The CEO's Redemption Read online

  The next time was at her hometown in Minnesota. He had no idea her NRA card-carrying uncles hold the second amendment as dear to their heart as the gospel. He and his goons never had a chance. Once on the FBI’s most wanted list, he ended up in Canada where the trail went cold.

  Up until recently, I figured he’d given up. I mean it’s been over a year.

  Fuck it.

  While I grew complacent, he was biding his time, planning his next attack.

  Now, I’m certain the nannies were his doing but obviously, it was part of a much more complex plan. He wanted us stressed out so we’d need a vacation and leave the relative safety of our well-protected home.

  Xavier digs the muzzle of his gun into my forehead, no doubt tired of my attempts to delay the inevitable. “Get up and walk or I blow your head off.”

  He might kill Slate but he won’t kill me. He wants to punish me, to see me suffer and the best way to do it is to hurt the people I love.

  “I’m taking everything of yours, Patten. Not some. All.” The crazy bastard’s voice is up an octave, excited.

  Is he on something? The sick way he grins sends a chill down my spine as I make my way up the stones.

  I need to give my bodyguard an opening so shoot him a glance. He nods, I stumble, and he kicks the rifle out of Xavier’s grasp. Then, I butt my head into the big black guy. Slate’s right foot whips up at gold’s tooth’s hand who drops the pistol.

  Thank fuck.

  I’m about to bash my heel into Xavier’s head when a voice shouts down from the deck. “Cut the crap!”

  It takes me a few seconds to realize the moan is mine. Some brown fucker with wet dreadlocks stands at the railing with a gun to my wife’s head. Eyes wide and mouth covered by her hands, Isabella shakes her head back and forth vehemently.

  Her hands as a megaphone, she shouts, “No, don’t listen to him.”

  For now, Slate and I have no choice but to stand down as Xavier brushes the mud off his ass and grabs the pistol.

  Gold-tooth retrieves the rifle from the wet grass beside the stairs, points it at me, and says, “Move.”

  Slowly, I rise, mouth close to Slate’s ear. “What next?”

  “No fucking talking.” Xavier screams, hard metal smashes into my jaw, I see stars and stagger.

  Kneeling between red tropical blooms, I wiggle a loose tooth, taste blood and fume. God damn it. My wife and kid are in that house. I’m almost out of options. With guns at our heads there’s nothing to be done but finish our climb.

  At the top of the deck, my heart races and I almost lose it. Is Skye inside or did the man holding my wife kill her?

  Ah fuck it all to hell.

  My eyes sting, thunder booms, and lightning flashes between the dark clouds but the noise helps me regain my focus.

  I will kill these fucking bastards.

  The intruders force us at gunpoint into the kitchen where we drip onto the tiled floor. With the five of us crowded into the small space Isabella is pushed with her back to the knife drawer. It cracks open and from the way she tenses, I know she’s got one.

  Atta girl, Izzy.

  Slate notices her brave move and struggles with Dreadlocks, bringing attention to himself. The rifle butt comes down on his face and I cringe but unexpectedly, Xavier steps between them.

  “No! Shit. Stop it.” “You’re going to ruin everything. This has to look real.”

  He waves the barrel of his pistol down the hall. “Everyone, to the master bedroom, now.”

  In a casual gentleman-like move, I wait for Isabella to take the lead and when she squeezes by she puts the knife into my hands, still tied behind my back.

  I whisper into her ear, “Skye?”

  “Bedroom.”

  Thank God. My world turns right-side-up as I follow in single file. First, there’s Isabella, then Dreadlocks, Slate, Gold-tooth, me, and finally, Xavier.

  There’s hardly room for all of us in the master bedroom. Isabella backs to the far corner of the room, in front of a bed stand, next to the headboard. The rest of us surround the king-sized bed. With my back against the wall, I frantically work the knife’s edge against the plastic ties.

  Xavier points at Dreadlocks, then Slate. “You, cut him loose.”

  “I don’t…”

  “God damn it all, just do what I say.” Crazy bloodshot eyes stare at the black man who dared question him.

  With the gun all over the place and his index finger wrapped around the trigger. I swear to God he may shoot someone by accident.

