Owned: Book 4 in the Forever After series Read online

  “You’re not still pouting because I told you, Tate is going on a date, are you?” He smirks, cocking his head to the side to study my reaction.

  “Nope,” I say, not giving anything away. I’ll be damned if I let him get a rise out of me. At least, not this time.

  “I heard he’s taking her to that fancy French joint in Boulder. Not my style, but you know, Tate. She loves that shit.”

  No, she doesn’t, but I don’t tell him as much. I know what my woman likes, and it isn’t gourmet food served by pretentious fuckwits dressed as penguins. Tatum loves nothing more than a juicy cheeseburger, fries, and a cold beer. Sometimes if she’s feeling feisty, she’ll go for a banana split with all the trimmings, but that’s as exotic as her tastes run. Not to mention, Tatum already told me she and her asshat partner are going to Jack’s, meaning Trace is simply trying to push my fucking buttons.

  Logging out of the search I was running, I shut my laptop and collect the list of current high-bond skips we’re tracking. “Did you see the alert that pinged on Larson’s credit card,” I ask, referring to asshole Numero Uno on our list for the week.

  “Yeah, I sent Wyatt over to the motel to check it out, but the asshole was gone before he got there.”

  Wyatt and Levi, Trace’s youngest and oldest sons respectively, have recently taken an interest in what they

  like to call the family business. And while I appreciate the help with the grunt work, those two idiots would have trouble finding their way out of a paper bag with two exits, so I’m not thrilled they have their hearts set on joining the team.

  Grunting my dissatisfaction, I mutter, “Don’t suppose he got a lead on where he went?”

  “No,” Trace replies, clearly not appreciative of my tone. “The front desk manager said the guy took off like the hounds of hell were on his ass about an hour before Wyatt showed up. And it’s not like they leave a forwarding address, dumbass,” he ends on a growl.

  No shit! However, it wouldn’t be the first time one of the assholes we’re hunting was stupid enough to leave a way to contact them after they skipped their most recent accommodations.

  The last guy I tracked down left his cell number with the night manager since he was expecting a delivery. When it arrived, I picked the package up, and color me grossed the fuck out when I saw what was inside. Butt plugs of all shapes and sizes, some glass, some steel, some vibrating rubber.

  Apparently, the guy had planned a one-man party, because an hour later he showed up, alone, after the manager called to confirm his order was in and was Jonesing to get his hands on the goods. He was an easy mark after that. I took the guy down just as he was getting into his car, drove him to the station that had issued his warrant, and collected my fee. All in all, an easy day’s work, regardless of the fact I’d need to bleach my brain when I got home.

  “I’ll run his name through the DMV and see if we can get a lock on his tags. If he’s smart, he already dumped the car, but I’m thinking this guy doesn’t rank high on the list of MENSA candidates.”

  Harry Larson is a small time petty criminal, or he was until he tried to knock over a busy 7-11 in the middle of the day with a banana and, at least, a dozen witnesses.

  “You do that,” Trace grunts, scowling at me through narrowed eyes.

  “Before I do, I’ve got something to talk to you about. You’re not going to like it, but I can’t say that I really give a fuck.” Not the best way to start a conversation with the man who’s about to find out he’s my father-in-law, but it’s not like it’s going to go any better any which way I preface it.

  Trace kicks his feet up on his desk and glares at me. “Hurry up. I’ve got a fuck ton of stuff to do, and sitting here shooting the shit with you isn’t on that list.”

  Crossing my arms over my chest, my eyes go to his gun that’s resting on top of a stack of paperwork to his right. I mentally calculate how long it will take him to reach for it, and decide I’ve got a good chance of making out of this alive.

  “Remember that trip I took to Vegas in December?” I start off by asking.

  “Yep,” he nods.

  “Well, I ran into Tatum, Scarlet, and Ebonee while I was there.”

  “And?” He motions, gesturing for me to get on with it.

  “And, Tatum and I got married,” I announce undiplomatically, even for me.

  “You fucking what?” Trace roars, launching out of his chair.

