’m content to just lie in his arms.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Jamie

  The day after Jade gives herself to me, I sit in my office staring at my computer screen wondering if I’ll ever be able to focus again.

  After the mind-blowing sex – when she proved that her body knew exactly what to do – she lay in my arms for a long time. I was content to just feel her presence beside me, her body pushed up against mine, eager to listen to the pattern of her breathing.

  The only sour point was when I almost blurted out I love you.

  I know how nervous she is about telling Yasmin.

  Adding that to the equation will only complicate things.

  But we’re going to have to tell Yasmin as soon as she gets back because my seed is roaring inside of me, telling me that we did it last night, we fucking impregnated her virgin pussy.

  Well, not a virgin anymore.

  I stare at the report on my laptop screen, trying not to let the figures warp into shapes of Jade.

  Leaving her this morning was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, up there with winning MMA belts and conquering the business world.

  I’d fight and beat a thousand men in the cage if I meant I got to spend a few more minutes in bed with her, savoring the sound of her breath, the sweat cooling on her sex-ravaged skin.

  I’m about to sink into thoughts of last night – which are impossible to outrun, which I don’t want to outrun – when there’s a heavy knock at my door.

  It’s the sort of knock that tells me trouble is on the way.

  Immediately my thoughts are flung to the women in my life, Jade and Yasmin.

  I leap to my feet, fists already clenched, instincts already growing sharp and razor-pointed, my focus becoming clear.

  “Yes?” I call.

  Jones pushes the door open.

  The stiff backed ex-military man strides briskly across the wide open office. His flat face is pinched as though in discomfort, and his arms aren’t behind his back like they usually are when he comes to give me some run-of-the-mill report. His hands hang at his sides, as though needing something to do.

  “Sir, there’s a situation,” he says.

  “Tell me,” I snap.

  “I’m sorry to say a group of men have Jade Clark held as a hostage at the restaurant where she works as a waitress,” he says. “They say they’ll only let her go once you – and only you – go in there to get her, unarmed and alone. It’s clearly bait, boss. They want to draw you in and kidnap you, instead of her. You’re more valuable. I’ve drawn up a strategy to—”

  His words take a while to hit me with their full effect, a veil of disbelief falling over my office until I finally snap out of it.

  “A strategy?” I roar, already marching around the desk. “The only strategy I’ve got now is to march in there—alone and unarmed.”

  “Sir, that really isn’t a good idea. Initial reports tell us that there are at least eight of them, maybe more.”

  “There could be eight hundred, Jones,” I snarl. “It makes no fucking difference.”

  I stride from the office, breath loud in my ears, telling myself – telling the world – that there’s no damn way I’m letting them take Jade from me when I’ve only so recently gotten my hands on her.

  I bring the Ferrari to a stop outside the police cordon.

  Several news helicopters beat their blades overhead, cutting the air loudly. The moment I step from the car, the assembled crowd turns to me, some of them calling out my name and taking out their cellphones, aiming at me as they scream and yell.

  I stride toward the cordon and two police officers walk toward me, their hands raised, one of them opening his mouth to tell me to stay back.

  But staying back isn’t an option when Jade is in there.

  I fine-tune my senses and let my eyes skim over the scene.

  The police cordon is about twenty-five yards from the restaurant. The restaurant itself sits on the street corner, glass lying in the street like tiny pieces of snow, the day dry and yet blisteringly cold. Dragon breath rises around me and the police officers as we get closer. The windows to the restaurant have been bashed in, and parked cars line the streets, providing cover if whatever psychos have taken her hostage start firing as I make my way there.

  “Sir, please—”

  I duke to the left and then dart to the right, moving with a speed these men clearly don’t expect from me.

  I duck my head and sprint like my life depends on it.

  No, I sprint like my woman’s life depends on it, like my baby’s life depends on it.

  Because it does, they do.

  I haven’t even had a chance to tell her I love her yet.

  Behind me, everybody is shouting.

  Somebody is roaring through a megaphone for me to stop, but I can’t. I can’t even think about stopping when I know that my lady is in there, unsafe, our child and our future in the hands of some lunatics.

  I sprint and then jump, sailing through the shattered glass front of the restaurant, landing in a crouch and then stand, eyes flitting here and there, assessing the scene.

  The restaurant is empty except for the men clustered in the middle, all of them wearing black hoodies, black jeans, and black boots, their hoods pulled up and dark scarfs pulled up to cover their mouths.

  The only part of them visible is their eyes, which stare firmly, silently telling me that they’re as ready to do violent things as I am.

  The men are large, some of them as big or even bigger than I am, and most of them clutch sharp glinting knives in their hands, reflecting the light of the electric bulbs back at me.

  I count seven masked and hooded men, all of them standing in a cluster in the center of the restaurant.

  Several tables and chairs lie like thrown children’s toys all over the place.