  “Don’t point that damn thing at me.” Dreadlocks furrows his brows, pulls out a switch blade and cuts through Slate’s ties.

  “Now. Take off your clothes.” Xavier points the barrel of his weapon at Slate and squeezes past everyone to get to where Isabella is cowered in the corner.

  He grabs her arm and drags her onto the bed. “You, too.”

  Dammit all. What the hell is Xavier up to?

  Slowly, my bodyguard undresses, his eyes lowered as I saw away at the tie behind my back. Damn this dull steak knife. Finally, I break free, and press the plastic to the wall so it won’t make a sound if it falls.

  Just as I’m about to take the gun from Xavier, Gold-tooth enters the room with Skye. Fuck it all to hell. I was so busy getting free, I hadn’t noticed him leave.

  He smiles evilly as his tooth gleams in the light overhead. “Her neck is so fragile. Just one little twist…”

  I’m so glad to see Skye alive, my heart skips a beat. At the same time, I fucking ache that she’s in the arms of that killer.

  Skye starts to howl and her little arms reach. “Ma ma ma ma ma.”

  I changed my mind, Gold-tooth will be the first to die.

  “Shut her up.” Xavier glances at the baby, at me, then back at Slate who’s on his hands and knees on the mattress, coiled tighter than a cobra.

  The madman laughs and spittle drips from his chin. “What we have here is a love triangle gone bad. You.” He waves the gun at Slate. “Into bed, with her.”

  The service tats on Slate’s upper chest and forearm quiver. Ah fuck, that means there’s no time left.

  All of my muscles brace for action, I take a deep breath and…

  “Give dat chile to me, Samuel Ellison.” All eyes turn as an old woman’s firm voice sounds from just outside the bedroom door.

  The angry grandma holds out her hand and her eyes blaze. Young Thomas steps out from behind her and points the barrel of a pistol at Samuel’s back.

  The big black man hands my baby over to the woman, eyes down while he mutters an apology.

  “Get out of here, skedaddle.”

  He leaves and then, with a nod at me, the old woman and Thomas back out of the room.

  With a glance at Slate, I take a deep breath, and kick hard at Xavier’s hand. The weapon goes off, ceiling plaster drops into my eyes, and I’m momentarily blinded as I drop to my knees. There, Xavier and I scramble for control of the weapon while nearby, yet not in the bedroom, Skye cries.

  Xavier is so fucking crazy, he has the strength of ten as I wrestle with him on the floor.

  When another shot is fired, a man grunts and Izzy screams, “Slate. Shit he’s hit, Gray. He’s bleeding. Oh my God.”

  The floor explodes by my right hand, and Xavier says, “The next one goes through your wife’s brain.”

  Fuck. Isabella is on the bed holding a pillow to Slate’s shoulder, blood everywhere. Dreadlocks is wounded, too, his blood on the floor.

  I have never been so fucking scared in my life and don’t think I’ve ever prayed so hard.

  Xavier’s face no longer resembles the one I remember. It’s so skewed, he could be Lucifer, himself.

  Will there be any more chances or did we just blow the last?

  Too calm, Xavier turns to me. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You will shoot your bodyguard through the head. Then you will shoot yourself. Understand? Do that, and I promise to let Isabella and your kid live.”

  I
shake my head and can’t believe this nightmare. “And I should believe you, why?”

  “First off, you have no choice. Second, let me explain. I’m going to marry her because when I do, your fortune becomes mine. The baby will make it all seem legit.”

  Isabella pipes up from where she’s pressing against Slate’s shoulder. “You’re out of your fucking mind if you think I’ll marry you. Don’t believe him, Gray.”

  “You’ll do as I say if you want your kid to live.” Xavier nears the bed. “And action. Isabella, take off your clothes.”

  She slowly reaches for the hem of her t-shirt, eyes pleading with me to do something.

  Please, God, no…

  When the house begins to rock, at first, I think it’s my imagination but as I look around the room, all eyes grow wide and mouths drop open.

  I lived in LA. I know what’s coming next so drop with my face to the floor.

  Xavier, however stands fast, his last fatal mistake.

