Submissive on the Run (1Night Stand): Carnivore Club Read online

  “Of course I do.” She sniffed. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Are you being sarcastic? I can’t tell without facial expressions.”

  She massaged her nose’s non-existent bridge. Picking up on social cues had never been the man’s strong suit. “I’m rolling my eyes at you right now.”

  “Oh, don’t be so skeptical. I swear to God you have your life back.”

  “You’re an atheist.”

  He grunted. “Fine. I swear on my mother’s grave—”

  “According to yesterday’s gossip rags, the wicked witch is very much alive.”

  “It’s a figure of speech, smart ass. I promise she’s called off the dogs. Or, well, she will in about fifteen minutes. You can come home.”

  “The last time I took what you said at face value….” Her fingers tightened around the baseball bat. “It turned out you lied about everything, including your name.”

  “You love exaggeration. Joss is my name—at least to anyone who matters. I don’t respond to Joseph. And while I omitted a few minor details, I never lied. Well, okay, I told a fib or two, but it was really a case of you jumping to the wrong conclusions.”

  “You’re blaming me for your fake identity?” Rage, pure and visceral, burned away her fear. “And there was no us. We fucked. We scened. Because of you, I almost died. That pretty much sums up the relationship.”

  Tempted to swing her weapon at the few mugs and bowls she owned, she threw the bat on the floor. It hit the peeling linoleum with a loud crack, eliciting a startled yowl from Tiger. Who was she kidding? If armed men stormed through her door, the piece of wood wouldn’t do her much good.

  “Who’s lying now?” His absolute confidence fueled her fury. “You are the closest I have to an actual girlfriend.”

  “And you’re the epitome of the ex from hell,” she shrieked. “Your mother sent thugs to kill me.”

  “And I’m telling you I’ve solved the problem. I will also make keeping you alive my priority for the rest of my life. You can take that promise to the bank.”

  Her throat dried up. Why did he have to go and say something super nice?

  Her bruised heart insisted she stay angry. Her survival instincts cautioned against prolonging contact. But she believed him. She had no idea why, but she did, making her the worst kind of gullible idiot. Her head spinning from the disconcerting realization, she sank onto the mattress and hugged her knees.

  He was an asshat with a psychopathic family and enough baggage to keep a therapist employed for years.

  She’d give anything to see him again.

  Messed up, thy name is Kim.

  As her stomach tied itself into a nauseating knot, Tiger slunk closer and brushed up against her calves. While habitually unaffectionate, the cat had a way of knowing when she needed the feline equivalent of a hug. On the brink of cutting ties with the one person who mattered most, she could use a couple dozen.

  “I don’t trust you,” she murmured, reminding herself of what should be true but never had been. “I have no reason to trust you.”

  “You’re angry, and you’re full of shit.” Yet, a hint of uncertainty tinged his gruff voice.

  “We hardly know each other.” For months, they had lived a lie—a fantasy woven from half-truths and impossible dreams. “Everything between us…. It was all fake.”

  “No, it wasn’t. I’ll prove it as soon as I get this situation under control.”

  She scratched behind the feline’s ear, drawing comfort from the silky fur and rare opportunity to snuggle. “So the situation is not actually under control, is it?”

  “As I’d said—it’ll be official in the next fifteen minutes. There was a gap in my schedule, so I thought I’d give you the good news early.”

  She released a pent-up breath, her muscles unknotting despite her determination to cling to doubt. Wariness ebbed, but anger blazed stronger with each word they exchanged. “In that case, I very much appreciate you doing…whatever you did.”

  “Always so polite.” He chuckled. “I miss your goody-two-shoes routine, especially when you’re telling me to go fuck myself. Look, check your email—the new one you think is all stealth. There’s a plane ticket in the inbox. We’ll meet at Logan—”

  “No, thank you.”

  “That wasn’t a request.” All of a sudden, his tone turned full-on Dom.

  Too bad. She’d sworn off her submissive side for the better part of forever. “I’m not going back. We’re not meeting at the airport or anywhere else. I didn’t get the chance to tell you in person, but I assumed you’d make the logical leap. Let me spell things out. We’re done.”

