The Ransom (27 page)

Despite the regular availability of sluts who hung out at the clubhouse, he’d been drawn to the blond, high-class aloofness of the bitch from the eastern suburbs. Not to mention the finest set of tits he’d ever laid eyes on. His cock had taken over and before he knew it, they were meeting up on regular occasions. She fucked better than any slut he’d known and he was only too happy to keep her supplied with gear. It was only later he discovered she was the wife of the State Attorney General.

At first, he’d shit his pants. The ramifications of what could happen to him and to the members of his club had kept him sleepless and sexless for weeks. Even the most seasoned of the sluts that frequented the clubhouse hadn’t been able to get him hard. It was the latter that had really put the fear of God into him.

He finally confronted Allison with his concerns and had been relieved to find out she had no intention of cutting off her drug supply—not to mention their mutually enjoyable trysts in the back of the clubhouse—by disclosing his existence to her husband.

Their mutually beneficial arrangement had gone along just fine until little Miss eastern suburbs had decided she’d had enough of western suburbs biker cock. Almost overnight, she turned mean and nasty and spiteful, accusing him of being stupid, ugly and smelling of gear oil.

It was then he decided the top-shelf pussy she offered him in return for her little bags of crystals wasn’t as valuable to him as he’d first thought. Allowing her a modest discount for the sexual services she’d provided, he calculated her drug debt at around nine-hundred and forty thousand dollars. As someone who didn’t deal in small change, it didn’t take him long to tell her she owed him a million.

She’d scoffed and laughed, of course. He expected that, but it had angered him, just the same. He’d slapped the smirk off her beautiful face with a couple of quick backhands and enjoyed the satisfaction of watching the shock and fear suffuse her perfect features.

Up until then, he’d given her free reign over his body and to some extent, over his mind. He’d enjoyed buying her expensive trinkets, designer clothing and so many handbags she could have opened her own shop. She’d repaid him enthusiastically with imaginative and physically challenging sex. He’d never been with a woman whose sexual appetite exceeded his own and it had become as addictive as her crystals.

But now, in the privacy of his car, Draco grudgingly conceded he should never have mixed business with pleasure and especially with someone who had the power to destroy him. One word in the ear of her husband or his police cronies and Draco could be put away for the rest of his natural life.

He’d been willing to take the risk when he was having the most uninhibited sex he’d ever enjoyed, but when the pussy was shut down, his outlook took a turn for the worse. His usual sense of self-preservation kicked in and had sharpened to the point where it could no longer be ignored.

When Allison failed to pay what she owed, he stormed around the clubhouse for more than two days before he came up with the plan to kidnap her daughter. He was thankful he’d caught a glimpse of the child in a photo Allison kept in her wallet, or he’d have never known the kid existed.

Allison had emptied her handbag onto the coffee table in his office at the clubhouse one evening, hunting around for a lipstick. The slut’s purse had fallen open in the process. He picked it up and glanced at the photo that was inside a plastic sleeve in the wallet.

She noticed his interest and had puffed up with pride. He duly listened while she raved about the girl in glowing terms. It was obvious she loved her.

It was during his furious rant to his sergeant-at-arms in the back of the clubhouse, when he’d considered and discarded several options to force the eastern suburbs’ slut to pay, that his mind had latched onto the image of her daughter. All at once, it was clear what he could do. There was nothing Allison wouldn’t do for the girl, including repaying what she owed.

Everything would have worked out just dandy, too, if Beefcake hadn’t fucked it all up. The kid would have been snatched, the ransom demand would have been issued and the stuck up bitch would have paid. Simple as that—they would have been square.

Only, it hadn’t turned out that way. After their meeting at the clubhouse where he’d warned her she had a fortnight to pay up, the slut had fucked off north without a single word. Okay, he may have treated her a little roughly, but he hadn’t expected her to flee. He’d been forced to threaten the AG—something he’d hoped to avoid. And who could have foreseen that on the very day they’d planned the kidnapping, Brittany Dowton would be in the company of another kid who happened to look just like her?

Could the gods have screwed any more with his head?
He would have killed himself laughing if the joke hadn’t been on him.

Draco growled low in his throat and thumped the steering wheel of his car. Nobody made a fool of him and got away with it. He glanced around to check that no one had noticed and was glad to see that, apart from a couple of youths loping along the sidewalk about thirty yards in front of him, he was alone.

His phone call to Allison after the botched kidnap attempt had been meant to frighten her and it seemed like it had done the job. She’d begged him to leave her kid alone and had promised to get him the money. She’d even offered him Zara as an incentive to get the AG to pay.

Naturally, he’d been suspicious at first and had wondered at her willingness to allow her oldest daughter to be subjected to a violent abduction—and worse. He wondered whether the bitch had been setting him up.

But then he’d done a little research on the Internet and had discovered Zara wasn’t Allison’s biological daughter. Suddenly, the slut’s willingness to aid him in the recovery of his money by offering the other child made sense. The cold malice of the woman he’d once been half in love with stunned him, but she’d assured him Zara’s father would pay anything to have her returned. At the end of the day, all Draco wanted was his money.

He looked at his watch and cursed again.
What the fuck could the girl be doing in there?
He quelled the urge to storm into the building and knock on doors until he found the right one. That would be stupid and if there was anything he wasn’t, it was stupid. He hadn’t gotten this far in life by being a fuckwit.

With a sigh of resignation, he shifted his bulk in the seat and prepared to spend a little more time in the cramped confines of his car. He’d waited this long.
What was another hour or two?

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Tuesday, January 30, 7:26 p.m.

Lane threaded his fingers through Zara’s and gave her hand a tender squeeze. They lay on their sides on the wide leather sofa, sharing stories about their pasts, including Zara’s less-than-amiable relationship with her stepmother. He now understood why she called the woman by her first name.