  In the middle of the cluster of men, the biggest man of them all stands with his back to me. He’s a hulking giant with a broad back, and it takes me a moment to realize that he’s standing in front of Jade, obscuring my vision of her with his body.

  “Let her go, motherfucker,” I snarl. “I’m here. You’ve got me right where you want me. So let’s settle this like men.”

  The man turns slowly, letting me see that Jade is tied to a chair, a rag stuffed into her mouth and tied with duct tape. I scan her quickly, assessing her for injuries. She looks physically fine except for the duct tape, but I can’t begin to guess at the terror lancing through her at this moment.

  Her hair is tied back in a ponytail, tears streaks down her cheeks and neck, and even now I’m reminded of the way her skin glistened for me last night, every inch of it alive to our pleasure.

  If I don’t save her, we’ll never get to share that again.

  Nor will we laugh together, banter together, fucking love together.

  I stare hard at her, willing her to see how sorry I am that I got her into this mess.

  This bastard wanted me.

  And he used her as a pawn.

  I turn to the man, something sinking in my chest when I see who it is.

  He’s the only one not wearing a mask, which means when he smiles I’m free to read the self-sat
isfied bluster in it.

  “I should’ve known it was you,” I growl.

  He smiles even wider.

  “Hello, old friend.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Jade

  I move my wrists, seeing if there’s any give at all to the duct tape.

  I’m still reeling from the events of the last hour.

  My shift was going terribly enough already, with my boss masking a bunch of snide comments when he found me in the break room hunched over my notepad, scrawling out some plot ideas for the story I’m currently working on. He was grinning broadly, coldly, and telling me it was good to have a little pipe dream when the door burst open and the men charged in.

  They smacked him across the mouth and then grabbed me, so many hands gripped around my arms and wrists it was impossible to fight.

  And then they dragged me into the middle of the restaurant and roughly shoved me into the seat, working quickly and efficiently, securing me to the chair and then gagging me.

  As I sat there, it quickly became clear that these men were the same that have been following me, wearing the same all black getup, only their eyes showing, staring coldly like they’d do anything at the command of their leader.

  “Old friend?” Jamie snarls now, standing up straight and unafraid even as Tyron Kirkenwell pulls the gun from his pocket and starts to casually toss it from hand to hand.

  Jamie, my protector, my savior, the future father of my children.

  He stands there like these men don’t have knives and a gun, like his one time MMA rival doesn’t have the power to pull a trigger and end our story before we’ve had a chance to fully explore all the different shades of our love.

  Love, love, love.

  I sing the words in my mind, the imminence of my death making the idea of holding back seem silly and suddenly juvenile.

  So what if it happened fast?

  So what if he’s my best friend’s dad?

  So what if life is complicated?

  I can’t die without telling him how I feel, even if it makes him run, even if it threatens to ruin everything.

  “You always were a sore loser, Tyron,” Jamie snarls, subtly stalking forward, taking small steps, his shoes crinkling softly against the fallen glass.

  Beyond the shattered windows, people shout and car horns honk and a thousand other sounds explode, but it all seems impossibly far away, as though it has nothing to do with this and can’t in any way interfere with us.

  Tyron runs a hand through his greasy hair, falling down in seaweed like strands around his cheeks. With his other hand, he casually aims the gun in Jamie’s general direction.

  “A sore loser?” he snarls. “You know I was supposed to win that fight. Do you have any idea what happened when you went back on our deal?”

  Jamie laughs grimly.

  “There never was a deal, Tyron,” he snaps. “Your people came to me and offered me money to throw the fight. I just stared at them. That’s it. I stared and didn’t say a word. They took my silence as assent. They were wrong. I’d never throw a fight. I’d never purposefully lose anything. That’s not how I’m wired.”

  Inch by inch, he slowly stalks forward, moving with such fluidity that Tyron doesn’t seem to notice. The men around me do, though, starting to clasp their knives hard, puffing themselves up as though any second they’re going to leap at Jamie and cut him into a thousand bloody pieces.

  I want to scream at him to get away, but of course, I can’t, the gag seeming to swell in my mouth and make just breathing difficult, let alone making any noise.

  “How fucking honorable,” Tyron snaps. “They took their pound of flesh out of me, Jamie, old buddy. They carved up my body and left me hanging and bleeding for days. They knew that getting to you was impossible. Attacking the heavyweight champion of the world? Nah, they couldn’t do that, could they? And especially not after you started Alignment and never went anywhere without a security detail. So they took out their rage on me. Then they exiled me, told me if I ever returned, they’d kill me and my entire family.”

  Inch by inch, Jamie moves forward, his eyes laser-focused on Tyron, his entire being hard and aimed toward this moment.

  Perhaps absurdly considering what’s at stake right now, my writer’s mind drags him away from this hellish restaurant and into another scene.

  I see him walking toward our child’s crib, just as focused as he is now, except the concentration takes on a different quality, one of absolute love and devotion.

  I want to help, but the duct tape cuts sharply into my wrists and ankles, making it impossible to move.

