Revenge On Her Dad’s Best Friends (Three Ways To Get Even #2)

Chapter Eleven

Oh boy.

Tabby had warned her they weren’t the warm, fuzzy types, and they were proving her friend right with remarkable ease.

Oh crap.

In the blink of an eye, Calista stood face to face with the three men she had just kidnapped; no, that didn’t sound right. She had in-house-napped them, pushed them into three chairs, handcuffed them, and then gagged them. That sounded more accurate.

Somehow, they’d gotten themselves released from the handcuffs—without a key,dammit, which meant they’d had to have had some sort of thin metal thingy on their person to unlock the cuffs. They removed her amateurish gags and flung them aside, and now they were staring her down.

If she thought it had been showtime before, she’d been wrong. This was it, showtime with a significant dose of showdown. But she wasn’t going to back down.

“I think it would be in your best interest if you leave right now, Calista.” Reece’s voice, calm, soothing yet tinted with a deep roughness, spiked every cell in her body until they danced along down her spine with a peculiar sensation.

“I think it would be in your best interest if you agreed to my terms. Then I’ll leave. Just agree that we’ll see each other for good times, sad times, birthdays, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas—”

“Not going to happen,” Zachariah said, not bothering to look at her. His words sliced through her with such piercing sharpness that her heart sank. Why did she think she needed them? Why was the thought of never thinking about them, obsessing over them, so crushing to her that she couldn’t breathe?

She didn’t know the answers. She just knew she needed them. They were her only link to her dad. Right?

“We promised your dad we’d take care of you, and we did it the only way we knew how. We fulfilled his wishes to the best of our abilities,” Reece said, talking to her as if she were a child.

“And you think he meant remote care? Or momentary care? Is that what you think he meant? He didn’t mean any of those things.”

“It’s the best we can do.” Bradford stood at the door, gesturing for her to leave.

“Well, I’m not leaving. So I guess we’re in the negotiating phase of our relationship.”

“We don’t have a relationship, Calista,” Bradford said so grumpily, anyone looking in would have sworn she stole his caramel cups and stuffed them into her mouth right in front of him.

“Well, that’s on you three and your pigheadedness,” she said, raising her chin and letting them know it was all their fault. “Okay, how about only birthdays, Halloween, and Christmas?” She counted each one on her fingers. “We can leave the rest.”

“No birthdays. No Halloween. No Christmas,” Zach said, shooting her down.

“Why not?” She folded her arms over her chest, her stance hopefully depicting that she wasn’t going anywhere, anytime soon. “What is so wrong about seeing each other six times a year? It’s hardly a death sentence. And my dad would have wanted that for us.”

“We have nothing in common, Calista,” Reece said quietly.

Really? That was going to be their argument? Just as well, she brought receipts to back up her claims.

“We have loads in common, actually. Bradford, you don’t eat mushrooms. Neither do I. You loathe it when people are late. Me too, well, except when I’m late myself. Traffic drives you nuts. Guess what? Me too. You don’t like snakes, spiders, and frogs. Oh my gosh. Hate them. Your favorite book is Crime and Punishment. I bought a copy of Crime and Punishment... once.” She smiled at him before turning her attention to Reece.

“Reece, you would rather cook a five-course meal than clean the kitchen. I would rather eat a five-course meal than clean the kitchen. We could be twins, almost. You have a lucky pair of socks that you only wear when you absolutely need them. I have a pair of lucky underwear that I had to destroy—long story—but I know what it’s like to have a favorite item of clothing that brings good luck. Your favorite movie is The Godfather. I tried to watch The Godfather. You listen to Mozart when you drive and heavy metal rock when you’re in the shower. I listen to pop music when I drive and shower. You read books about beekeeping. I have nothing against bees if they don’t sting me.” She nodded her head enthusiastically, daring him to find fault in her reasoning.

“Zachariah, your favorite color is black. Mine too. Your favorite car is a Ferrari. Mine too. You have an IQ of 140 and do solo mountain climbing. I have an IQ, and I love watching solo mountain climbing. You once rescued a raccoon stuck in a drainpipe. Who knows, if I ever found myself in that position, I might do the same... I mean, probably not, but still... see, we can be friends.”

“Still no,” Bradford said.

“Why not?” She cried, stamping her heel, but the carpet was so thick, the sound remained muffled. “My dad was your best friend. Arg. He thought the world of you three, and I’m just asking for a little time with you. Okay. We can negotiate. Only birthdays. Four times a year.”

“No.” The three of them said in unison.

She inhaled a deep breath of air, fighting down her frustration that made her just want to scream. She calmed herself down. Going into hysterics was not going to win her any points.

“Do you want me to carry you out, Calista?” Bradford asked, his tone giving no room for argument, his gaze telling her he would toss her over his shoulder and dump her outside in a heartbeat.

“No,” she said, defeated. “I’ll go. But I need to get my clothes, or what’s left of them, from the bathroom. Excuse me.” It wrecked her so much that they actually sighed in relief that she agreed to go without making any more of a scene. Their shoulders loosened visibly, and they wiped their hands across their faces as if they’d come from a battle they didn’t like. Her. She was their battle.

And now she was going to their war.

She strolled slowly toward the bathroom. They’d already turned from her, discarding her before she had even left their penthouse. They were not paying any attention to her at all.

She had no idea she was capable of that much speed or quick thinking. She’d subconsciously already taken stock of the thin chrome unmovable floor-to-ceiling pillars, with a beautiful vintage desk conveniently positioned between the pillars. She grabbed a set of handcuffs, hopped onto the desk with just a little difficulty since it was high enough that her legs would dangle over, and immediately cuffed one part of the metal restraint to the pillar.

She slipped her wrist into the other cuff and locked it, moving so fast she thought she was in an action movie and she was a secret agent. With her free hand, she removed the key from the pocket of the shirt. She had maybe seconds before they turned around and saw what she was doing.

She brought the key to her lips, her intent to swallow it, but gosh, she couldn’t do it and nearly gagged just at the thought of it. This would all be for nothing if they could easily get to the key to uncuff her.

When the logical part of her brain told her they could just as easily pick the lock as they did theirs to get her unattached from a part of their home, she shut that voice up quickly. It wasn’t about them being able to free her from the cuffs; it was about her making a statement. One, they would have to pay attention, whether they liked it or not.

They turned around to face her.

So she did the only thing she could think of.

She parted her legs and slipped the key between the apex of her thighs, the metal cool against the heat of her body before it matched her own rather high body temperature.

I’m making a statement, dammit