Chapter 13
Johnny
Axel’s words from last week won’t leave my head.
“She was yours, Johnny.”
Bullshit. The little shit was trying to get under my skin.
Just trying to manipulate me. I’m sure he ran straight home to Nik afterward and painted me as heartless.
Too bad the truth’s the opposite. I care so much it fucking hurts.
I just keep it buried deep and locked up tight.
Letting the monster out? That gets results. Emotions don’t.
What neither of them knows is that I’ve been working nonstop behind the scenes. As of this morning, one of my plays is finally paying off. Everything falls into place if you’re patient enough, and I’ve been patient for years. Eight, to be exact.
I’m pulling up to brunch at the Nashville Country Club, wearing my best future-son-in-law smile. I roll up to the gate in my black Range Rover, and the attendant recognizes me and waves me through. I follow the winding path until the immaculate white facade of the clubhouse comes into view.
Places like this make my skin crawl. Gilded cages for rich assholes to flaunt their money and morals.
But it’s served its purpose: I joined to “accidentally” run into Walter Rutledge on the golf course.
One round later, he was practically foaming at the mouth to introduce me to his precious daughter.
I valet the Rover, toss the kid my keys, and head inside. Familiar faces nod my way, but I don’t stop. This brunch will already cost me a few brain cells.
“Muffin!”
Rachel’s voice cuts through the air like a dentist drill. She totters toward me on stilettos that could double as medieval weapons, her teased hair defying gravity. With her skeletal frame and glassy eyes, she looks like a bobblehead on a diet of cocaine and compliments.
She throws herself into my arms, squealing. I catch her like the doting fiancé I’m pretending to be. Then she kisses me—open-mouthed, wet, and full of tongue—drawing a polite cough from the table behind us.
“Sorry, Daddy,” she giggles, dragging me toward her parents.
“Jonathan,” Walter greets me with a clipped nod.
“Good morning, Sir.” I nod back. “Rebecca.” I acknowledge Rachel’s mother.
We order drinks, and the conversation slides into club gossip, wedding logistics, and weather. I smile through all of it. Even when Rachel’s hand creeps up my thigh. I grin, lift it, and press a kiss to her knuckles. She swoons, while I imagine snapping each of her fingers. One by one.
After the meal, Walter leans back.
“Jonathan, join me in the lounge.”
It’s not a request.
“Daddy,” Rachel whines. “I was going to introduce him to the girls!”
“Let the men talk, Sweet Pea,” he says with a wink. “You’ll get your show pony back soon.”
I grind my teeth. Show pony, indeed.
He escorts me down the hall, stopping too often to introduce me to his cronies. “Future son-in-law,” he boasts. “Sharp kid with a bright future.”
I smile on cue, shake hands, and play the part. If anyone’s treating me like a show pony, it’s Walter.
Finally, we reach the lounge. Cigar smoke hangs in the air. Leather chairs squeak under the weight of egos. Whiskey decanters sweat on dark oak trays. A staff member ushers us into a private room at Walter’s request.
Walter orders a top-shelf whiskey and a Cohiba. I mirror him, ordering the same.
He swirls his glass and leans back, watching me with a thoughtful look. I prepare to lie my ass off.
“So, son. What’s next for you? I admire the work ethic, self-made and all, but private security doesn’t exactly cover Rachel’s tastes.” He chuckles, like we’re two good ol’ boys. “My daughter’s expensive.”
Understatement of the year.
He thinks I run a boutique private security firm. Not entirely wrong. Just not the kind listed on Yelp.
“I enjoy my work,” I say smoothly, puffing the cigar. “But I’m open to… more lucrative opportunities.”
Walter nods, clearly pleased.
“That’s what I was hoping to hear. You’re sharp. I’ve got a side business you’d be perfect for. It pays extremely well, but, it’s not entirely above-board.” He meets my eyes. “You got a problem with that?”
I take my time answering. He wants to know what kind of man I am. So, I show him.
“I want to give Rachel everything,” I reply. “No matter the cost.”
His smile spreads slow and wide. “Excellent.” He flicks ash into the tray. “The board meets soon. I’ll get you in the room, and let you see what we do. Then, you decide.”
“I’m sure it’ll work out.” I extend my hand. “Thank you for the opportunity, Sir.”
He shakes it. Two devils sealing a deal. At least, that’s what he thinks.
Me? I’m going to burn this whole thing to the ground.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and check the screen.
“Apologies,” I say, standing. “Work never sleeps.”
He waves me off with a knowing smirk.
I’m out the door and through the hall before the stench of cigars clings too tight. Once I’m clear of cameras and prying eyes, I answer.
“Yes?”
A nervous voice on the other end rattles off updates. Everything’s in motion. The pieces are coming together faster than I anticipated.
“Bring the package to me,” I say, no hesitation, and hang up.
This is going to be very... interesting.
∞∞∞
The next day, I’m posted up outside my building, sunglasses on, arms crossed. I’m early. Always am.
Based on our last check-in, my contact should be arriving any minute now. I lean against the stone facade, soaking in the calm before the storm. There’s a thrum of anticipation in my chest I haven’t felt in years.
The Dodge turns the corner right on time. It’s ugly and beat-up. Obviously doesn’t belong in this part of town, but neither do I.
The car pulls up. In the passenger seat is a woman. She’s talking, animated, probably asking questions. She doesn’t know yet.
I push off the wall and stroll over. Then I yank the door open with a vicious grin.
“Honey, you’re home,” I sing, syrup-slick and venom-laced.
Her head snaps toward me. Familiar blue eyes widen in horror.
“Johnny?” she gasps. “Johnny—no. Oh God. No, no, no—”
She tries to backpedal, scrambling across the seat, but it’s too late.
“Sean! What the f—”
She’s cut off. The syringe hits her neck fast and clean. Her eyes glaze over and close. Her limbs go slack. She’s still breathing, just out cold.
Sean stares at me from the driver’s side, one brow raised. “You two know each other?”
“We knew each other,” I correct, scooping her into my arms. “Past tense.”
He doesn’t look entirely convinced. “Did I make a mistake bringing her here? You said you’d protect her.”
“And I am. She just wouldn’t have accepted it willingly.”
I glance down. She’s barely dressed in a tux jacket and lingerie.
“What the hell is she wearing?”
“What she escaped in.”
I grunt. Right.
“Park that shitbox a couple blocks down. I’ll send someone to torch it. Come up to the penthouse when you’re done.”
He nods. I slam the door with my hip and carry Lina up the steps like she weighs nothing. The doorman jumps to attention, scrambling to open the door. He averts his eyes. Good man. That’s exactly what I pay him for. Discretion. Silence. Ignorance.
Inside the elevator, it’s just me and her.
I study her face in the harsh glow of the overhead lights.
She’s still gorgeous, still infuriating, and still herself even under the stress of whatever the hell she’s been through.
I stare at the same high cheekbones and same pouty lips.
Her hair’s all wrong, though. Brunette doesn’t suit her.
It’s too soft. Too safe. She was always a golden girl, but no worries. I’ll fix it.
The elevator dings. In the penthouse, I carry her to my room and lay her on the bed. She doesn’t stir. The sedative I dosed her with is strong, and she’ll be out for another hour at least.
I sit beside her, and let myself take her in. Feelings I’ve kept tucked away for years crash into me as I tuck a lock of dark hair behind her ear. I can’t believe my luck. After all these years. All that searching and planning… and now, she’s here. Voluntarily or not, doesn’t matter.
She’ll hate me when she wakes up. That’s inevitable. But hate? Hate is close to love. And by the time I’m done? She’ll remember which one she used to feel for me.
She will love me again. Even if I have to make her.