He was doing his best to keep his mind off the fact that Zara’s warm, lush body was pressed up close against his, since he’d promised both of them he’d keep his hands off her. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t prevent the hard-on that was doing its best to be noticed. The rumble of Zara’s belly was a welcome distraction.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. Her face flushed in the dim glow from the lamp on the side table he’d switched on a little earlier. Night had set in and he’d barely noticed.

He waved her embarrassment away. “Don’t be. It could just as easily have been mine. I haven’t eaten all day.”

Her brow furrowed in concern. “You should have said. We could have eaten earlier.”

“And missed out on hearing about your attempt to be the prima donna of the Point Piper ballet school for infants?” he teased.

Her blush deepened and tenderness swelled in his chest. She was beyond adorable. Everything she’d shared with him over the course of the afternoon only drew him further under her spell. He was falling for her and falling fast. He shook his head at the wonder of it, even as a shadow stole across his heart.

Watching him, Zara’s expression turned serious. “What is it, Lane? Talk to me.”

He pursed his lips, wishing he hadn’t remembered all the reasons he’d vowed to remain single. He’d made those vows before he met Zara, before he met the woman who could light up every corner of his life—if he let her. She made him see how cold and lonely his life had been and would continue to be, if she weren’t around to share it.

He wanted to brush off her concern and would have if he’d been with anyone else. But he cared for her too much to casually ignore the growing confusion in her liquid dark eyes.

What the hell was he going to do?

Despair settled like lead in his heart. Uncertainty tightened his gut. Slowly, Zara’s gaze filled with hurt and disappointment. In silence, she withdrew her hand and tucked it against her side. She inched away from him and sat up, putting distance between them.

“What is it, Lane? A minute ago we were both feeling like the world could never be more right and now you look like the dog you’ve owned since you were a kid has just been run over on the freeway. What’s going on?”

Her voice had lowered to a tortured whisper, confusion plain on her face. He wished he had the words to make this go away.

“Lane, talk to me. Please. You’re scaring me. Did I say something wrong?”

“No. Please, don’t think that. It’s not you; it’s me.”

There, he’d finally admitted it.
He risked a glance in her direction, expecting to find her gaze filled with pity. Instead, he found resignation tinged with a quiet anger.

“Would you care to explain what you mean?”

He stared at her and couldn’t for the life of him work out what she had to be angry about. He’d just admitted he was the one with the problem.
Hadn’t he?
Perhaps she misunderstood.

“There are things about me you don’t know. Things I’ve never told anyone.” He drew in a breath and then rushed on. “I…I’m never going to get married. I don’t intend to have a family.” He shrugged and forced himself to add, “I don’t do long-term commitment. I have nothing to offer you.”

Her voice was filled with surprise and disbelief. “Marriage? Children? We’ve only known each other since Saturday. Surely you can come up with something better than that?” She shook her head in disgust and leaped off the couch and then hunted around for her shoes. Lane’s heart clenched when he caught sight of the tears that glistened in her eyes.

“Zara, I’m sorry. I’m not explaining this very well. Let me—”

“No, no. Don’t bother. It’s all right, I get it. Your invitation to come over was a spontaneous, heat-of-the-moment thing, a by-product of the relief both of us felt at having found Olivia alive and well. It was nothing but two adults coming together for a few hours of relaxation and companionship. Nothing more, nothing less. Well, thank you for your time, Detective Senior Sergeant Black and for your efforts where both Olivia and Brittany are concerned. I wish you all the best.”

She spun on her heel. Lane’s hand snaked out and snagged her elbow, holding tight. She gasped and came about face, her dark eyes shooting fire.

“Let me go.”

“No.”

“Lane, I swear, let me go or I’ll—”

“You’ll what? Scream? I’ll scream louder. Cry? Believe it or not, I can manage that one, too.” He gentled his hold on her and lowered his voice. “Please, Zara, sit back down. Please give me a chance to explain.”

She resisted his tug on her arm, still staring at him defiantly. He held her gaze and hoped like hell she could see how much he cared for her. It was a long moment later, but finally she relented. Lane swallowed a sigh of relief and released her. He patted the space next to him, silently urging her to join him.

Grudgingly, she did as he asked, but the tension in her body indicated she was a long way from understanding. Lane braced himself with a deep breath and spoke again.

“I told you about my childhood, my mother and my brothers. I told you about some of the escapades my brothers and I got up to during our teenage years. What I didn’t tell you about was my father. Warren Black was a police officer, a senior detective in the DEA. That stands for the Drug Enforcement Agency, in case you don’t know.”

She stared at him with narrowed eyes, her lips compressed. Lane flushed.
God, could he mess this up any more?

“I’m sorry, of course you know. You’re a lawyer. I didn’t mean to imply…” The heat in his cheeks intensified. He bit his lip in consternation and looked away.

“Just get on with it.” Her expression was still closed, but her tone was gentler. He took encouragement from it and continued.

“I’m the oldest of four kids. My father died when I was seven. He was shot in the line of duty by some drug-crazed idiot he’d been trying to help off the street. Literally. The man was lying in the middle of the road. Dad was bent over him, trying to get him to move out of the way of the traffic when the asshole drew a gun on him. My father died at the scene.”

Zara’s eyes widened in shock and her mouth fell open. The color leached from her cheeks. Lane cut her off before she could say the words.

“Tragic, yes. Sad as hell, you betcha. He was given a hero’s burial. Even the Police Commissioner was there.” He shook his head, trying to ward off the memories. “But it didn’t matter. None of it did. The only thing that mattered was that we’d lost our dad and my mother had lost her husband.”