30DaystoSyn (27 page)

Night Twenty

She’d come home from work to find a plastic
bag hanging from her door handle. Seeing what was inside made her throw her
head back and laugh. There was a card paper clipped to the front of the bag.
She took it off, unfolded it and smiled.

“For practice,” it read.

She fished inside the bag and drew out the
bunch of bananas wrapped with a red ribbon.

* * * * *

“Did you enjoy the bananas?” he asked.

He was sitting on the bed with his legs
stretched out and crossed at the ankles, his feet bare. The room was a bit
chilly, which told her he hadn’t gotten there much earlier than she. He was
wearing an unbuttoned white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and
the same black boxers from the night before. He had his hands behind his head
as he leaned against the back of the bed.

“They were very firm and slick and very
tasty,” she said. “I stripped them slowly then gobbled them right down to the
little nubbin.” She batted her eyelashes at him.

He grunted, his smile purely devilish.

“The vultures have discovered who I am,”
she told him and watched the smile slowly leave his face.

“How do you know?” he asked, lowering his
hands.

“There were two news vans coming up the
street when Jonny and I were leaving the subdivision. I slunk down out of sight
and he turned his head away so they wouldn’t recognize him. We were very
careful that we weren’t followed.”

“Then you’ll stay here tonight,” he said.
“Hand me my mobile.”

She plucked his cell phone from the pocket
of his jacket and brought it over to him. “Are you calling Jonny?”

“Spike,” he said, thumbing in his
assistant’s number. He put the phone to his ear, his face a mask of anger.

“Don’t bark at her,” she told him.

“What are you doing?” he asked. He listened
for a moment, rolled his eyes, and then told the woman on the other end of the
phone he had something for her to do.

She sat down on the foot of the bed and
watched myriad emotions flit across his gorgeous face. His left eyebrow crooked
up a second before his lips thinned.

“I don’t care about that. I need you to go
to Maulden’s and pick up an outfit for her. The paparazzi have found out who
she is and they’re camping out on her front lawn.” He listened then actually
hissed.

She reached out to put her hand on his bare
foot. “Be nice, Kiwi,” she said softly. “She’s not a slave. She’s a valued
friend.”

“Yes, she is with me,” he said, ignoring
her. “Where the fuck did you think she was, Brisbane?”

Again he listened then obviously
interrupted the speaker. “You are not listening to me, Spike! Get your lazy ass
over to Maulden’s and pick up something nice for her to wear to work tomor—”
His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

He glanced at her and she watched his face
bleach of color then turn dark with anger. “Fuck yes, I do!” he shouted. He
listened and as she gently caressed his foot, he locked eyes with her. “Then
what the hell do you suggest we do,
Christine
?”

She sighed. He was getting angrier if the
glint in his eyes was any indication. She was expecting him to explode any
moment.

“I own the fucking company, Spike!”

“Kiwi?” she asked.

“No, I can—”

“
Kiwi
!” she said loud enough to grab
his immediate attention.

“
What
?” he snarled, spearing her
with that evil look that most likely quelled any opponent who dared go up
against him.

“I have sick days coming. I’ll just take
them,” she said. “If Christine can bring me some clothes—tomorrow—I will stay
here until we can think of something else to do.”

He stared at her then sighed. “Did you get
that, Spike?” He rolled his eyes again. “No, I don’t think you’re deaf but…” He
flung out a hand. “I don’t know what sizes she wears! I’m not her fucking
dressmaker!”

“Size 5 jeans,” she said. “Medium pullover.
Some underwear would be nice. Also size 5. Bra is 36-C. Maybe a few T-shirts
and a pair of jammies?”

“Ask her
what
?” he said then
growled. She watched him clenching his jaw. He looked at her. “You want her to
get you something to read? Magazines? Books? The back of a cereal box?”

She laughed at his annoyed expression. “The
latest Sandford novel would be nice. Maybe
People
and
Entertainment
Weekly
?”

“Did you get
that
?” he grumbled into
the phone. He listened again then his shoulders slumped and he actually moaned.
“Why don’t I just let you fucking talk to her?”

He literally threw the phone at her,
crossed his arms over his chest and growled again.

“Christine?” she said. “Hi, this is Lina.”
She glanced at him. “Yes, he can be challenging at times.”

“I am a perfectly reasonable man being
driven insane by two controlling, conniving women,” he muttered, flexing one
bare foot, curling his toes.

“A bag of salt-and-vinegar chips and one of
corn chips. Some medium salsa, a jar of sweet mixed pickles, a box of…”

As she gave her grocery list of snacks to
Spike she watched him shaking his head in incredulity.