  Trace advances on me quickly. As his fist connects with my jaw, I’m not remotely worried about whether I make it out of here breathing, but if Tatum is ever going to forgive me for this.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Trace

  “DADD: Dad’s Against Daughters Dating. Shoot the first one and the word will spread.” – Trace’s thoughts on his girls dating

  I’m going to kill him. This motherfucker is a dead man walking.

  Grabbing him by the front of his shirt I yell, “Is there something fucking wrong with you? Are you fucking brain damaged or something? What part of me telling you to stay the hell away from me daughter, didn’t you understand?”

  I’d have to be blind not to have noticed how Lucifer’s feels about my oldest daughter, but I’d be damned if I was going to let his brand of poison infect my baby’s life. Tatum is the epitome of a bleeding heart, and falling for a man like Lucifer will only end up crushing her beautiful spirit.

  I’m man enough to say that if it weren’t for Tatum, I wouldn’t have managed to keep my shit together in the years since her mom, and Lucy left. There are times when I’ve felt like the worst dad in the world for putting the weight of my issues on Tatum’s slim shoulders. The fact that she works hard and she never complains, only makes it worse. It makes it more difficult to recognize when I’m asking too much of her.

  “Get your fucking hands off me,” Lucifer snarls, breaking me out of my rage filled daze.

  Shaking me off, he stares at me; his face contorted in anger, and something else; something a hell of a lot like vulnerability.

  “Just tell me why?” I manage to grate out past the lump forming in my throat. “Why, Tate? You could have any number of bar bitches or muffler bunnies warming your bed, why my little girl?”

  “I don’t need to explain shit to you, Trace, but I’ll tell you this much. Tatum is unlike any woman I’ve ever met. She’s smart, beautiful, compassionate, and I love her. I have for probably longer than I should have,” he admits brusquely.

  Yeah, and that’s precisely why I don’t want this asshole within a hundred yards of her.

  It isn’t just Lucifer’s history, though. His time spent as the President of Satan’s Sons doesn’t worry me half as much as his marriage to, Savannah and the circumstances surrounding it. And while I’m pretty damn sure my daughter isn’t stupid enough to get herself blackmailed into marrying this fucker, I wouldn’t put it past him to have done something to manipulate her feelings for him to lead her down the aisle.

  My body is vibrating with anger; it’s pouring off me in waves. Fuck. My hands are practically fucking shaking with the need to beat the shit out of Lucifer. Teaching him a lesson not to fuck with a man’s daughter would be a pleasure, but not one I’m going to indulge in. Especially, not when I hear the chime over the front door ring.

  “Trace. Lucifer. Are either of you in here?” Lula’s sweet, yet husky voice calls out.

  Goddammit! Of all times for her to pop in, now would have to be the worst timing in the history of mankind.

  “Back here, babe,” Lucifer replies, making me want to beat his ass all the more.

  I haven’t been able to hide how I feel about Lula well. She elicits a response from me like no other woman I’ve ever met. Aside from her beauty and huge heart, Lula has a fragility about her that speaks to me.

  You could probably describe me as having a savior complex when it comes to women I care about - scratch that, women in general – but Lula’s different. I don’t just want to save her; I want to protect her from anything and everything t
hat could even possibly cause the perpetual smile to fall from her beautiful lips.

  “Hi, guys,” she chirps, rounding the corner into the back offices, Lucifer, and I work out of.

  This building is old and set out like all the others on Colonial Boulevard – the main drag that runs through the center of town. The guy who owns our building and every other on this side of the street is the oldest son of one of the two families who own most of the commercial properties in Waterfield.

  The Ascots and the Trenton’s are treated like royalty around here. They bought up huge parcels of land, back when Waterfield was just another tiny dot on the map, infusing huge chunks of change into the community to grow the town from a population of five hundred residents, to the twenty-eight thousand it is today.

  That’s not to say they’re good people, though; they’re not. Wallace Ascot, is the son of one-half of the town’s patriarch’s and the owner, by living inheritance, of our side of the street. He’s a pompous ass, who has nothing better to do than stick his nose and hands into everyone’s business.

