FREE (The Billionaire's Rules, Book 16) (2 page)

Frida gave her a shark-like grin. “Your man is just another piece of shit now and everyone in the world knows it. It’s over for him…and for you.”

Lanie had somehow managed to loosen the bonds around her wrists just enough, so that she was able to yank her hands free.

She’d never hit another person in anger in her life, but without warning—without even thinking—she launched forward and punched Frida in the face as hard as she could.

The look on the woman’s face was beyond priceless, as she fell backwards, her mouth a big “O” of surprise. She hit the ground and her head rocketed back and hit the cement with a loud crack.

Frida cried out in agony.

Lanie walked towards her and made as if to kick her in the ribs.

“No! No, please! Please don’t!” the fallen woman cried out, raising her hands to defend herself, curling up almost into a fetal position.

“That’s all you’ve got,” Lanie said, and then spit. “You’re not worth it.” And then she started to walk quickly away, down the empty street, and before she knew it, she was running.

When she got to the main road up ahead, she tried to flag down a car but nothing slowed for her.

Finally, she managed to get the attention of a passing cyclist. The man stopped and pulled out his earbuds. “You okay?” he asked, taking note of her appearance.

“I am now,” she said, feeling her chest hitch. “Can I borrow your phone, please?”

He nodded, fumbling to get his phone to her, as if he sensed that this was as important as she indicated it was.

Lanie dialed the number, her fingers shaking so badly that she had to restart twice. Finally, it began ringing and she closed her eyes, praying that Brayden would answer even though he wouldn’t recognize the number.

A moment later, she heard his voice. He sounded wary and his normally confident, cocky brashness had been obliterated. “Who is this?” he asked.

“Brayden…” she choked, tears already spilling down her cheeks.

“Lanie,” he said, the desperation and fear palpable. “Lanie, for god’s sake, tell me where you are.”

“I’m okay,” she said, biting her lip and fighting back the avalanche of emotion.

“I’m coming right now,” he said. “Tell me where.”

She blinked and wiped at her eyes, pulling the phone away to ask the cyclist where exactly they were.

The stranger told her, and she relayed it to Brayden.

“Who’s with you?” he asked, his tone almost panicked.

“Just a person I flagged down,” she said, smiling a little at his concern for her. This was the man she loved, the man she’d been willing to die for.

“So they let you go?”

She nodded. She could hardly speak. “They did.”

“Wait right there and don’t talk to anyone else. I’m calling the police, too.”

“Brayden—“ she said.

“Yes?”

“I just…I’m so glad to hear your voice.”

“Lanie, I love you,” he said. “I’m coming.”

* * *

I
t was much later
that night, almost morning really, and she was in the car driving home from the police station with Brayden.

It had been hours of giving statements, filling out paperwork, having pictures taken of her arms and legs where she’d been tied, and her back where she’d been cut by Frida’s knife. Telling various detectives over and over what had happened to her.

She had refused treatment at the hospital. The cut on her back was minor and already healing. The other wounds were superficial, and the deepest would be psychological.

The police said they were going to try to find the van and Frida and the strange potbellied man who’d been her accomplice.

But now all of that was over and Lanie was in the passenger seat of Brayden’s car, and she was exhausted. This was the first chance they’d had to really be alone together.

He glanced over at her. “Are you comfortable?” he asked, his voice soft, his eyes sad, bloodshot as if from lack of sleep. He was wearing a white button down shirt, sleeves rolled up over his elbows, showing his muscular forearms as he shifted gears.

“I’m okay,” she smiled, looking at him.

He shifted gears again and she saw how tense his shoulders were as he drove.

“Brayden,” she said. “I’m okay. I promise.”

One hand gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles whitening as if he wanted to break the wheel and throw it out the window.

“I can’t believe I was dumb enough to fall for it when you said you were going to meet Ivy and Cullen again,” he whispered. “I’m supposed to protect you.” He shook his head.

“I put myself in that position,” Lanie said. “I lied to you because I knew it was dangerous.”

“I still could’ve stopped you. I never should have let you get in that fucking cab.”

“It happened. The important thing is that we’re together again. For a little while, I was sure that I might not make it out alive.”

His throat worked but no sound came out for a time. Finally, he spoke. “You were tortured. Lanie, I’ll never be able to forgive myself for letting it happen.”

“I got stronger,” she said, recalling the darkness and how she’d realized that she wasn’t frightened of it anymore. “And when I thought of you, and pictured your face, I knew that I could handle anything.”

Brayden glanced at her again, and this time she saw the tears in his eyes and the surprise there, as well. His lips were pinched tight together as he turned back to the road. “I’ve never met someone like you in my life,” he said. “I just can’t understand how you exist. I can’t believe you’re real, my angel.”

She smiled, knowing that the Brayden she’d first met would never had said something so sweet and loving. She turned towards him and reached across to touch his strong arm, her hand sliding down his shoulder and to his bicep. “This is the only real thing I know,” she said. “You and me.”

He nodded. “Amen to that.”

