Page 66 of Roots of the Wicked

Chase eased me back, holding my bare shoulders in each of his strong hands. “Jax, your version of paying someone back is never painless. Would you let me handle this, and if my method doesn’t work, we’ll unleash you?”

I intended to smile, but my lips refused to bend, sticking to the true nature of my mood.

“You can’t keep me on a leash, Chase. The best you can do is pet me and make me sit for a few minutes.”

His expression drew tighter, the concern in his eyes shining through. He appeared more stressed about what I was planning to do over what was going to happen if a sex tape about us was released. Did he not care about what a sex tape would do to me? My career? My mental health?

“What are you going to do? I don’t want anything to happen to you because of me, because the media won’t allow me to have a private life. This is all on me.”

I was unable to shake off the notion of us going public, with a sex tape no less. “I know this isn’t your fault. I know you didn’t want this, but I won’t sit around while someone is out there making what was supposed to be a private moment into a nationwide—” I gasped when a ton of ideas flooded my brain. “—fuck you’re a billionaire! A successful, popular, sexy, and intriguing billionaire. They are going to make this shit an international spectacle. I knew this shit could happen, but I didn’t listen to my own damn warnings.”

I palmed my throbbing forehead before I slammed my eyes shut. Bent at the waist, I choked down a surge of nausea.

“Holy! Fucking! Shit!” My shouts were aimed at the floor, each word releasing a tight knot of tension, before I lifted. “This is bad. There is no way I can’t do something. This can ruin me. My business. My life.”

Chase made a valid attempt, but there was no talking me down once my mind was set. I had to do everything in my power to find the drone stalker and make their lives a living hell.

***

When we reached shore, a media storm was waiting there for us. Paul stood at the edge of the dock, attempting to hold the crowd back.

“What are they doing here? Where the fuck is security!?” Chase shouted. I stood with my back to the crowd, pinned against Chase, and gripping him around the waist. It appeared they’d been clever enough to stay out of sight while we were sailing closer and sprang out as if saying ‘surprise’ as soon as we’d stepped off the boat.

From the boat, the walk along the dock, and to the car hadn’t appeared too far away. As soon as the crowd of about fifty or more paparazzi came into view, riled up at our arrival, Chase’s car may as well have been ten miles away.

“Sir you can use this to cover her.” Cathy, the cook said. She handed Chase a black cashmere throw she had ran back and pulled from the interior of the boat. Chase used the throw as my shield. After tossing it over my head, he drew me tightly into his chest.

How did they know where we would dock? Someone had to have leaked our location and arrival time. Chase had assured that no one knew our docking, or embarking location.

Once we cleared the dock, a horde of shuffling feet and waving arms fought each other to have their voices heard. The throw covering me didn’t stop me from spotting the camera flashes, nor did it stop me from catching snatches of their dancing shadows cast on the ground. A million questions were being shouted at us from every direction.

“Frank, clear us a path,” I heard Chase shout to his boat security guy.

The flashes, the shouts, the idea of them filming me, snapping pictures of me, fighting to get my face on the news and Internet had set my nerves so far on edge, I started to tremble. The buzzing in my ears competed with the shouts growing more anxious and louder the longer Chase avoided answering them. My breaths started to stall. I couldn’t breathe properly, and I didn’t think it had anything to do with the soft material covering me. It was a panic attack.

“I’ve got you. You’re going to be okay.” Chase squeezed me tighter against him.

It wasn’t until someone shouted, “Young lady!” did I realize they were aiming their questions at me. “Miss, what’s your name?” I tugged the throw tighter as I fought to keep my face hidden.

“Mr. Taylorson, tell us her name.”

“Who’s your new lady?”

“Show us her face.”

“What happened to Amanda?”

Eager fingers poked and prodded. I was in need of a decent flow of oxygen. My head swam and my body became heavy, but Chase kept me afloat, supporting the bulk of my weight.

“Timothy, watch her back. Don’t let them touch her.” He yelled loud, calling back to the boat captain.

Everyone wanted a piece of me and Chase.

The entire time they yelled, prodded, and poked at us, I could hear Chase whispering that he wasn’t going to let anything happen to me. I concentrated on his voice, the only sound keeping me from falling apart.

We came to an abrupt stop that jarred me.

“Take your fucking hands off her, or I will sue the shit out of you. You know better!” Chase barked at one of the prowlers.

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