  “But I have my chance at redemption,” he says. “Get my hands on Jamie Jensen, use you for ransom. I tried stalking you and that spunky little daughter of yours, but no dice, Jamie. You were both too protected. So instead I targeted this one. I wanted to be a little more elegant about it – taking her when she wasn’t in public – but she’s a bit of a homebody, you see. She rarely goes down convenient dark alleyways or grimy subways.”

  Jamie says nothing, just inches forward.

  Tyron’s words are slightly slurred and quiet, as though he’s under the effects of some sort of drug.

  Jamie starts to nod, as if listening intently, lulling him into some sort of a comfortable state.

  “But now it’s sink or swim time, so here I am. You need to stop moving toward me, Jamie. You need to stay right where you fucking are.”

  Jamie pauses, eyes flitting over Tyron and then the men.

  Finally, he turns them to me for a brief moment.

  I’ll protect you, his eyes seem to roar. I love you.

  Or am I just projecting?

  “I’m sorry, Tyron,” Jamie says.

  Tyron flinches as if that’s the last thing he expected.

  “You’re … sorry?”

  “I’m sorry you got caught up with those bastards. I’m sorry you felt like you had to cheat to win. I’m sorry your life isn’t going as well as you’d like. But what you’ve done here is very fucking stupid.”

  “Stupid?” Tyron cries, a warble in his voice.

  Several of the masked men tense up, as though they’re used to his petulant mood swings and are expecting some sort of an outburst.

  “We got past your security. How’s that for stupid?”

  Jamie clenches his jaws. “You posed as patrons to the restaurant, I’m guessing, arriving at different times, and then made your move?”

  Tyron claps his hand against his gun, making a bony metallic noise.

  “You always were too clever for bloody work,” Tyron taunts. “Can you guess what I did to your daughter, though? Have you guessed that yet?”

  Realization dawns on me.

  Tyron was behind the social media trolling.

  “I attacked that little bitch online,” he says proudly, confirming my suspicions. “I thought if I could get her out to Maine – she’s so emotionally fragile, that one – she might be easier to nab, and so draw you out, but nope. But then my boys told me that you and this one have been spending some, what shall we call it, quality time together. And I knew I had my angle.”

  “What do you want, a fucking medal?” Jamie snarls. “Your plan has one fatal flaw, Tyron.”

  “Oh yeah, what’s that?”

  Jamie tenses almost imperceptibly, but I know the look in those icy blue eyes. He clenches his fists and for a second it’s like he’s standing in the MMA cage, his black hair cut close, sprinkled with sweat.

  And then reality shifts back and I see my iron haired bear, so much more handsome for the experience etching his features.

  “Me,” he snarls.

  I’m stunned by the speed with which he leaps forward, moving so quickly he’s like a blur.

  Tyron raises the gun and all the masked men leap to defend their leader.

  Knives glint and hiss in the air.

  Jamie smacks the gun from Tyron’s hand, sending it flying across the room, smacking into the wall, and then sliding d
own behind an upturned table.

  All of them rush Jamie, the seven knife wielders, and Tyron, swinging his fists in looping blows that would surely take Jamie’s head clean off if they connected.

  But he moves like smoke, dancing back just out of range, the knives kissing the air where he just was.

  And as the men reset, he strikes like a viper, lashing out with fists and knees and kicks.

  He smashes noses, blood erupting into the air, and when one man makes to stab him in the stomach, Jamie catches his wrist and throws him into two of his friends.

  They all go down like bowling pins.

  Jamie slides sideways when Tyron and two others bulrush him, kicking one in the ankle so hard the bony snap rises above the masked men’s yelling and the hiss-swish of their knives.

  He elbows Tyron in the jaw, dislocating it and sending him flying to the floor.

  Then he ducks and tackles the third, lifting him as though he weighs nothing and throwing him with stunning power, sending him sailing across the room and landing in a heap of flesh and tangled limbs.

  “The gun,” Tyron yells, his voice distorted from his shattered jaw.

  But Jamie is already sprinting across the room, moving with a predator’s swiftness I never would’ve believed from a man as huge as him before I witnessed it.

  He reaches down behind the table and springs up, spinning and aiming it just in time to stop three of the masked men from leaping on him with their blades.

  He grits his teeth, breathing softly despite all the exertion.

  “Drop the knives, now,” he snarls.

  The men hesitate, glancing at one another.

  Jamie fires a shot into the floor at the closest one’s feet, and suddenly the air is filled with the clatter of knives colliding with the floor, a rain of knives until they’re all standing, unarmed, in a small circle like herded cattle.

  “Outside, all of you,” Jamie snarls. “Don’t mess with me, motherfuckers. You threatened my daughter. You threatened my lady. Do you really think I won’t put you in the ground where you fucking belong?”

  Jamie keeps the gun on them as the broken and battered men start to slowly walk toward the exit, most of them cradling some sort of injury.