  “Oh, please. You’re still mad. I get it. But—”

  “For the love of all that’s holy,” she snapped. “How full of yourself are you? No, don’t answer. I already know. For the record, if somewhere in your self-absorbed, egotistical, spoiled brat brain, you think—”

  “Is the name-calling necessary?”

  Closing her eyes, she counted back from ten. “We’re not picking up where we left off. You are assuming it, which means you’re certifiably insane. You let me jump to the wrong conclusions about who you were. You kept up the lie for months. Your boss, who is a scheming criminal, turned out to actually be your damn brother. When I tried to expose him, your mother sent a bunch of goons to corner me in a dark alley. One held a gun to my head.”

  “Since we’re walking down memory lane, might I remind you I saved you from said goons?”

  “Which proves you knew they were coming.” Her screech startled the cat enough he scuttled away. Having not had the opportunity to vent for close to a year, she couldn’t hold back the torrent of words tumbling out of her mouth. “I appreciate the rescue. I appreciate the getaway car and money. I even appreciate you telling me the truth before you told me to disappear. It doesn’t mean I plan on seeing you ever again.”

  “Would you please calm down? Your soprano impression is hurting my eardrums, and—”

  “Because of you, my parents never got to watch my graduation ceremony.” Her cheeks, nose, and forehead burned. “I didn’t even find out my final grades.”

  “You passed. Summa cum laude with a shit ton of other honors. What did you think happened? You went out of your way to perpetuate the Asian geek stereotype. Think about it this way. I saved your parents from having to see you in an overpriced robe and funny black hat. Mine never did, either. It’s overhyped.”

  For a moment, she visualized closing her fingers around his thick neck. When her stomach revolted at the image, her ire quadrupled. Why couldn’t she even think about hurting him? “Thank you for the non-apology. Since we clearly operate on different wavelengths, it’s time to end this conversation.”

  “If you wanted to, you would have already hung up. Admit it. You miss me. I seem to have the exact same problem, which is why I called the moment I found out your number. We’ve spent a year trying to forget what happened, and it didn’t work. Come back to Boston. I’ll convince you eventually, so you might as well save us both some time.”

  Before she could throw her phone at the wall, she remembered the price tag on a new one. At least she’d be able to sign up for a contract. “You’re pissing me off on purpose so I’ll keep talking.”

  “And you’re playing along.” A testament to her impending insanity. “By the way, you brought this shit storm on yourself. You got nosy. You’re too smart for your own good, and you have no sense of self-preservation. I told you not to make a statement.”

  “Your brother cheated tens of thousands of people out of their life savings,” she gritted out. “He emptied pension funds and retirement accounts. He stole from hospitals and charities.” After filling her lungs, she exhaled and managed to dial her volume back a few notches. “Not exposing him would have been unconscionable.”

  “And since I put him on a private jet an hour ago, he’ll spend the rest of his life on a beach resort in Tunisia. Congratulations. You put your life at risk, all so he can
enjoy deep tissue massages with an ocean view.”

  “For the record, I hate rich, scheming assholes.”

  “Join the club. We have unfinished business. Let’s at least meet to talk things through.”

  “We’re talking right now.” And burning through her pre-paid minutes, as a matter of fact. “I’m not flying across the continent to do the exact same thing.”

  “Well, I’d planned on having sex while we patched things up. I figured it’d go much faster.”

  On the verge of destroying her phone despite the financial repercussions, she found solace in the cat’s bout of high-pitched meows. Tiger’s breakfast time was in an hour or so. He might as well eat. “Are you trying to be obnoxious? I’m hanging up. I need to feed the cat.”

  “You have a cat? Men with guns were hunting you down, and you got a fucking pet? Are you insane?”

  “Don’t you dare judge—”

  “But it’s dumb as all shit.”

  “Joss.”

  “What?”

  “Fuck off.”

