BAD BOY ROMANCE: A Wifey for the Bad Boy (Contemporary Alpha Male Romance Book) (New Adult Alpha Male Romance Short Stories) (2 page)

              “Well,” he said, and she could hear him shifting his feet. “That’s all well and good, but unless you’re suggesting another way that James could repay his debt…”

              Samantha opened her eyes and looked up at the man. He was still staring, and she realized, belatedly, that his black hair was swept up in an elegant bun. She wondered if he ever took it out, when he was with his men. It seemed like he’d fit right in with them if he were grungier; someone who could go for a night ride on one of those motorcycles, or get dirty fixing a hubcap.

              Maybe order a ‘call girl’ for a night in. 

              “I see,” he sighed. “Well, if you can’t offer anything—”

              “Me!” she shouted, too scared to notice the way that the man almost tripped over himself at her exclamation.

              “I thought that we had already agreed that I wouldn’t be forcing you into a life of misery today?” he said tiredly, straightening his tie.

              “I-I mean,” she said, keeping her eyes downcast. “We could, you know. Do something. Together. Tonight.”

              He seemed to grin, and cocked his head as he asked, “My dear, are you implying that I buy you for twelve thousand?” When Samantha just kept her eyes on the floor, he chuckled. “And for only a few hours. My, my – even the most experienced whores don’t make that much, and I believe that we’ve already established that you aren’t one of those.”

              “I know that I’m not the most attractive,” she said quietly. Unlike her brother, Samantha had never gotten involved in after school sports like soccer or tennis, opting instead to spend her free hours inside with a book and her computer. She’d never been fit, or thin, for that matter, but she was well aware that her rounded stomach and thick thighs could’ve been avoided. 

              “On the contrary,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. She jumped from the touch, but his hot fingers just curled tighter. “Your body is very appealing. However, it’s clear that you are not at all experienced in what you’re proposing. Am I right?”

              “I’m not a virgin—”

“But you’re not a whore.”

Samantha was too embarrassed by the subject matter to admit it out loud, so she simply turned her head away and nodded.

              “It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he said kindly. “But I’m sure you can see why I won’t simply squander away twelve thousand on one unexperienced girl, for one evening.”

              Samantha closed her eyes in a frown. Any minute now, she was sure that the man would walk out the door and order for her brother to be kidnapped or worse, never to be seen again. And there was nothing that she could do about it.

              “Of course,” the man said suddenly, and she snapped her head up to look at him. “I could buy you for
more
than one night.” At the look on her face, he smirked and reached out a hand. Samantha steeled herself for his fierce grip, but he just cupped her cheek, the callouses on his hand rough against her skin. “Or, perhaps not a night at all; maybe a day. Tell me, Miss Smith, how do you feel about marriage?”

              Samantha’s eyes had never grown so wide. “Marriage?” she repeated.

              “Oh, right, your brother said that your parents were married,” he said, pulling back his hand as he snapped his fingers. “A wedding, then.”

              As he started walking back towards the door, Samantha felt that she must’ve missed something. “Sorry,” she called, her legs too weak to walk after him. “Wedding?”

              “Yes,” he said, stubbing out his cigarette on the door before he grabbed the handle. “Yours and mine.”

Chapter 2

              Samantha was too numb to protest as the man led her back towards the elevator. She stood there beside him, his hand on her lower back, and blinked as the piano played through the speakers. She tried to figure out what’d happened back there, and, more importantly, what was happening now, but her mind was muddled.

              She didn’t even know his name.

              “Abel Wood,” he chuckled, and she jumped at his voice. Had she asked that out loud? “Your brother called you ‘Sam,’” he continued. “I take it that’s short for something?”

              “S-Samantha,” she nodded. Her hair felt weird against her own neck – tangled, and restrained. She wondered if she was sweating again.

              “Oh, like the actress,” he said, nodding to himself. Samantha just looked up at him through her eyelashes, unsure if he was joking or not.

              The elevator dinged as it reached the main floor, and the old man straightened up as he caught sight of his boss. What was his name again?
Earl
, Samantha reminded herself.

              “Boss!” Earl looked between them.

              “Earl,” Abel greeted him warmly. “Meet my new fiancé,” he said casually, wrapping his arm fully around Samantha’s side to pull her up against him. “Spread the word, would you? I don’t want this one hurt.”

              “Y-yes, sir!” Earl nodded eagerly, apparently honored to have gotten a job from the boss himself. Samantha glanced up at him again. Abel looked thirty, maybe mid-thirties, thought that was pushing it. She herself was only twenty-seven, and still working as an assistant. What had he done to inspire such loyalty from a man twice his age?

