Throne of Truth Page 5

  I planted my hands on the counter, bracing myself. “It’s not a different side to you. I know that side better than you think. I’ve seen it in your eyes for years.”

  He grinned. “Great, so you know I’m telling the truth.”

  I swallowed as he moved toward me and stroked my cheek, his eyes dropping to my chest. “I showered you, dressed you, and now the least you can do is cook us a lovely meal to celebrate our new future together.”

  I cringed, stepping away from his touch.

  His face shadowed. “I almost forgot.” Clicking his fingers, he turned and disappeared into the living room where a duffel bag sat on the couch. Placing the knife on the coffee table—away from my eager fingers—he unzipped the bag and checked the contents.

  Greg had many faults, but I’d never known him as so meticulous.

  He’d planned my abduction flawlessly.

  Clothes for me hung in the wardrobe right alongside clothes for him. The kitchen was stocked with delicacies and staple requirements, and hygiene products such as toothbrushes and toilet paper were in ample supply.

  The bathroom had been bare when we’d arrived, but that was before he’d returned to the Dodge and emptied the trunk.

  How long had he been concocting this?

  How long is he planning to keep me here?

  Greg returned with the bag, placing it with a loud clunk on the kitchen counter.

  My hair was still damp from the shower, my skin still warm despite the lack of thermal properties of the skimpy negligée. Once he’d turned off the water, he’d dried me (despite my fight and refusal), then dragged me into the bedroom where he’d shoved the gold satin over my head.

  He hadn’t let me go until I stood in the middle of the kitchen and he’d grabbed the knife. The sharp blade didn’t scare me, but the lack of warm clothes and shoes did. Even if I did spy an opportunity to run, I wouldn’t get far unless I dressed appropriately.

  Greg patted the duffel. A smirk spread his lips. “I brought these as a last resort, but after having the convenience of the rope around your wrist, I think they’ll come in handy.” Pulling out a leather cuff, the heavy clinking of chains sounded.

  My mouth shot dry as his bicep bulged, hefting the weight from the bag to the counter.

  He’d dressed in a white t-shirt with faded jeans, his dark blond hair swept back, drying from our joint shower, while the odd droplet turned his t-shirt translucent on the shoulders.

  He looked innocent...familiar. The contents he’d just dumped into view were the exact opposite.

  I backed away, bumping into the oven. “What the hell is that?”

  He chuckled. “Gifts for you, of course.”

  “I don’t want any gifts.”

  “Believe me, you’ll change your mind soon enough.” Unbuckling the leather cuff that attached to the glinting chain, he carried the metal across the living room to a sturdy looking hook. A fire poker and small shovel hung for cleaning out the ashes in the grate.

  Removing the poker, he secured the chain and locked it with a small padlock before making his way back toward me, letting the links slip through his fingers to stain the floorboards with imprisonment.

  The length kept going from the living room to where I stood petrified in the kitchen.

  Dropping the remaining chain by my feet, he said, “Until you behave and stop looking at the door to run, I’m going to ensure you stay here with me, okay?”

  “No, not okay. You’ve already squirreled me away where no one can find us.” I darted backward, trapped by cabinets. “I don’t like being tied up, Greg.”

  “Too bad.” His eyes narrowed. “I didn’t ask your opinion or permission.” He held up the leather cuff. “Now, come here.”

  I shook my head, my eyes flickering to the knife on the coffee table over his shoulder.

  If only I could reach it. “I won’t run.”

  “I know you won’t. This system will make sure of it.” He advanced.

  I pushed harder into the cabinetry but had nowhere else to go.

  Only a foot separated us.

  Greg smiled then dropped to one knee as if to propose. I held my breath, shock and horror crawling over my insides as he reached for my ankle and latched his heinous fingers around my leg.

  The moment he caught me, he wrapped the leather cuff around my limb, pulling tight before running the chain through the small hook at the top and securing it with the aid of another padlock.