  Chapter Two

  Joseph Bradlee, III had learned at a young age to avoid pissing off his mother. Sandra Bradlee had a nasty habit of throwing breakable objects at people’s heads when life refused to go her way. For the most part, he, his brother, and his father had done their best to smooth out all possible inconveniences before they soured her mood. Since mistakes happened, Joseph Bradlee, II, a staid corporate attorney born from a long line of even more staid lawyers and businessmen, had stooped to staffing his Beacon Hill estate with illegal immigrants for the sole purpose of avoiding lawsuits.

  His father hadn’t pursued these precautionary measures out of love, or at least Joss had never detected a hint of such devotion during the scant school breaks he’d spent at home. No, placating his trophy wife had more to do with prestige, scandal avoidance, and, above all, convincing himself he hadn’t made the biggest mistake of his life.

  The actual biggest mistake of the old bastard’s sorry excuse of a life had been, in his own words, the son spawned from too much Scotch and a ripped condom, aka Joss. The child in question had lived up to his parents’ rock-bottom expectations by matriculating from prep school through the sheer power of charm, good looks, and bribery. After graduating from a top-tier university that happened to have a library named in his grandfather’s honor, he somehow sailed through an Ivy League law program with flying colors for the sole purpose of proving his father wrong.

  Too bad his old man had conked a year before Joss could throw the bar exam’s somewhat surprising results at his ever-disapproving face.

  He hadn’t been too surprised to discover the terms of his inheritance—a trust designed to prevent any member of their dysfunctional family from squandering generations of accumulated wealth, written under the assumption they were all the worst sorts of idiots. It had taken him forever and a day to unravel the legal silo within which billions of dollars dwelled. By then, his brother had sought alternative means for financing his expensive tastes.

  Having invited Sandra to his office for the sole purpose of relaying information certain to elevate her blood pressure, Joss had seen to several safety measures. He’d removed or locked up every throwable item. For once devoid of files and loose papers, his chrome desk stood naked. His secretary had secured his laptop in the safe, removed the obligatory bowl of candy from her station, and stripped all artwork from the walls.

  But they’d neglected to relocate the huge stainless steel lamp lighting his desk. After all, who would expect a sixty-something, willowy blonde to heft the appliance above her head and perform a YouTube-worthy impression of the Incredible Hulk?

  After dodging the life-threatening projectile by a less-than-reassuring margin, Joss raised his palms in the air. “Mother, for shit sake, keep it together.” Having anticipated a scene, he’d sent his staff on an extended brunch-break prior to his guest’s arrival. The jury was out on whether he’d made the right decision.

  He batted away one flying crimson stiletto in time to preserve his face, but the other’s trajectory managed to coincide with his temple. Biting off a curse, he wiped the trickle of blood with his sleeve and scowled when he remembered how long his tailor took to construct French-cuffed, monogramed dress shirts to his exact specifications.

  Then again, he’d bulked up over the past ten months. Faced with an unexpected dry spell, he’d channeled sexual frustration into bench presses. Overdue for updated measurements and a jaunt down Savile Row, he looked forward to killing several birds with one stone.

  An all-expenses-paid shopping trip to London seemed a fitting bribe for a submissive who’d spent close to a year on the run. Kim would love his townhouse in England.

  But, first, he must tend to more pressing matters. When his mother’s red-tipped claws dug into the back of an Italian-designed, leather chair, Joss slammed his palm on the desk. “Enough, Sandra. One more stunt, and I swear I’ll close down your expense account.”

  The woman’s pale hands clenched hard enough green veins protruded. Nonetheless, the heavy piece of furniture remained on the floor. The best way to get his mother’s attention was to threaten her expense account.

  “You couldn’t pull it off even if you wanted to,” she hissed.

  To increase maneuverability, he sidestepped his desk and retrieved the merino wool jacket strewn on the floor. Shrugging it on, he ambled toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. Located on the 49th floor of Boston’s iconic Prudential Tower, his office had a stunning view of the Charles River—one of the many reasons he’d chosen this location for his law firm.

  “Newsflash. Your favorite son was convicted in absentia of fraud this morning, thanks to evidence I handed the DA on a freaking platter. He’s on a private jet to somewhere without an extradition treaty. According to the terms of the Bradlee Trust, committing a felony cuts him off without a cent, leaving me as the sole heir to the fortune. Call your lawyers, if you want, but trust me—I’m the person signing all your checks.”

