After I left Losev’s house a couple days ago, I promised myself I wouldn’t wallow, and I haven’t. Instead, I’ve thrown myself back into work. I was at the women’s shelter until late last night, and today, I’ve been traveling to our different locations to check on construction progress. Losev’s rejection was painful and unexpected after what we shared, but it won’t stop me.
I’ve been tossing around the idea of starting my own club and even have a call in to the local Women’s Investment Group for advice. I envision it as a place for the female business leaders in the city to brainstorm, collaborate, and consult. It won’t be easy, but if he taught me anything, it was not to ask. It’s to forge my own path.
I’m still smiling when I step outside and turn to lock the door. The bay doors are already closed, so it’s the only one I have to worry about. I’m fumbling with my key ring when I hear a noise behind me. I turn with a start and find myself face to face with two familiar men—Dominic Royal and his mountain of a bodyguard. Behind them, a black Chrysler 300 idles at the curb, a stoic man in sunglasses behind the wheel.
After my initial surprise, I school my features into a pleasant smile. “Dom,” I say like we’re old friends. “What brings you to this side of town?”
“You,” he says, but it doesn’t feel playful or sexy. It feels threatening, making my hackles raise. He takes a few steps closer, and I force myself not to retreat. He’s tall—maybe as tall as Losev—but leaner, lithe, like a panther. He stalks me like a panther might, too, with slow, even steps as if he expects me to bolt for my car. But the Aston Martin—which I drove today just to spite Losev, even if he doesn’t know it—is too far away.
“What can I do for you?” I ask.
“I have to admit, you caught my eye at poker the other night. You seem like a smart, capable woman. I have a proposition for you.”
“You do?” I try to sound interested instead of dubious.
“I do. I’m always on the lookout for good business opportunities.”
My eyes narrow of their own accord. I know what kind of business the Royal family is in, and to be frank, I want nothing to do with it. I would never sully my name or my company by associating with him. But I can’t very well say that, so I try to let him down gently. “While I appreciate you thinking of me, I don’t think we would work well together.”
The dangerous smirk on his face lets me know he sees right through me. “And I don’t think you know what you would be turning down. Wealth. Power. Security.”
That last one sends a chill racing up my spine. I do my best to keep a tremble out of my voice when I reply. “Thank you, Dom, but no.”
“You can’t say no to me,” he scoffs, and I think he really believes it.
I take a deep breath and remind myself who the fuck I am. I’m Evangeline Rutherford, and that may not mean anything to him, but it means something to me. In a low, clear, steady voice, I say, “Funny. Last I checked, I can do whatever the hell I want.”
It’s like I’ve flipped a switch inside of him. Gone is the teasing, charismatic Dom and in his place is a fierce, scowling gangster. He rushes me, and I stumble backward, my feet getting caught up underneath me and sending me down hard onto the concrete. He pounces on me, one hand around my throat pressing me into the ground. My keys forgotten, I bring my hands up to his, trying in vain to loosen his grip.
“You and your boyfriend need to learn a lesson in respect,” he snarls, spit speckling my face.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I choke out.
“I don’t give a shit,” he says, pressing harder.
My vision starts to blur at the edges. He’s heavier than he looks, and stronger.
“He wants to keep me off the City Center project? He wants to do things on the up and up? And now you…denying me? You both have forgotten who runs this town. Who owns you.”
My mouth opens and closes as I try to speak, but no sound comes out. He loosens his grip a tiny bit, and in a hoarse voice, I say, “You don’t fucking own me.”
It was stupid. Anger flares in his inhuman eyes and he slams my head back down. Fuck, that hurts. My vision swims until there are two of him hovering over me, a disgusted scowl on their lips.
“Toss her inside and torch it,” he says, and it’s the last thing I hear before everything goes black.
Chapter Ten
Losev
Frances Rutherford answers on the last ring.
“Ms. Rutherford,” I say, relieved. “This is Losev Turgenev. I’m looking for Evangeline.”
“Well, I’m sure if she wanted you to find her, you wouldn’t be calling me.”
I sigh and rub my eyes. These fucking Rutherford women. “I don’t have time to explain, but she might be in danger.”
There’s a brief beat of silence, and then her accusatory voice says, “You told me you would protect her.”
“I’m trying, but I need to know where she is.”
After another small pause, she tells me to hold on. The next thirty seconds feel like an eternity, but when she comes back on the line, she has an answer for me. “Anna says she’s at the new construction site in West Valley where they’re building the Evan’s, but she’s not answering her phone.”
Worry, which had already been niggling in the back of my mind, takes firm hold in my gut. “Do you have the address?” I ask, starting my car.
“I’ll text it to you.”
I’m already going westbound on the highway by the time the address comes in, and I pick up speed once I finally have a better sense of where I’m going. The whole time, as I weave through late day traffic, I hope that I’m overreacting. Dom isn’t one to make empty threats, though, and Evangeline isn’t the type to bend the knee to anyone. She’s the queen, but Dom believes himself to be the dictator.
One thing I know is I won’t be able to live with myself if something has happened to her. If she’s hurt…or worse…I’m taking Dom out, even if I have to go with him. For once, I don’t give any consideration to my father or my friends and what they might think. This is my solemn promise to Evangeline, the woman who, in just a matter of days, has completely changed my view of the world.
As I get off on the right exit, I notice that the sky is a little darker, the air a little hazy. It gets worse the closer I get to the building site, and my anxiety grows. When I pull into the parking lot, my worst fears are confirmed. The building—a huge, flat warehouse—is on fire. Black smoke rolls into the sky. The Aston Martin is in the parking lot, also burning. Flames lick through a busted window.
I practically fling myself out of my car and run toward the burning vehicle, only to find it empty. Turning, I survey the building. The bay doors will be practically impenetrable, but there’s a small door to the side. As I run toward it, I can hear sirens already in the distance, but I’m not going to wait for them. Not when there’s a good chance Evangeline is inside.
The smell of smoke stings my nose and throat as I hurl myself against the door. It’s locked, but the knob isn’t burning hot yet which means it might still be a safe point of entry. I step back, ready to kick the door, when a face appears on the other side of the narrow glass window.