  The second I was locked in place, he stood with a triumphant look on his face. “You should be able to go anywhere you need in the cabin but not outside.” Returning to the bag, he pulled out another chain, this one shorter with two cuffs on either side instead of one. “Give me your hands.”

  “What?”

  “Your hands, Elle.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “I’m deadly fucking serious.” He came forward, letting one cuff dangle while he reached for my wrist—the one with rope burns from the stupid twine he’d used.

  What the hell is he doing?

  “I’m not your prisoner, Greg.”

  “I beg to differ.” His fingers bit into my arm as he wrapped the cuff around me and once again secured it with a tiny padlock. At least the leather was soft and supple rather than coarse and prickly. It looked expensive with gold stitching and faux fur trim. Not the cheap kink sold at wannabe sex shops.

  Not that I know what cheap or expensive sex toys look like.

  A memory of the Seahorse and other dildo samples from Loveline reminded me Penn still had my property.

  He has my underwear, too.

  At the time, it hadn’t bothered me. I thought I’d be back for more sexcapades, and he would use the toys on me. But that was before he let me walk home and I was almost molested; before he scooped me up and washed my feet. Before his lies came crashing down and burst into fiery flames.

  Capturing my other arm, Greg growled as I wriggled and tried to break free. “Stand still.”

  He grunted as he tucked my arm against his body and circled my other wrist with the last cuff. The soft snick of the fourth padlock shattered my thoughts of strangling him for my freedom.

  “There, nice and secure.” Greg kissed my forehead, pulling me forward thanks to the looping chain now permanently present.

  I deliberated punching and kicking and screaming and cursing him, but what would that achieve? My leg was tethered to the fireplace, I was practically naked, and my arms were now joined like an inmate on death row.

  He wouldn’t let me run. He wouldn’t let me go.

  He’d only pay me back if I hurt him. And I already knew how painful his punches could be.

  My temple throbbed in agreement.

  Had it only been last night he’d hit me in my apartment garage?

  It had to have been centuries with how tired and stressed I was.

  Even the thought of having sex in the limo with Penn didn’t affect me the way it had before.

  The tummy moths were dead, their paper wings dissolved in bile.

  I’d gone from liking Penn to hating him, and it was exhausting hating two people at the same time for entirely different reasons.

  Greg released me, inspecting his handiwork. “You look hot in chains.”

  “You’ll look hot behind bars when the police catch you.”

  “There’ll be no crime once you come around to my way of thinking.”

  “I’ll never come around because I don’t want what you do.”

  He chuckled under his breath. “So argumentative. I don’t remember you being like that in the past.”

  I tried to plant my hands on my hips, but the chain wasn’t quite long enough. I settled for threading my fingers together and holding tight with all the aggression I wished I could throw at him. “That’s because you don’t know me. You never knew me. You never tried to get to know me.”

  His brow settled angrily over green eyes. “I’m trying now. So give me a goddamn break and give me a chance.�
�

  I laughed, rattling the chain in his face. “This is not trying. This is kidnapping. Release me.”

  “Still used to barking orders, huh, Elle?” He padded barefoot from the kitchen. Hoisting himself onto a bar-stool, he added, “I’m hungry. Let’s get back to the topic of food.”

  I moved to face him, glad that the counter now separated us even if he was demanding I cook for him like some slave. I moved my right leg, testing the weight of the chain locking me to the fireplace across the room.

  God, that’s heavy.

  The metal loops weren’t light nor were they easy to step over or kick away as I did a small circle, testing how fast I could move. The chain around my wrists was lighter, with just enough room to scoop and handle things but not enough to stab him with a knife or swing a skillet on his head.

  My shoulders rolled, finally understanding that this wasn’t just a game to him.

  This was serious.

  “What do you want, Greg?” My bravery faltered. “Tell the truth. I’m done playing.”