  “How could you do this to him?” She stomped her foot. “He’s your brother.”

  “You two left me no choice. You made it your mission to kill an innocent woman.” His mother’s cocaine habit had allowed her to cultivate more than a few unsavory acquaintances. Through those acquaintances, she’d hired assassins to kill Kim before she could testify. Joss had fixed matters so she no longer needed to.

  He reacted in time to catch the slap aimed at his cheek. He winced. His mother’s crimson nails appeared beyond sharp. “So you sold out your brother for your whore?”

  “As I said, you left me no fucking choice. He’s getting off easy, Mother. Hopping around extradition-free zones isn’t much of a punishment. Fraud and theft have consequences. He knew what they were. I’d listed them all to his face in this very office.” Joss glared at her. “What did you think would happen?”

  Her eyes narrowed to slits. “If you’d chosen your family instead of the bitch, he would have walked, and we’d all be billions of dollars richer.”

  “When you already have billions, billions more is kind of redundant. I told you both to be patient. All I needed was time. I challenged the trust. I succeeded. But, by then, you two had already cemented your Ponzi scheme.” He shrugged. “Any way you slice it, your dumbass son screwed himself. He’s aware of this. He’s also aware I now hold the purse strings. His comfort is at my pleasure, which is why you’re going to call off your dogs.” For reasons Joss had never understood, Sandra had always favored one son above the other. She’d do anything to allow him the lifestyle to which he’d become accustomed—including not committing murder.

  “It’s all your fault.” Bright red blotches marred the perfection of her Botox-smoothed skin. “He was done taking scraps from a trust your father tied up tighter than a damn chastity belt. If you’d worked faster—”

  “Fine, it’s my fault.” Accustomed to the refrain, Joss rolled his eyes. “Either way, I have you by the balls. I’m telling you to leave my girlfrie
nd alone.”

  When her fingers curled into fists, he added, “As it stands, you’ll both continue to receive a monthly allowance, which is equivalent to the annual salary of most people. If you manage to dig yourself into a hole, there’s a fifty-fifty chance I’ll bail you out. If Kim gets so much as a scratch on her, you will never see another dime from the Bradlee Trust. Are we clear, Sandra?”

  Her chest heaved, her face turned a mottled shade, but she didn’t attack. Though prone to temper tantrums and poor judgment, Sandra at least hovered a few shades shy of complete insanity. “Fine. I’ll leave your slut alone.”

  ***

  “I can’t believe you’re getting a pet.”

  Joss scowled at his best friend. Nathan Winthrop, a computer genius turned billionaire, had a nasty habit of jumping to the wrong conclusions. “Shut it, Nate. Do I look like the pet type to you?”

  “Then why did you lug a top-of-the-line cat carrier onto Nate’s plane?” Luka Petrovich, the flight’s third passenger, sipped aged single malt from a crystal tumbler. The bastard had always been too snooty for beer. “Can you imagine him with a kitty?”

  The aircraft’s owner snorted. Having first met in kindergarten, the three knew each other a little too well. “Remember how he killed all those Tamagotchi things back in elementary school?” When virtual pets had been all the rage, Nate had studiously dismantled the handheld plastic toys, Luka had babied his needy collection of pixels to the pinnacle of health, and Joss had helped the creatures ascend to virtual heaven by watching them stew in digital piles of shit.

  Nate pointed his thumb over his shoulder at the carrier sandwiched between the reclining leather seats and the aircraft’s well-stocked bar. “But the man obviously thinks he’s taking an animal back. First the cars, and now this. Must be an early onset midlife crisis. It’s supposed to hit in your fifties, not at the beginning of your thirties.”

  Joss geared up to explain, opened his mouth, and scowled when Luka cut him off.

  “It’s a chick crisis, not a midlife crisis. I’m sure because he traded his shoe wall to me for a favor.” Setting his glass on the mahogany armrest, the conniving extortionist rubbed his palms together. “I can’t wait to turn some of that mint-condition, never-been-worn footwear into doggie chew toys. I plan on recording his ugly mug while I toss the original boxes in the dumpster.”