  Chapter 13

  Grayson

  An earthquake?

  God, when you answer prayers, you sure don’t fuck around.

  As if balanced on Jell-O, I get onto my hands and knees and crawl toward Xavier. He teeters, falls, and when the gun flies out of his hands, I make a dive.

  It’s just inches from my grasp.

  Suddenly, his hand clamps onto my ankle and pulls me toward him.

  Oh, for fuck’s sake.

  Powered by the pure adrenaline that races through my veins, I kick, and bone crunches under my heel. Xavier lets go and I push my feet against his body and slide forward on my stomach. I reach and stretch, then my fingers clamp around the cold metal.

  Thank fuck.

  Xavier’s face contorts as his body bounces and he tries to find something to hang onto.

  I take aim but my hand shakes wildly, along with the building, and everything else. In the kitchen, appliances fall, cabinets break open, and dishes crash onto the tile floor.

  There’s maybe seconds before the whole place collapses.

  With my gun hand braced on the floor, just inches away from Xavier, I squeeze the trigger. There’s no remorse and no time to be sickened by the pieces of brains that splatter the back wall.

  I can’t tell where the baby’s screams are coming from.

  “Go, get the baby. I got Izzy.” Slate’s forearm is wrapped around Dreadlock’s neck, the black man’s head at an odd angle.

  The building groans, tilts and teeters. This must be what the passengers of the Titanic felt as it was about to sink into the ocean. Having lived through a few minor quakes, I know we must be near the epicenter of at least a seven on the Richter scale.

  Skye.

  Her shrill cries lead me toward the living room. I force myself down the long hallway, hands braced between both sides. One foot follows the other as Kit’s vacation home wobbles, reminiscent of a funhouse on the Jersey Shore.

  “Go! Dammit.” Slate slaps me on the back, his other arm over Isabella’s shoulder.

  Together, we make our way to the sliding glass door. Outside, I catch a glimpse of Thomas and the woman who sit on the grass, Skye with them.

  I tug the handle but the fucking door refuses to budge

  “Step back!” Isabella ducks out from under Slate, pushes him at me, then picks up an iron frypan.

  She bashes the glass, and it crumbles. Thank God, Kit spent money for safety glass, otherwise we’d be covered in shards. These are my odd thoughts as we all run through the gaping hole, slide on our asses to the railing, and jump down to the relative safety of the ground.

  Seconds later, the house collapses while everything continues to shake.

  “Holy shit, look.” Izzy points down at the ocean that churns in the wrong damn direction below.

  Chapter 14

  Isabella

  Inside my head, Munchkins sing, ding dong the witch is dead which I wouldn’t believe except for the fact I saw Xavier’s head explode.

  I may be in shock but when the flying monkeys disappear, and the island stops shaking, it’s not Toto I look for, but my daughter.

  The grandmother hands her to me and with tears in my eyes, I mouth, thank you and we stand.

  Miraculously, the guest house is still in one piece and we don’t say a word as we all make our way toward it. Grayson holds up Slate, Skye is to my chest, and Thomas follows with his grandmother.

  Below, the confused ocean waves don’t seem to know what to do as they smack against each other. The main house is destroyed, the dock is gone but somehow, we all survived. That is, except for dreadlock-man and Xavier.

  I glance back at the pile of debris where up to a few moments ago, we were standing. Boards, lumber, furniture and appliances are all tangled together, a mass of brokenness. The tub on the second floor stands alone, a sad victory flag.

  While we make our way through a small garden of tropical flowers, I keep one eye out for Samuel, the man with the gold front tooth who seems to have disappeared.

  At the door to the guesthouse, the grandmother stops, touches my arm, and says, “I’m so sorry, Missus. I had no idea what they were up to.”

  I don’t even have words to thank her. She saved Skye but then again, she must have had something to do with Xavier’s plans.

  This is not the time to hold grudges. “It’s over. That’s what’s important.”

  Later, we sit on the couch in the small, dark living room as I check Skye’s little arms and legs for bumps or bruises. Poor little dear is exhausted.

  When the world shakes again, I scream, shudder, and drop onto my ass in the middle of the living room. Fucking aftershocks. I don’t know what’s worse, the first quake or all of the others that make you think it’s happening all over again.