  He slid off the bar stool, came back into the kitchen, and hoisted himself onto the counter in front of me. “I’m glad you’re finally ready to be sensible.” His dangling legs thudded against the dishwasher as he pulled another knife from the butcher’s block and twirled it tip first again. “But I’ve told you what I want. You just keep ignoring me.”

  “No, you haven’t.” I spread my hands, giving him the space to speak. “You haven’t set your terms; you’ve merely demanded what you expect. They’re different.” I did my best to ignore the skimpy nightdress and leather cuffs, draping myself in an imaginary suit with bodyguards and personal assistants ready to do whatever I commanded. “Pretend we’re in a business negotiation at Belle Elle. What would you say?”

  He smirked. “I’d say this was a takeover.”

  “A hostile takeover, don’t you mean?”

  “No, Elle, a partnership. A new director of the board buying fifty-one percent of the stock but letting the old manager keep forty-nine.”

  Oh, how generous of you.

  “That’s not a partnership. It’s a dictatorship.”

  “Wrong again. It is a partnership with the smallest amount of authority.”

  I would never sign Belle Elle over to him. Even if he killed me. The company wasn’t mine to give. It was my family’s—it belonged to my future children. The Charlston legacy would only go to a man worthy of serving by my side.

  “If it’s about the money, I’ll give you some. What do you want? A million? Two?”

  He threw his head back, laughing hard. “Oh, I knew your anger was cute, but you’re just adorable when you try to bargain with chump change.”

  “A million isn’t chump change.”

  “It is to you.”

  “Ten million.” I pursed my lips. “Ten million and you walk away.” I flung my hands in the air, hating the weight of the chain and the jingle of the links as I moved. “Walk away from this, from me, from Belle Elle, and I’ll wire the money to you right now.”

  “We don’t have reception out here. No Wi-Fi.”

  “Fine, take me back to the city, and I’ll do it there.”

  Where I can call the police, not the bank.

  “Nice try, Elle.” He tapped his nose with the sharp blade. “I much prefer our current situation.” Leaping off the counter, he inhaled my neck like a grizzly bear. “Ten million is still chump change. You can’t buy me off. The only bribe I’d accept would be...”

  He deliberately left me hanging.

  I hated myself, but I took his bait. “Would be?”

  “You.” His eyes flashed. “Marry me, give me fifty-one percent of Belle Elle, fifty percent of the contents of your bank accounts, and then divorce me for all I care.”

  My eyes flared. “You’re saying if I married you and gave you half of everything I own, that you’ll walk away?”

  He cocked his head. “Maybe.”

  “Maybe isn’t an answer I can agree to.”

  “Guess you’ll just have to make us dinner and stop trying to barter then, huh?” He ran the knife around my belly button, pressing the gold satin against my skin. “Cook me something, wife-to-be, then we can finally see if we’re as compatible in the bedroom as we are in the boardroom.”

  “We were never compatible in the boardroom. You were never allowed in the boardroom.”

  “Precisely. You were boss there.” His teeth glinted. “But here in my bed, in my cabin—I’m the boss.

  “And I can’t fucking wait to show you what I can do.”

  Chapter Eight

  Penn

  “HE’S NOT FUCKING here,” I growled into the phone. “Does he have another property?”

  Joe Charlston cleared his throat, the sound of an engine loud on the line. “No, that’s the only one that Steve—”

  “Everett? Is that you?” Steve Hobson’s voice replaced Joe’s. I envisioned him snatching the phone, either to stand up to me and beg me not to hurt his cocksucker of a son or help me find the woman who was like a daughter to him.

  “Tell me where I can find him.” I paced the woodland where the car tracks vanished onto a road. I had no clue what direction they’d gone in, no more hints or clues to chase.

  Elle was still out there.

  A new day had replaced the night, and I was fucking raging at the thought of her still with him.

  “He’s not at the cabin?”

  I ground my teeth. “He was. His Porsche is here, but they’re not. He had another car. They’re still missing.”