              “C’mon,” Abel whispered, turning her down the hall away from Earl and, more importantly, towards the exit. Unfortunately, it seemed that Abel wasn’t going to pull any punches, and he kept a firm grip on her as he walked them outside.

              Samantha couldn’t help but glance to her car, an escape that was so close yet so far away.

              Except, the bug wasn’t there.

“Where’s my car?” she accused, pushing at Abel’s arm as she looked up and down the street.

“Oh, that little green contraption you pulled up in? One of my men drove it to my house already. But don’t worry, darling,” he said, guiding her towards a black four door parked on the corner. “Our ride is right over here.”

He urged her inside first, and she couldn’t help but feel like a pig being packed up and led off to the slaughter house. Scooting all the way down, she leaned as close to the other door as she could, her eyes on her lap as Abel’s long legs stepped inside after her. She subtly tried the handle, but it was locked.

Pulling the other door closed behind him, Abel seemed to sag into the leather seat and breathed out a sigh. “All right, Ben. Take us home.”

“You got it,” a scratchy voice sounded from the front. Samantha glanced up, catching a pierced eyebrow in the rearview mirror. Another biker from the gang, she guessed.

“So,” Abel said, turning his head to pin her under his stare. “Do you want to keep your last name?”

Samantha wanted to ask him if he was crazy, but instead she just licked her lips and said, “Do you want me to?”

“I’d prefer it if you took mine,” he admitted with a shrug. Turning away, he sighed, and said, “Either way, the child will be a Wood.”

“Uh,” Samantha said. “Child?”

“Yours and mine,” he repeated with a smile, and she felt a shiver run down her spine.

She got the feeling that she was really going to grow to despise those three words.

Samantha didn’t know what sort of dwelling she had expecting a biker boss to live in, but she certainly hadn’t thought it’d be a penthouse suite, even for a well-dressed one.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Abel said, dropping his jacket over the back of a cream couch. The décor in his apartment was mostly light colors, with the odd pop of electric blue or bubblegum pink framed in graffiti art on the high walls.

“Uh, thanks,” Samantha said, moving to sit on the edge of a white ottoman.

“Come closer,” Abel beckoned, falling onto a couch as he spread out his arms and let his head drop onto the backrest with a huff. “So you can reach the coffee table.”

His ‘coffee table’ was a large plate of glass balanced on what looked like four chrome handlebars that’d been welded together. She moved towards it cautiously, taking a seat on the opposite couch.

“Good,” Abel smiled. “Now, if you would be so kind…” he said, turning to the end table on his right to pick up a giant red book. He set it on the coffee table with a small tap, considering what the thing must’ve weighed, and proceeded to open up the cover and reveal that it wasn’t really a book at all.

“It’s a box?” Samantha asked, watching as Abel scooped a handful of papers out of the hollowed middle.

“More of a safe,” Abel shrugged, snapping it closed again. “Here,” he said, dropping the stack onto the table in front of her. “Need a pen?”

“Uh,” Samantha picked up the first page, glancing at the empty lines and square boxes. “What is—” But then she saw it. There, clear at the top of the page, were the words ‘Marriage License Application.’

“What am I saying?” Abel sat up, reaching into his shirt pocket. “Of course you need a pen.”

“This,” Samantha swallowed, dropping the paper back onto the stack. “This is—”

“Just what we need to get married? Oh yes,” he nodded, placing a silver fountain pen next to the papers.

She looked up at him. “You had it prepared.”
              He shrugged. “I’m always prepared. But let’s talk about you – are you always this inquisitive? Or are you just having second thoughts?” When Samantha didn’t answer, he sighed and said, “It’s just as well. I’ve got two people tailing your brother, so if you’ve changed your mind—”

“No!” Samantha shook her head, and she grabbed the pen, quickly jotting in her name.

“Perfect,” Abel smiled. He bent over the papers with her, pointing and flipping through the paperwork until she’d signed it all. Her hand felt numb, in the end, cramped and tired as she handed the pen back to him.

“What now?” Samantha asked.

“Now?” Abel frowned. Then, suddenly, he gasped, “Ah, you mean now that we’re legally married. Well, once I rush these off to the courthouse Monday morning, I suppose.” Standing, he moved to her couch, and sat down next to her. “What? Did you have something in mind?”

His face was impossibly close to hers, their lips almost touching. Samantha opened her mouth to say something, to dissuade him, but then he pulled back of his own accord.

“Don’t worry,” he said, patting her hand. “You’re my wife, and it’s you that I’ll treasure the most.”

Samantha didn’t know what to say to that.

They slept on separate beds that night, something that Samantha hoped would set a precedent for her future time in the penthouse. Abel hadn’t made a move toward her, either, not beyond the occasional teasing, and she planned to keep it that way. Luckily, she wasn’t disappointed, and after a day of doing nothing but dining in and watching weird shows on his HD television, they said goodnight and returned to their different rooms.