  Thankfully, I didn’t wake Skye.

  Thunder rumbles in the distance, dark clouds roll away, and the sun peaks out. It feels like afternoon but in truth, it can’t even be nine in the morning.

  Barefoot, I pad down the hall in my yoga pants and t-shirt. My clothes are soaked with Slate’s blood. He speaks softly with Grayson in the bedroom where a three-inch crack slices through the plaster.

  My husband glances up from where he pinches Slate’s shoulder, sewing needle in the air. “How’s the baby?”

  “I’ve checked and rechecked. It hardly seems possible but she doesn’t even have a bruise.”

  Slate manages a smile. “Good. That means your husband probably won’t fire me.”

  “Fire you? Holy shit. You took a bullet for us.” I can’t believe he could think that way.

  “Maybe so, but I’m in charge of security and didn’t see this one coming.”

  “Oh my God. Don’t worry, I’m sure Grayson will take it out of your pay in babysitting duty.” I grin, about to make another joke when ominous sirens blare, like World War II England in an old, black and white movie.

  Eyes wide, Thomas shouts out to Slate, “Tidal wave!”

  Grayson turns to Slate. “You got a weather radio?”

  “It’s on top of the refrigerator.”

  “I’ll get it.” I find it, put it on the kitchen table, and turn knobs until I find an official sounding broadcast.

  “Repeat. Head for high ground. There’s a tsunami alert for the area of the Greater Bahamas, Cuba, and the East Coast of Florida.”

  This is followed by a confusing list of latitudes and longitudes. Without another thought, I run up the hill to where the house collapsed and stare down at where the ocean used to be.

  Now I know how the Israelites felt when the Red Sea parted.

  A strong scent of salt, fish, and seaweed waft off the breeze and I’m mesmerized by the sight of the exposed ocean bottom.

  However, it’s the eerie quiet that disturbs me most. Even the insects have stopped chirping. I figure we got maybe five minutes, tops, before we’re covered in water.

  I take the kid’s hand. I didn’t even notice that he now stands next to me. We both run to where Slate, Grayson, Skye and his
grandmother are sitting ducks.

  “You guys. The fucking ocean disappeared. We need to get to high ground.”

  Both men pale but the boy grabs my arm as his grandmother tugs us toward a small grove of coconut trees. “Follow me. Hurry.”

  I take Skye while Grayson grabs Slate and we all race to the top of the hill in the middle of the island.

  “Will this be high enough?” My heart pounds because the answer is clear in the kid’s eyes.

  “When it comes, you hear it. It be like no’ting else you ever hear before. We need to climb.”

  Grayson squats, eye to eye with Thomas. “You been in one of these before?”

  “No, but in school we have drills. Dey tell us what to do. You must climb like this.”

  Like a little monkey he scrambles up and down one of the larger palm trees. There’s no fucking way I can do that.

  Slate shouts out and points. “There’s a yellow rope behind the house. Go get it.”

  The kid dashes away and comes back with a big grin, holding the coil of nylon high. “This is even easier, missus. Watch me.”

  He ties a loop of rope around his ankles, uses it as a kind of brace, and inches up the tree. When he comes down, he wraps my legs similarly, and tries to show me what to do.

  A huge sucking noise comes from the ocean.

  Oh shit oh shit oh shit.

  Grayson puts the baby in a towel, cuts a piece of cord, and ties her to the boy’s chest. “Go. Take her as high as you can.”

  The grandmother, although slower, follows with amazing skill for one who must be at least sixty.

  I’m about to die and the reality hits me in the gut. I pray somehow little Skye will make it and if she does, I’m sure Grayson will be an awesome dad.

  I don’t even have time to finish the thought as Slate climbs up behind the kid and the grandmother. “I got them boss, you get Isabella.”

  “C’mon. hun. You always said you were a tree hugger. Time to prove it.” My husband places my hands around the base of the palm tree.

  “I can’t.” A roar like nothing I’ve ever heard gets closer and closer and at first, it looks like fog rolling in. When I realize it’s an enormous monster of a wave, I just stare, unable to move.