“Jesus Fucking Christ! You’re going to
weigh a ton by the end of the month, woman,” he protested.

“And if you could bring along a laptop, I
would really appreciate it. I need to feed my babies on Zoo World.”

He gave her a disbelieving look that made
her giggle.

“Yes, he’s glaring daggers at me for that
one. You, too? Level 499. Did you buy the little dancing meer…? Oh, hell. He’s
growling like a wounded tiger. I’d better go. Nice talking to you too. I’m
looking forward to meeting you tomorrow,” she said. She ended the call then
tossed the phone back to him. “She sounds really nice.”

“She’s a pain in the ass,” he told her.

“She said the same thing about you.”

He snorted, slapped the cell phone on the
bedside table then opened his arms, flexed his fingers like a little boy. “Come
here,” he said.

She kicked off her penny loafers and
crawled up the bed. She snuggled against him as he closed his arms around her
and laid his chin on the top of her head.

“How much vacation time do you have
coming?” he asked.

“I don’t. I won’t have any more until next
August.”

“Fuck that,” he said. “I own the fucking
company and I’m giving you vacation time starting now.”

She frowned. “The other employees won’t
like that,” she told him.

“Then I’ll fire them and hire new people,”
he said. “I’ll put you in charge of the company and—”

“Stop talking,” she said and dropped her
hand to his crotch and gripped him firmly. That effectively shut him up.

She massaged him through the shorts then
slid her hand inside to fondle him.

“Woman…”

“Man,” she said, sliding her fist up and
down him.

“You keep that up and it won’t be bananas
you’ll be gobbling,” he warned.

She slipped out of his arms, put her hands
on his thighs. “Uncross your legs,” she ordered.

He did.

She urged his thighs apart, pushing them
perhaps a bit wider than was comfortable for him from the look on his face. She
moved between his spread legs, stretched out on her belly as he had the night
before and tugged his hard as steel cock from the opening of the shorts.

“Be careful, Melina,” he cautioned her.
“There is a limit to my control. Unless you are prepared to…”

She lowered her head and took him between her
lips.

“
Melina
!” he yelped.

It wasn’t as bad as she thought it might
be. He was thick and hard in her mouth but he didn’t thrust himself at her as
Rachel warned he might. If anything he was as still as a placid lake. By his
reaction, she had managed to shock him speechless and motionless though his
cock was throbbing between her lips. His head was off the mattress and he was
staring at her with something akin to awe. The first drop of salty fluid that
touched her tongue wasn’t bad, either, and she did as Rachel instructed—she
sucked.

“
Melina
!” This time her name was all
but shrieked and his hands went to her hair, his fingers threading into the
long strands.

She drew on him as she’d been instructed
and his hips began to raise and lower in a way that worried her at first. The
worry gave way to a supreme sense of empowerment. She was turning him inside
out with just her mouth. Imagine, she thought, what her cunt could do to him!

For weeks now he had been teasing her with
touches and kisses. In the last few days the action had escalated but it still
wasn’t at the level she wanted—needed—it to be. She was tired of her virgin
status. She wanted to be a woman in fact as well as age. She wanted to be
his
woman.

She wanted him.

She had so surprised him that he was beyond
rational thought. His body had taken over his mind and it had a consciousness
of its own. His hips were moving in rhythm to the way she was drawing on his
shaft. He had no control whatsoever over his reactions to what she was doing to
him.

And he didn’t want to control it. He was
more than content to place himself in her hands—unskilled as they were—because
the soft, wet warmth of her mouth had taken him to a place where he could stay
forever. He closed his eyes and savored the moment.

God bless Rachel, he thought, as Melina’s
soft hands cupped his balls and began to massage them gently but firmly. The
glorious lips were pressing knowingly against the coronal ridge of his cock and
that sweet, sweet tongue was making forays down the frenulum and causing
tingling ripples to flow down his spine.

For a moment or so longer he sank into the
superb pleasure she was giving him. He was as hard as he could ever remember
being and he was throbbing, aching with need. His hands guided her head in a
better rhythm upon which she picked up very quickly. He felt her swallow and
his eyes flew open.

“No,” he said.

He was close—too close—to coming and he
didn’t want her mouth on him when he did. As innocent and untried as she was,
such a thing might well ruin the experience for her and cause her to have
reason to dislike it. Him coming in her mouth couldn’t happen.

“No, baby,” he said. “You gotta stop now.”

She eased him from her mouth but her hand
was still gripped tightly near the base of his shaft.

