Page 3 of Stolen Bride for the Don

“You’ve never worried about being dramatic in the past,” Dad says with a pointed look, and God knows I put them through hell over the years. How my parents put up with my many, many phases is beyond me. But I love them to death for it. My brothers too, although I’m not eager to share that sentiment just yet. “Go for it, honey. Just keep in touch with your mother and me. You know how she worries.”

I smile as I rest my head on his strong shoulder. He always says that Mom worries, but we all know he’s the stress case. After dancing with Dad, I take a turn with Alex, Ezra, my employee Keith, and a couple uncles. By the time the night is over, my feet are screaming, and I gladly take off my heels as I fall into my car.

I can’t wait to get home and sink into my bed. I closed the doors to the bar in the early hours of this morning, not long after my argument with Alex. My apartment is conveniently located above the bar, so I was thinking of inviting up the gorgeous guy who was shamelessly flirting it up with me. But then over-protective Alex summoned me to his office–I mean booth–and when I turned around, Mr. dark, mysterious, and way too sexy was gone.

Just Hudson. I’ve never met someone I had such instant chemistry with. I swear my blood actually sizzled when he placed his hand over mine on the bar. My heart pounds as I remember the moment. How could he just leave? There’s no way he didn’t feel the heat between us too. I know he did.

I shake my head, trying to dislodge the man from my thoughts. I need to sleep, desperately. The wedding and reception took place on Mom and Dad’s estate in Marlboro; they asked me to stay, but the house is full and I need my privacy. Besides, the bar is just a twenty-minute drive away. I can come back in the morning to eat breakfast with the family and drink five cups of coffee while I gag over all the happy couples in my life. Can’t wait.

I wave goodbye to my family as I drive off. Ezra and Charlie left for their honeymoon in Norway a few hours ago. An unconventional location for newlyweds, but they boast some of the clearest, crisp skies filled with endless stars–Charlie’s obsession.

I smile as I remember how radiant Charlie looked in her white dress, her cute bump on display. I can hardly believe that in a few months, I’ll be an aunt to two perfect little babies. Mom and Dad, grandparents. “Just imagine that,” I murmur as I turn onto a new road. He and Mom will spoil them rotten.

I sigh, remembering Mom asking me why I didn’t bring a date to the wedding. I swear she sees her sons in happy relationships and all she wants is to sell me off to the next man who comes along. She wants what’s best for me, and so do I, but maybe that can’t be found in a relationship. I sigh for the millionth time today. I’m happy, I remind myself. I really am.

My thoughts start spiraling, and I lean forward to turn on my radio, hoping for some chill music to drown out my thoughts. That’s when my car hits something, a loud thunk filling the air. I gasp as my forehead makes contact with the steering wheel. What the hell?

I’m forced to hit the brakes as I sit up, rubbing my aching head only to see a black sports car skid in front of my hood, ruining any chance of me driving away. I watch in what feels like slow motion as a tall, very muscular man gets out of the passenger side.

My heart starts pounding erratically even as I tell myself that this is Brattleboro; no-one would dare hurt me unless they want to face my brothers’ wrath. Beauforts have the town in the palm of our hands. Even though I’m no longer involved in either the legal or less-than legal sides of the family business, I am still a Beaufort.

The man walks up to my window and knocks on it like he expects me to do something absurd like roll it down or unlock my door. I tilt my head at him. There’s something almost vacant in his eyes. I don’t like it; so, I push back the gear of my car and reverse sharply. While he’s still standing there gaping at me, I swerve toward him. He jumps back, but my car still grazes his hip as I drive off.

From the rearview mirror I see him running to get back into the black car. I should have just watched where I was going because when I turn my attention back to the road, another car is blocking my lane: a Land Rover. Now I know this is a trap. I turn the wheel to swerve around the vehicle, but it maneuvers with me, preventing me from overtaking it. Shit.

I use one hand to drive while I lean forward to open the console with my other. Just as I take out my taser–wishing like hell that I had my Glock on me–the Land Rover strikes the side of my car, and I skid onto the shoulder of the road. I lose control of my car and watch helplessly as I careen into a tree trunk.

The airbags immediately explode as my bumper crunches, making the most horrific screeching sound. My head snaps back with the force, my eyes squeezed shut. Once the car stops moving, I blink my eyes through the pounding in my head. My ears continue to ring; for a moment, my mind goes blank, and I forget how I got here.

I turn my head to the window with a pained groan to see the two cars pull to a stop on the side of the road, and about five men get out. Fuck. My hand tightens on the taser that’s still somehow in my grasp as I try to think of a way out of this mess.

I fumble with my seatbelt and scramble across the console to the passenger seat. I helplessly watch them approach the driver’s side door. The doors are locked; they can’t get to me. The reminder calms me marginally. One of the men tries the handle.

He punches the glass window aggressively and swears when the glass doesn’t give. To my horror, he pulls out a gun but proceeds to pound the butt against the glass. I wince because the sound makes the pounding in my head throb. This glass is bulletproof, and I’m suddenly glad that I accepted it when Dad presented it to me last year. But bulletproof or not, I'll need to leave this car, sooner rather than later if I have any hope of escape.

The engine died after the crash, and with the loss of the air conditioning, I’m starting to get hot and panicky. Maybe it’s shock, but I can’t seem to take in a full breath. My chest rises erratically as I suck in the little fresh air left in the car.

I grab my purse from the floor of the car and take out my phone to call Alex, but, of course, there’s no fucking reception. Fuck my life. I will the men to leave–mind over matter and all that shit–but they just patiently pace outside the car, waiting for me to inevitably get out on my own.

I’m starting to become lightheaded. Fuck, I must have hit my head harder than I had realized. I need fresh air soon or I’ll pass out. Oh God, what If I die in this car? When I glance outside again, one of the men is on a call. I can’t risk voluntarily leaving this car. It’s the only thing protecting me from them.

Unlike most people comprehend, there are actually worse outcomes than death. If I remain here, I might make it to daylight. This road is well-traveled, so people will discover me sooner or later. It’s just starting to get warm since it’s the last week of May, making my chances of a heatstroke minimal. I can make it.

But what if they take me…my body chills as I remember the dangers Alex warned me were lurking outside Brattleboro when I left to study at Stanford. I’m a valuable asset who could be kidnapped for ransom, or worse. I could end up being tortured, raped, or mutilated. The fear had been drilled into me by Alex’s brutal honesty. I also know my family has done enough backhanded things over the years to warrant retaliation. We have a lot of enemies. Just the thought nearly paralyzes me with fear.

When I think about either dying in here or ending up in the hands of the men outside, it’s an easy choice.

I don’t know how long we have our standoff. Well, they’re standing outside while I’m sitting here shaking like a leaf while simultaneously seating my ass off; but it feels like hours have passed, and it’s getting harder and harder to breathe. I don’t realize I’m already losing consciousness until the sound of a new car approaching startles me awake.

Help.

I sit up, my dress sticking to my body from sweat, and my breath coming in hot pants. I’m fully prepared to press down on my horn to grab the attention of the person in the car. I don’t need to because the expensive Jeep slows to a halt next to the men.

A tall man in a suit gets out of the car with controlled movements; even from here I can see that he’s furious. He has a heated conversation with the men for a few minutes, then he turns to my car and starts walking in my direction, determination in every powerful step.

Suddenly my vision goes dark. I force myself to blink my eyes open even though my lids are so heavy that all I want to do is rest them. I push past my frantically beating heart as I squint through the fogged glass. Why does he look so familiar? He takes out a key fob from his pocket as he gets closer. A click and my car lets out a tiny beep sound as it unlocks.

What? How?

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