Page 3 of Dirty Little Vow

“I’m going to need you to come with me, Bella,” he repeats, a hint of impatience inking his otherwise refined tone.

“You know who I am,” I observe. “Can I ask who you are?” I sound polite, but then so does he. It really does feel like Hollywood. Everyone smiles to your face, but the minute you walk out of the room, the red carpet is pulled from right beneath your feet. Which is why you handle your business with a contract, unless of course, there’s a gun involved.

“Who I am doesn’t matter,” he replies, and I’m now certain he has an English accent, or perhaps Australian. “You, Bella, are the person who matters right now.”

It’s easy to assume this problem before me is connected to Tyler and his father’s will, but with the big stars and powerful executives I deal with, I can’t be sure. “You mean your employer is the one who matters,” I say, digging for facts. “I’m going to take a swing and guess that’s the Allen family.”

His lips quirk, and his eyes—a shade I can only call steely gray—glinting with amusement. “Let’s go have a little chat.”

Blood rushes in my ears. The moment I leave this public place is the moment I may never see the light of a new day. “Where?”I ask, stalling, mentally processing what to do next. Scream? Reach for my weapon? Run?

“Not far,” he says, catching my elbow. “Let’s walk.”

I plant my feet.

His energy bristles. “It’s in Tyler’s best interest that we chat, Bella, and I’d like to think between the two of us, we can keep it nice and professional.”

Professional.

I’m good at reading between the lines. That word is meant to be a warning. He’ll kill me if it’s necessary, but it’s not just me he’s threatened. It’s Tyler, and that’s when reality hits. This is real. The danger is real.

He starts walking, still touching my arm, and this time, I fall into step with him, expecting to be shoved into a car, or worse,the trunkof a car, but that’s not how this plays out at all. We travel a few blocks, “not far” as he himself stated, when he directs us to a corner bar that I’ve walked past many a time but have never actually been inside.

My mind is back in a race, calculating a plan. I’ll ask to go to the bathroom, and text the name of the bar to Tyler. No, Dash. I’ll text Dash. Tyler will lose his shit over this. Dash is former FBI. He’ll be cool under pressure. He’ll get me back before Tyler ever has the chance to fret. And if “Oliver” gets smart and takes my phone, I can write a note in the bathroom to ask for help.

Maybe.

It’s an option.

But once we’re at the door, it’s with a stab to my heart that I realize there’s no name anywhere to be found to identify the establishment. My new “friend” pulls the door open and motions me inside. I step into a rather cozy, but extremely dimly lit spot, with high-back booths framing a bar. My captor steps to my side and motions toward the other side of the room.

I start walking again, and now I’m feeling the adrenaline. It’s darting through my blood, hyping me up, and I’m not sure why now, and not the moment I knew I was being abducted. I’m in a public place, not that trunk of a car I’d feared but then, there’s more to this stop than meets the eye. This location is obviously planned for a reason; perhaps he owns it, or the Allen family owns it. In which case, this would be a perfect location to kill me. The staff could clean up. He’d never even get blood on his fancy suit.

My fingers curl in my palms, and I’m thinking about my weapon again. I could reach for it, just go for it, and this would end one way or the other in a matter of minutes. But what if this man, whoever he is, really does merely want to talk? Okay, not merely. Maybe he wants to scare us all to death while talking? If I reach for my weapon, this could get deadly, when it might otherwise simply be frightening and unreasonable.

I try to think about what my brother would do, what his stories say to do, what he has told me to do, and I’m pretty sure I should have screamed when we were outside, but at what cost to Tyler or even Dash? I should have reached for my gun in public, but I did not. Am I stupid? I think I am right now. My father and brother will torment me over how I’ve handled this.

If I survive it.

I draw in a breath at the idea, holding it, dreading what might come next.

Our destination is the farthest booth in the rear of the building, where the bar hides us from view of the front door.The perfect place to kill me, I think again. And clearly, he’s not worried about who might walk in. The staff probably locked up after we entered. He motions for me to sit with my back to the door. Once I’ve settled onto the leather bench, I’m aware now that the high backs create the illusion of a secret hiding spot. A place where only we know what happens next.

Oliver joins me, claiming a position directly across from me. “This is cozy, isn’t it?”

Cozy is not a word I’d expect to come from such an intensely male and formal man such as this one, therefore the word sounds patronizing at best, threatening at worst. He leans into the aisle and motions to someone, which can’t be good either. With a leap of my heart, I unzip my purse, but before I can reach for my weapon, my moment has passed.

Oliver straightens to face me again, my spine is stiff with yet another rip of anticipation. Who is joining us? Who did he just invite to be a part of my “talking to”? That’s when a pale-skinned mid-fifties woman steps to our side, an apron around her waist. “Sorry. I didn’t see you come in. Can I get y’all some drinks?”

“The lady likes lemon drops,” my abductor states before arching a brow at me. “Unless you’d prefer a Bloody Mary?”

Unease settles low in my belly at the mention of the two drinks I favor, which is no doubt his way of letting me know he’s been watching and studying me. “I’ll pass,” I reply tightly. “Thanks.”

“Two Bloody Marys,” Oliver orders, his eyes locked with mine before he glances at the waitress. “And some of that amazing spinach artichoke dip you make here.”

“Coming right up,” she replies and hurries off.

“Who are you?” I demand, deciding there is strength in confrontation, and I need to show strength. This table has to be a negotiation like any other, with the endgame being a peaceful resolution.

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