  Honestly, for lack of a better description, old Wally is a shakedown artist.

  Granted, he’s not fucking dumb enough to try that shit on with Lucifer and I, but word around town is that he’s tried and succeeded in some cases to collect what he calls “extra payments for rental security.” In other words, he’s extorting money out of business owners under the threat of eviction.

  Lula’s face and incredible body comes into view, and my dick goes rock solid at the sight of what she’s wearing. Tight as hell yoga pants, which stop at mid-calf, and a loose, flowing tank top, that’s cut low enough under her arms you can see the bright pink sports bra she’s wearing. On her feet are a pair of plain black flip flops with a huge flower on the toe, and her long black hair is pulled up onto the top of her head in a messy bun. While this is her standard attire, there’s no denying Lula’s a knockout – something my cock seems to adamantly agree with.

  “What are you doing here, Lula?” I bark, a hell of a lot more harshly than necessary.

  Controlling my emotions around this woman is next to impossible. Since the first time I saw her walking out of her yoga studio, four doors down from the Sentinel offices, I haven’t been able to get her out of my head. For love nor money, no matter how many women I use to try and fuck her out of my system, but it simply doesn’t work.

  But the worst part is, Lula is completely unaware of my attraction toward her. She takes every opportunity to touch my arm or stand as close to me as humanly possible without being surgically attached to my side. Her sweet, chaste kisses on my cheek every time she sees me are like adding kindling to an already smoldering inferno. Everything Lula

  does turns me on, and she doesn’t have the first fucking clue she’s even doing it.

  Looking between Lucifer and me, Lula stammers, “Oh, well, I was hoping to talk to you for a minute, but if you’re too busy right now, I can come back.”

  Lucifer reaches over and takes her hand in his. “We’re done. He’s all yours.” Leaning down and kissing her on the top of her head, Lucifer whispers something I can’t hear in Lula’s ear which causes her to giggle.

  Fucking asshole. Now I’ve got to worry about him charming two of my girls, not just Tatum.

  “We’re far from done,” I growl, crossing my arms over my chest. “Mark my words; you and I are gonna have a lengthy conversation about this shit later. But until then, stay away from Tatum.”

  Lucifer chuckles at my demand, collecting his keys and wallet off his desk before replying. “Yeah, there’s not a chance in hell of that happening.”

  Prick.

  The silence is deafening once the door slams shut behind him, leaving Lula and me alone. Being in the same room as her is uncomfortable, not just for my cock, but my heart too. She makes me feel things I didn’t think I was capable of feeling after my two failed relationships, and the string of women I tried dating afterward.

  “Trace,” Lula’s hesitant voice echoes through the quiet.

  My brain is swimming with images of that sweet voice crying out my name as I thrust into her equally sweet body. Hearing her scream out her pleasure as I bring her to orgasm over and over again goes a long way to calming the savage beast Lucifer’s announcement unleashed.

  “What brings you by, sweetheart?” I finally find myself asking when what I really want to know is what it would take to get her to agree to go on a date with me.

  I’m a good fifteen years older than she is – a fact which as much as I try to ignore keeps coming back to haunt me. Lula’s still young enough to find a man to settle down and have children with; she doesn’t need an old man like me tying her down. Because I would, happily. I’d tie her to me so tight that she had no way of leaving me, nor would she want to.

  Lula fidgets with her hands, wringing them together as she gestures to the chair beside my desk. “May I sit?” She asks politely.

  Fuck. “Sure, sweetheart,” I nod, retaking my seat.

  “I know you and Lucifer are really busy, so I hate to ask, but I want to hire you. One of you that is. It doesn’t have to be you. I mean, if you want the job, I’m more than happy for it to be you, but Lucifer would be fine too,” she rambles.

  Laying my hand on her arm, a jolt of electricity sparks between us, further confirming what I already knew. Lula and I have a connection – one that’s going to eventually be impossible to ignore.

  “Do you know what we do here, sweetheart?”

  “Yes,” she breathes, making her phenomenal tits heave as she inhales.