Now it was Monday, and she’d been due at work three hours ago. Her coworkers were bound to notice her unusual absence, meaning that the police would be looking for her before too long.

“Morning!” Abel greeted her, suddenly popping his head into her room. If Samantha hadn’t already been awake for the last few hours, lying in bed as she contemplated her life, then she was sure that she would’ve woken up screaming.

“Good morning,” she replied calmly, sitting up. She wondered how long it’d take before someone tried to contact her.

“So, I’m headed off to work,” he said, adjusting his cufflinks. “Be good, and don’t try to leave the building.”

Samantha blinked. When had this become her life? “Okay,” she answered dully.

“Wonderful,” he said, flashing a smile. “I’m off to turn in those marriage license forms – when I get home, we should be a real married couple. We’ll go out to eat, alright? To celebrate.”

              “Sure,” she replied, her thoughts far away on images of policemen wearing Kevlar vests carrying battering rams. “See you.”

              “Bye,” he called, waving as he walked away. She waited until she heard the sound of the elevator going down before she pushed herself out of bed and onto the cold floor.

              She was finally alone.

              “Phone, phone,” she chanted to herself, stepping out of the room. She hadn’t seen one earlier, but then, she hadn’t exactly been looking, not while she was under Abel’s keen eye. Sneaking into the kitchen, she kept an eye out for the odd biker lounging against a wall as she scanned the counters.

             
Bam!

             
Samantha screamed as the front door suddenly bust open, bouncing off the wall as men ran into the room. She dropped to the floor, hiding behind the island in the kitchen as her heart threatened to beat out of her chest. Gathering her strength, she glanced around the corner, her hands already raised as she imagined armored men bearing tall “POLICE” shields.

              But it wasn’t the daring rescue that she’d been hoping for. These men were clad in leather and silver spikes, with black ski masks pulled over their faces. She jerked back behind her short barricade as one of them looked her in the eye.

              “There!” he shouted, and she curled in on herself as they stampeded toward her. One of them grabbed her arm, dragging her up from where she’d fallen to her knees on the floor.

              “Let go!” she demanded. “Let—”

              She froze as the cold press of something round hit her neck, and the click of a trigger sounded right after it. “Move!” the man standing behind her yelled.

              But then the one gripping her arm scowled, and said, “Dude, put that away.”

              It was a voice that Samantha knew all too well.

              “James?!” she cried, looking the man in his familiar brown eyes. He seemed to pause, and then sighed, his shoulders sagging. No doubt about it, this was her brother. “James,” she said again, a desperate call of his name, and she threw her arms around him. “I knew it wasn’t true!” she laughed, a little hysterically. “I knew you wouldn’t do that to me!”

              “Yeah,” he said slowly. “Yeah, and I’m here to rescue you, so let’s get the hell out of here, huh?”

              Samantha stood on numb legs and let him maneuver her towards the elevator. They must’ve known as well as she did that it was the only way in, or out.  “Come on!” another man hissed.

              “Not that way,” the other man shook his head. “His men will be up here in that any second.”

              Thinking fast, they dragged her near the elevator and then right on past it, taking her instead to the large window acting as a half wall in the living room. Samantha frowned as they took her to it, and the tiny part of her brain not panicking had to wonder why they were wasting time with a view. Walking right up to the glass, each of the men stood at a different position, forming a sort of triangle.

              “Uh, James?” Samantha asked, glancing at his comrades.

              “Don’t worry,” James assured her. He pulled out what looked like a small black flashlight with a small metal point at the end, and he raised it against the glass as the other two men pulled out their own and followed suit. She watched as they suddenly thrust the things against the window, jumping as the glass shattered all around them.

              “Here,” James pointed. “The fire escape.”

              Sure enough, a thin grated landing was just a foot below the window, the first of many that led down the building like a great black ladder. James stepped out onto it first, the platform rattling under his weight. Samantha hesitantly moved after him, gripping the loose railing as the other two men jumped on.

They ran down the stairs, and Samantha kept her eyes on her brother’s back rather than the narrow street below. No one seemed to be following them, thank goodness, and they made it to solid ground with only a few bizarre looks their way.

“Inside,” James said, pushing her to a white van that was humming in the back parking lot as it sat with the engine running. Samantha didn’t question her brother, and she stepped inside of the vehicle without a backwards glance.

Until the door snapped shut behind her, and she was alone, staring at a pair of blue eyes.

“Don’t worry,” they narrowed in laughter, and a short man turned on the overhead light. “I’m not my brother – I won’t hurt you.”