And then they drove home, mostly in silence. But it wasn’t angry or upset or strange. It was the relaxed silence of two people so confident in what they had that words were not even necessary.

About half an hour later, Brayden parked and they got out of the car and started towards his building.

“Okay, now we have to deal with the vultures,” he said darkly.

She noticed there was a small crowd of people standing on the sidewalk in front of the entrance to his complex.

“What’s that about?” she asked.

He turned and put an arm around her. “I haven’t told you what they made me do to get you released, because the police were already made aware of it. But let’s just say, it wasn’t pretty.”

Lanie looked up at him. “They mentioned that you released some kind of statement.”

Brayden grimaced. “I went on live television and told the world that I’m a predator who violates women, and that I harassed you and abused my position as your boss. I referred to myself as a pig, as scum, and I said that because of that I would have to shut down my company and walk away from public life. So I could get proper help for my sexual deviance.”

Lanie leaned forward and grabbed his arm tighter. “You said all that on television?”

“Live television,” he replied, as if it was nothing.

“Brayden, that’s horrible. You never should have agreed to say those things—“

He glanced at her, his eyes terribly pained. “If I didn’t do it, they wouldn’t have released you, and I couldn’t take that chance. My career and reputation means nothing to me,” he said, staring at her with the strongest intensity she’d ever felt.

This is the kind of love that wins wars
, she thought.

He would kill and die for me, and I’d do the same for him.

She sighed and turned toward the people in front of his building, milling around restlessly like they were waiting for a concert to begin. “So that crowd of people—“

“Those are media people and maybe some angry people who read stories and saw clips of me admitting to my misdeeds.” He gave a wry smile.

“Oh, Brayden.” She shook her head and then caressed his warm, dry cheek with her hand.

“Come on,” he said. “The faster we get this over with, the better.”

He took her by the hand and they started towards the entrance.

The noise grew raucous as the two of them approached, and then flashes were going off, and people were crying out for them.

Yelling horrible questions. Shouting at her for going back to an abuser.

Someone threw a bag of rotten food at them, and Brayden knocked it away with his arm.

“Come on,” he said, pulling her toward the entrance.

“Wait a second,” Lanie said, turning to face their harassers. She looked at all of them one by one, her eyes blazing with rage.

They were just people.

Men and women, their eyes frenzied, their mouths screaming incomprehensible, stupid things at her while some took pictures or video with their stupid cameras and phones.

“It’s this late at night,” she said softly, and the crowd quieted to hear her speak.

“What?” someone shouted.

“I said, it’s this late at night, nearly morning now—and you’ve stood outside someone’s apartment to judge them and throw rotten food and yell insults.” She looked at each person in turn.

The moment her eyes met theirs, they looked away as if they couldn’t face her scrutiny.

“You don’t know anything about me, or Brayden, or what happened to us,” she told them calmly.

“Why don’t you tell us?” someone shouted.

“I was kidnapped,” she said, and they went even more deathly silent. “I was kidnapped and Brayden Forman was forced to give a false statement about our relationship as part of a ransom agreement.”

Nobody was speaking now.

Brayden took her hand. “You shouldn’t do this,” he said. His voice lowered. “You’ve been through enough, and besides—I don’t care what they say about me.”

“I care,” she told him, turning her attention back to the small crowd of mostly silent witnesses. She continued speaking, her voice growing more confident as she went on. “Someone held me captive, held me at knifepoint, tied my hands and feet and tried to force me to give a false statement about Brayden. I wouldn’t do it, but they convinced him to do it instead. And he did it to ensure my release.”

“How do we know this isn’t all just made up?” a little woman with wire-framed glasses asked as she held her phone horizontally to film.

Lanie pulled up her sleeves to reveal her wrists and showed the woman the deep marks on her skin from where she’d been bound. They were deep, black and blue and discolored lacerations from where the bindings had broken through her skin. “Does this look made up to you?” she asked, staring at the woman. “Tell me I’m a liar and see what happens.”

The woman looked away, making a face. “That’s horrible.”

Lanie went on. “Brayden said what he said because my kidnappers wanted to have the public be manipulated into hating him. You’re giving a couple of horrible kidnappers exactly what they wanted by infringing on our privacy, throwing food and calling us names. This is what they wanted and you’re helping them. Is that what you want to do? Help kidnappers and criminals achieve their awful goals?”

Nobody was replying anymore. But they were filming and taking pictures, and she could see that they were thinking this was all gold, footage and audio and pictures that would net them the money from all the magazines and tabloids.

“Disgusting,” she said, and then she allowed Brayden to take her hand once more and escort her into the building.

Nobody called after them.

* * *

L
ater still
.

Soaking in a warm bath that Brayden had prepared for her.

She’d never felt so grateful in her life to soak in a tub and never had hot water felt so amazing against her skin.

Lanie sank down into it, squeezed the washcloth and then laid it gently over her eyes, smiling. She’d never liked to close her eyes in the tub before, let alone put something over her face that would create a feeling of darkness.

But now, she closed her eyes, laid the washcloth on her face and felt the warmth, and the darkness was no longer threatening.