Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 97525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
I look at her in disbelief. "My language? That's what you want to discuss right now? While you have Brant tied down?" I look around at the other strangers in the room, all who look unsure. “Who the FUCK has the keys to unlock him,” I hissed through gritted teeth, my body rigid with anger.
"I do." The man by the bed pulls a key from his front shirt pocket and looks to Jillian.
I move in between them, blocking his view, and point to Brant. "Untie him.” I use the sternest voice in my arsenal, the one I use with the kids at HYA.
"Don't move, George," Jillian's voice rings out.
I snatch the key from the man before he has a chance to think. I meet Brant's eyes while freeing his right hand. "I love you," I whisper.
"I'm sorry," he responded.
"Shut up, baby." I move to his leg strap and come chest to chest with Jillian, her fingers wrapping around my wrist with an iron grip.
"Please call Duane and Jim," she says crisply to the women behind her. "I need them to get over here immediately."
Duane and Jim. Her hoodlums, though she had always described them as “security personnel” for BSX. I twist my wrist until her fingers lose their grip and shove Jillian back. She lets out a cry as her legs give out and she falls backward to the floor.
"Wait!" I cry at the two women, anxious to catch them before they leave. "Right now,”—I gasp—"you have a decision to make. You are both BSX employees. If you have any interest in your job security, I'd suggest you get over here and help me free the owner of your company."
Chapter 72
My car burns rubber on its Nobb Hill exit, Brant's groan from the passenger side causing my foot to ease slightly, my eyes leaving the road for a moment to assess his condition. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Just get us away from her."
I press a button on my steering wheel and speak when the tone sounds. "Call Home.” I reach over and grip Brant's hand, my fingers looping through his, an interlocking squeeze I don't want to ever lose.
The ringing through the speakers ends, replaced by the efficient voice of one of our security personnel. "Sharp residence, this is Len Rincon. Good morning, Ms. Fairmont."
"Len, I'm with Brant. We'll be arriving home in about ten minutes. I want the house on lockdown. No one coming in or out unless you talk to me. Especially not Jillian Sharp."
"Is Mr. Sharp also available, Ms. Fairmont?"
"I'm here, Len. And I agree with everything Layana just said." Brant leans forward to make sure the microphone catches his voice.
"I'll need you both to provide your security passcodes." Any camaraderie I've shared with this man over the last few months is gone. Suddenly, I recognize the ex-Special Forces asset we’d hired. It was a welcome transition, and the panic in my gut eased a little. It would be okay. We were in good hands. At least we would be as soon as we got home.
"4497," Brant says.
“1552." I glance at him, considered at the pale pallor of his cheeks. Had they been feeding him? What drugs had they had him on?
"Thank you. We'll be ready when you arrive. Is there anything else we can do?"
I glance at Brant, speaking when he shakes his head. "Please connect me to Anna."
“Connecting you now."
Our house manager answers with an efficient perkiness, and I’d be willing to bet that she’d been up ever since I left the house.
“Hi Anna. Can you have Christine prepare breakfast? A full spread of everything Brant likes. Also, please prepare the bedroom and the spa. I also need you to bring a physician in. Brant needs a full tox screen done, so have them bring whatever they need for that." I had a sudden idea. "Actually, call Dr. Susan Renhart. She's at Homeless Youths of America. Tell her it is urgent, and that discretion is important. Mention my name.”
She doesn’t ask questions, just repeats the instructions back to me, and I have never been more grateful for the ex-headmistress who now ran our household with a rigid effectiveness. I end the call and glance over at Brant, his eyes closed, his features tense. "Stay with me, babe," I say softly.
"I'll never leave you," he says. "Not willingly." He turns his head and meets my gaze. "I'm so sorry for everything I must have put you through."
"We have the rest of our lives to talk about it." I squeeze his hand and glance back to the road. "Right now I'm more concerned with Jillian. Brant, she’s—"
"Crazy," he finishes with a growl. "Crazier than me," he amends with a wry laugh.
“I can’t—” I couldn’t even put the confused rage I was feeling into words. “How long has she had you there? How did she even get you tied down to that bed? And who was that guy?”