“Am I hurting you?” she asked.

“No, baby, no, but if you keep that up, I’m
going to come,” he told her.

“I know,” she said. “Rachel said—”

“Melina,” he said, firmly though every
fiber of his being resented having to deny what he wanted so badly. “I can’t
come like this.”

“But Rachel said—”

“Rachel isn’t you,” he said a bit harsher
than he intended to. He saw hurt go through her eyes and he shook his head.
“Baby, your friend is experienced with men. You aren’t.”

“I want to be,” she said. “I want to know
how to give a man so much pleasure he won’t ever want another woman.”

Jealousy so intense, so wild hit him hard
enough to kill the erection in her hand. Fury flooded his soul and a dark,
bitter anger rose up.

“The only man you will
ever
pleasure,
baby, will be me!” he told her.

She gave him one of her looks that he
couldn’t interpret. Her face was devoid of expression.

“You don’t own me, Kiwi,” she said. “You’re
just renting me.”

Nothing she could have said could have hurt
him—or angered him—more. Momentarily the image of his mother shifted over hers.

He clamped his teeth together. “Let go of
me,” he said.

“Why?”

“Take your hand off me, Melina,” he
ordered.

She let go of him as though he were a hot
stone. There was confusion on her face then sudden understanding.

“Kiwi, that’s not what I meant.”

“Oh, I think it is,” he said as he stuffed
himself into the shorts. He drew his knees up and rolled to the side of the
bed. Swinging his legs over the edge, he stood, reached for his jeans that were
lying on the other bed and drew them on.

“What are you doing?” she asked, hurt
filtering through her voice.

“I’m going home,” he said.

She watched him in silence as he buttoned
his shirt. He sat on the other bed to draw on his boots then snatched up his
peacoat and thrust his arms into the sleeves in silence.

If he had expected her to plead with him to
stay, he began to understand that she wouldn’t. Her eyes were on him but she
was kneeling in the middle of the bed with her hands on her thighs, her lips
slightly parted.

“This place is a fucking dump. I’ll find
you somewhere decent to stay until all this blows over,” he said as he headed
for the door.

Without another word, he pulled open the
door and left, slamming the portal behind him hard enough to rattle the
windows. The harsh sound of his motorcycle engine revving up then the squeal of
his tires as he peeled out of the motel parking lot underscored the anger that
had turned his blood to molten iron.

Night Twenty-One

Spike—as Christine insisted she call
her—had been a delight. As soon as she saw the sassy tall woman, she’d known
why the Kiwi had given her the nickname. Her short blonde hair stood up in
spikes all over her head and her makeup screamed Goth. All black clothing that
fit her as tight as a second skin was capped off with a long black leather
duster like the cowboys from the Old West used to wear. Thigh-high black boots
completed the sinister ensemble.

“Cool duds,” she said.

“I’m a Westie,” Spike informed her as they
shook hands. Her grip was powerful. “From West Auckland.”

Spike had brought the clothes the Kiwi had
insisted she bring along with a breakfast of assorted fruit, orange juice and
bagels with strawberry cream cheese. “Jono said there weren’t any restaurants
nearby so I brought you brekkie on the chance you’d be hungry.”

“I’m starved,” she told her. “All I’ve had
this morning is coffee but it was pretty good.”

“Lord Vader called Jono last night and
asked him to look for temporary quarters for you.” The pale-blue eyes framed in
a ton of black eye shadow, thick eyeliner and spiky lashes widened. “I had a
fucking good time giving the papas a run for their money. I’ve been timing
myself and it only took me five minutes to escape them this morning.” She
laughed. “Just for shits and giggles I drove past your house. Girl, there were
papas all over your front lawn.”

She knew Spike was referring to the
paparazzi, the press. “Bastards,” she said as she poured herself a glass of
orange juice.

“True that,” Spike agreed.

“How is he this morning?” she asked as she filled
a paper plate Spike had thoughtfully provided for the fresh fruit.

“Dunno. Ain’t seen him.”

“Doesn’t he usually come in early?”

Spike shrugged. “The Dark Lord does
whatever he wants but yeah, yeah, yeah, he generally comes in on a sparrow
fart.” She swirled her hand. “Kiwi for crack of dawn.”

“Have you spoken to him today?”

“No,” Spike said. She frowned. “Which isn’t
bog standard. He likes to fuck up my morning by giving me totally useless
orders just to watch me bust my hump.”

“Could you call Jonny and ask him if he’s
heard from Kiwi?” she asked.

Spike had turned her head to one side. “Are
you worried about him, Lina?”