  “Then you know we chase down criminals who have jumped bail or have outstanding warrants. I’m not sure what you think we could do for you darlin’.”

  “Ah, see, that’s the thing,” she murmurs, gnawing on her thumbnail. “I need you to find someone for me.”

  All of my senses go on high alert at the look of sheer terror in her eyes. Lula isn’t a woman prone to dramatics, so

  whatever is worrying her has to be a big fucking deal. Her fear is a tangible thing; I can almost taste it.

  “Explain,” I state forcefully. Almost urgently.

  Lula refuses to look me in the eye, diverting her attention to a spot over my shoulder. “Have you ever heard of Nelson Dunleavy?”

  “Everyone’s heard of him, sweetheart. That asshole runs the biggest underground gambling circuit this side of the Nevada border.”

  Before I can ask how Lula knows about him, she says, “Then you would also have heard the name, Elias McDougal.”

  Yeah, I know that bastard alright. Elias McDougal is Nelson Dunleavy’s, right-hand man. A notorious Irish Mob enforcer, McDougal has a body count higher than that of most active duty military personnel. And I’m not just talking about your average, run of the mill grunts here; I mean SEALS, covert ops, and spooks alike.

  Jesus, what has my girl gotten herself into? These guys are bad fucking news.

  I don’t reply, although I’d love to. Instead, I sit and wait for her to go on. Thankfully, she doesn’t make me wait long.

  “You have to understand, Trace. I didn’t know who or what he was. I was young and blinded by promises of being taken care of. My mom and dad weren’t bad parent’s; they were worse than that. Mabel had to practically raise me herself. She was only sixteen, caring for a one-year-old because our parents were either too high or never there. However, anything was preferable to them being home. They are mean, violent, and desperate people, willing to do anything to get their next fix. Which is why I’m surprised they waited so long to do what they did. Mabel had been gone for years when my parents offered me to Elias in lieu of paying the debt they had accrued. I didn’t realize it at the time, but they were bartering their own daughter to cover the cost of their addiction.”

  Lula pauses for a moment, and just when I think maybe that’s the whole story, she goes on to add, “It wasn’t until the day I married him that I found out the truth, but by then, it was too late. There was no way out,
and believe me, I tried. The first time I attempted to run, Elias broke my leg. He said if there were a second time, my punishment would be worse. Then he promised that if there were a third, he would just kill me and dispose of my body somewhere no one would ever find me.”

  “Fuck, baby,” I hiss low in the back of my throat.

  Lula shakes her head sadly, refusing to acknowledge the sympathy in my hushed words. “I scrimped and saved for years before I had enough money hidden away that I knew I could get away and live for a little while. I put away every dollar I could from the meager grocery allowance, Elias gave me, spare change, money I stole from his wallet while he was sleeping, you name it, I squirreled it away. One day I was at a bookstore and saw a table in the back with a map laid out on it. I decided then that I was going to flip a coin; wherever it landed, that’s where I’d go. It landed on Waterfield, so here I am.”

  My blood boils at the thought of Lula being hurt, that any man could cause this beautiful creature any measure of pain. Every cell in my body is screaming at me to hunt, seek retribution, destroy the man who dared harm a hair on her head. But that’s not what she needs from me right now. So instead, I stand and pull her out of the chair into my arms.

  Her body stiffens at first, but soon she’s melting into my embrace. Lula buries her head in my chest and wraps her arms around my waist, hanging on for dear life. She doesn’t need to, though. Because about two point five seconds after she told me she was married to Elias fucking McDougal, I made the unilateral decision that no matter what it takes, if it’s right or wrong, and regardless of our age difference, Lula is mine. Mine to protect. Mine to avenge. Mine to cherish. And mine to love.

  Now, I’ve just got to convince her I’m worth loving back. “Tell me what you need from me, darlin’,” I prompt, running my large palm down the length of her spine before settling it on the small of her back.

  Shivering in my arms, Lula pulls away from me but doesn’t let go. “I need you to find, Elias before he finds me.”