  Steve cursed something I didn’t catch. “I don’t know what else to tell you.”

  “Tell me something helpful. Tell me you know your son. Hotels he prefers, locations he likes.”

  Steve paused then rushed, “I know he was thinking of buying a fishing lodge. I don’t think he did, but then again, I had no clue he had another car up at the cabin.” His voice turned despondent. “This entire fiasco is showing how little I know my own flesh and blood.”

  Another man came on the phone. A man I remembered vividly for multiple reasons. And he remembered me. “Everett, David speaking. Elle’s bodyguard.”

  “I know who you are.”

  I remember the night we first met when your judgment stole all my joy at being with Elle and reminded me I was scum who doesn’t deserve her.

  “I’m driving Mr. Charlston and Mr. Hobson to the cabin. Wait there, and we’ll track them down together. I’ll do some digging with my contacts and see if there are any other assets under his name.”

  Contacts.

  Digging.

  Of course.

  I had someone better to call.

  Urgency to hang up on such a pointless conversation made me snarl, “Come here, I can’t stop you. But I won’t be here when you arrive. I’ll find her on my own.”

  I hung up, not caring I’d given Elle’s father shit-loads of reasons why he should ban his daughter from ever seeing me again—if she ever let me in the same room as her, of course.

  But I didn’t care about family dynamics and winning favors.

  All I cared about was finding Elle and making sure she was safe.

  If she tried to kill me after I told her who I was, then I would accept that. At least she would be back home where she belonged.

  My chest tightened at the future conversation we would have. The explanation about why I had her necklace, why I’d done what I had that night in the alley, and why I’d tracked her down (thanks to her I.D card) then taken things she wasn’t ready to give.

  But first, I had to find her.

  My fingers shook as I punched a well-used number into my phone.

  He answered on the first ring.

  The man who I turned to for everything.

  The man I called my father and friend.

  “Larry speaking.”

  “You still have that Meerkat in your zoo?”

  First thing Larry had taught me: people were always listening. The higher in
society you climbed, the bigger your bank account grew, the more people eavesdropped on every part of your life.

  Meerkat was code for cops and zoo was code for payroll. Larry was a lawyer. And a damn fine one. But it didn’t mean he didn’t use extra tools when it suited him—all in the name of defending the innocent, of course. The same method had helped free me, revealing what I’d sworn under oath to be true even when the jury didn’t believe me.

  Even when I’d been thrown away to rot in a cell for something I didn’t do.

  “Yes, my zoo is always full.”

  “Great, I need some apples.”

  Stupid code for information. We need to change that one.

  “Name it.”

  “You know the animal in question. I need bucket monitoring for any large refills in the last few years. Track down his zookeeper and any cage cleaners. See if he’s left his comfy pen and suddenly taken a liking to the wild or has any other nests tucked away. Got it?”

  I hoped he did because my mind hurt remembering how to vaguely insinuate he look up Greg’s credit card statements (bucket monitoring) for any out of place shopping sprees such as cars or rentals. And to research his mortgage documents (zookeepers) or line of credits (cage cleaners) for hotel statements or house purchases.

  If Greg had planned this...something damning would appear.

  It always does.

  “Consider the report in progress.” Larry cleared his throat. “He’s still got her but—”

  I knew he wanted to reassure me, but I didn’t have time. “He might for now—” I crunched the phone tight in my hands “—but not for much longer.”

  “Give me twenty. I’ll call you back.”

  I hung up.

  Gritting my teeth against the cuts on my feet and the seizing of bruised joints from the beating, I jogged through the forest and up the driveway to my Merc.

  The minute Larry called with new information, I would find her.

  And this time, I wouldn’t fail.

  Chapter Nine

  Elle

  COOKING IN CHAINS wasn’t something I was used to.

  It was awkward, heavy, and I positively hated the clinking as I shuffled toward the pantry and grabbed ingredients for a simple tagliatelle with basil pesto and parmesan.