“Let’s just say we didn’t part on the best
of terms last night.”

“The prick is stroppy most of the time,”
Spike said with a snort. “He needs his arse kicked.”

“It was my fault,” she said.

“Eh, well whether it was or not, the
fucked-up bugger will make you think it’s your fault,” Spike replied.

“No, it was. I think I inadvertently made
myself act like his mother.”

“That’s a bit of a worry, eh?” Spike said.
“He’s a sook when it comes to that dodgy old tart.”

Spike had stayed another half hour and in
that time told her how she had met the Kiwi. Despite the insults the tall
blonde woman flung his way it was obvious she had very tender feelings for
Synjyn McGregor.

“Wouldn’t have him on a stick if he was
handed to me at a lolly scramble,” she insisted. “Wouldn’t root him if he was
the last bloke on earth but he’s a right good one when it comes down to it. A
woman could do much worse than Synnie McGregor.”

* * * * *

She heard nothing from him all day, though
she hoped he would use a burner phone and contact her. Wishing she had asked
for a burner phone of her own so she could call Jonny to find out what was
happening, she began pacing the floor at eight-fifteen. By nine o’clock she was
beginning to worry. Twice she went to the phone on the table between the beds
and twice she stopped short of picking it up. Chewing on her lip, she paced
some more until it was a little past ten and she could no longer contain the
anxiety that raked at her with steel claws.

She snatched up the receiver, punched the
nine button, waited for the dial tone and called Jonny’s number. He answered on
the first ring.

“I’ll call you back, Tuey!” he said and
hung up.

“Tuey?” she questioned, looking down at the
receiver. “Who the hell is Tuey?”

By the time Jonny returned her call, she
was ready to jump out of her skin.

“Is he with you?”

She felt the carpet shift beneath her feet
as though it was about to be pulled out from under her. “No,” she said, her
hand tightening on the receiver. “He’s not there?”

“No one has seen him all day,” Jonny said.
“He never made it home last night and his mobile is going directly to voice
mail.”

“Where could he be, Jonny?” she asked. She
was suddenly queasy.

“I wish to hell I knew.”

He was in so much pain he could no longer
think of anything else. Lying on his aching belly with the battered side of his
face pressed to the musty carpet, it was getting harder and harder to draw a
decent breath. Each time he drew air into his lungs, tears filled his eyes for
the agony was like a red-hot poker jamming into his side. All he could do was
stare at the clock on the wall as the hours crept relentlessly by—hoping and
praying someone would come soon. It was after eleven on Thursday night. That
much he knew. He also knew where he was.

Not that it mattered. Apparently no one was
looking for him and if they were, they hadn’t thought to look for him there.

The bastards who had attacked him had been
waiting for him and that begged the question how they knew where he’d be. He
hadn’t gone home from the motel because he didn’t want to run through the maze
of news people waiting for him. Instead, he’d gone to the office park. There’d
been no cars on Saur Rd. None parked in front of building 459. He’d been alone
in the elevator and no one had been lurking in the hall as he inserted his key
in the door to number 202.

They’d been in the Room—waiting in the
dark—and the one behind the door had hit him hard as he came through the door.
The lights came on to blind him. After that, it had been ungodly pain and
unrelenting humiliation at being completely unable to protect himself.
Flashbacks of his years in prison kept zinging through his head with every
punishing hit.

Lying there now with his arms tied behind
his back and his mouth covered with duct tape, he drifted in and out of
consciousness for the pain was more than he could bear. The overhead lights had
been turned off but they’d forgotten the one in the bathroom. A thin shaft of
light kept the room from being totally dark.

He tried to shift positions and stopped,
his belly rippling with agony.

How many times, he wondered, had the
bastard kicked him in the gut?

Five? Ten? More?

Trying to concentrate on something other
than the pain, once more he assessed the damage they’d done to him over the two
hours it had taken them to beat him to a bloody pulp.

He knew he had at least one broken rib and
his kidneys were on fire from the brutal punches that had driven him to his
knees. His groin was throbbing unmercifully and the pain from that kept him as
immobile as he could be. He prayed his balls weren’t ruptured. The small of his
back was one long swathe of pure agony so a vertebrae or two might be cracked
from the kicks. His nose was broken. He had several loose teeth. He worried his
right cheekbone might be fractured because his entire face was one giant plane
of agony. At the very least he had two black eyes—one swollen completely
shut—and so many cuts there was a pool of blood under his cheek. He couldn’t
move one of his wrists and thought it might well be broken but he could no
longer feel his hands. There was no doubt in his mind he had a concussion
because he kept fading out for longer and longer periods of time.

He was completely helpless. He couldn’t
turn over. He couldn’t crawl. The men—there’d been four of them—had stuck the
leg of the desk between his legs before taping his ankles together. The desk
was heavy so he was effectively tethered to it. They’d been laughing when they
left and why shouldn’t they? They’d earned the money they’d been paid to hand
him his ass.

And he was severely dehydrated.

Not to mention hungry as hell.

The bastards had done a number on him. It
was a wonder they hadn’t killed him but he was fairly sure they were
professionals and knew just how far to go, how much pain to give, where and how
long before death became the end result.

Something else he knew.

He knew the person who had ordered him
brought to ground and if it was the last thing he ever did, he’d return the
favor.

“Where the hell could he be?” Craig
demanded. He plowed a hand through his thick black hair. There was fury
infusing his dark complexion. Every now and then he would use Māori curse words
that would make Jonny, Spike and Jake blush and they’d glance her way in
apology as though she understood what he was saying.

“I’ve got all our men out looking for him,”
Kit said. As head of McGregor Industries’ security division he had been the
first to arrive at the corporate offices. “So far there’s not a trace.”

The building was in lockdown and all
nonessential personnel had been sent home. Outside the conference room where
the six of them sat, two burly guards were posted and the room had been swept
twice over for bugs. A scrambler device had been turned on so no conversation
could be remotely monitored from outside. It had shocked her to learn the
paparazzi had some pretty powerful surveillance equipment.

“There’s no sign he has been home since he
left last evening,” Jonny said. “Only thing missing is his bike.”

“Which one?” Kit asked.

“Most likely the Icon Sheene,” Jake said.

Jonny shook his head. “No it was the
Harley.”

Jake snorted. “Must have been in one of his
bad-boy biker moods last night.” He looked at her. “Were you two role playing?”

She felt the flush heat her cheeks. “That’s
not something we do.”

“Really? It was clearly stated in the ad,”
Jake reminded her.

She looked away from him. “Yes, but he’s
never suggested we do it.”

“Give him time,” Jake said. “He’ll get
around to it. That’s his usual—”

“Shut up, Jake,” Jonny ordered.

“Just saying,” Jake mumbled. “When the role
playing starts, the affair is ending.”

“What about the Room?” she asked and every
head turned toward her.

“What room?” Spike asked.

“
The
Room,” Jake said. “Where he
takes all his hoors.”

Jonny slammed a fist to the table. “Shut
the fuck up, Jake!” he shouted.

“I didn’t think to check it,” Kit said. He
reached into his pocket for his cell phone and thumbed in a number. He
instructed whoever answered to go to the Saur Rd. office park.

“Why would he go there?” Craigie asked.
“Only time he ever goes is when—”

“You shut up, too!” Jonny ordered. “What is
it with you stirrers?”

“It’s okay, Jonny,” she said. “I have no
illusions I’m the only woman he takes to that place.”

“Eh, well it’s disrespectful for them to
mention it,” Jonny said, glaring at his friends. “And you’re the only one he’s
seeing right now.”

“As far as you know,” Jake said under his
breath but she heard him.

“You think he’s with another woman, Jake?”
she asked, quietly.

Jake shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“You said the two of you didn’t part on
good terms last night,” Spike reminded her. “If he was brassed off at you,
maybe he went to a bar and picked up a piece of tail. He could be at her
place.”

“Bloody hell, Spike, not you too!” Jonny
snapped at her.

“He wouldn’t do that,” Craigie said. “Trust
me, I know.”

“And exactly how do you know?” Jake
demanded.

Craigie looked down at the table. “I just
do.” When Jake pressed, he shook his head. “Doctor-patient confidentiality so
leave off.”

Kit’s cell rang and he answered. “Yeah?”
Storm clouds formed over his face. “Then kick the fucking thing down, you
moron!”

“Kick what?” Jonny asked.

“The door to the Room,” Kit replied. His
anger was so great at the stupidity of his men his knuckles were white on the
cell phone.

Then his face leached of color.

“What?” Jonny demanded.

“We’re on our way!” Kit said. He turned
wide eyes to Jonny. “They found him.” He cut his eyes to her. “They’ve called
an ambulance.”

“What happened?” Jono asked. He reached out
to put his arm around her.

“Someone beat the shit out of him.”

“That fucking Ukrainian—” Craig began but
she shook her head.

“No, it wasn’t her,” she said. She looked
at Jonny. “It was his mother.”