Lock & Key Collection Read online

  I rise and prop on my elbows, taking in my surroundings. Luxurious bed and bedding. Wood flooring covered by a thick, plush rug. Tall ceilings that must be at least fourteen feet in height. Exquisite medallions on the ceiling. Marble fireplace mantel. The finest millwork that I’ve ever laid eyes upon. Opulent. I’m in the home of a very wealthy person.

  Tristan. Broussard.

  The softest linens that I’ve ever felt in my life are against my body. All of my body. Shit, I’m naked. Completely naked.

  How? Why?

  I reach between my legs and touch myself. No wetness. No soreness. No swelling. Nothing feels out of the ordinary. I hope that’s an indication that Tristan Broussard didn’t violate my body while I was out of it.

  Out of it. Exactly why was I out of it?

  The wine is making me warm. And very relaxed.

  Not the wine. The sedative cocktail—that’s what’s making you feel so calm.

  A sedative cocktail. That fucking asshole drugged me.

  I assume that she needs STD testing? A complete panel?

  Yes. Everything. I need one too since this is a new relationship.

  There was a woman here. She and Broussard undressed me.

  What the fuck did they do to me last night?

  Scrambling to the floor, I take the comforter with me and wrap it around my naked body. There are four doors in this room so I go for the closest one.

  Bathroom.

  Fuck.

  I go for the one next to it.

  Closet.

  A closet filled with women’s clothing and shoes and accessories. Everything brand new with tags.

  I pick up the tag on the dress closest to me. I hope that I’m wrong, but I already know what I’m going to see before I look.

  Size 6.

  Fuck.

  I pick up a Jimmy Choo and silently pray that it’s not a fit. I don’t want to be Cinderella.

  Size 7.

  Fuck… again.

  I leave the closet and return to the bathroom, yanking open drawers and cabinet doors. They’re filled with my favorite cosmetics. The brand of facial cleanser that I use. My kind of toothpaste. My preferred bodywash. Hygiene products down to the brand and size of tampons that I use.

  Tristan Broussard meant every word that he said. He intends on keeping me.

  “Good afternoon, Emma Lia.”

  I step out of the bathroom, ready to tear into his ass. He stands between the window and me, his silhouette surrounded by a halo of light. But this man is no angel.

  The nearly black hair. The captivating blue eyes surrounded by lashes that any woman would envy. The broad chest and shoulders. The lips curved in a slight grin, making his jawline appear even stronger.

  All. Man.

  He’s absolutely stunning.

  And utterly sinister.

  I quickly scan the room looking for a weapon and see a candlestick on the dresser. Swear to God that I will beat the fuck out of him if he comes near me.

  “I hope that everything meets your satisfaction.”

  Does he expect me to be happy about being brought here against my will?

  “No. Everything doesn’t meet my satisfaction. Not even a little. You drugged me. You could have killed me.”

  “The sedatives and anti-anxiety meds that you were given were harmless.”

  “You aren’t a doctor. You don’t know that.”

  “I’m not, but I did get the medication from someone who knew what he was doing. The dosage was calculated specifically for you. It was perfectly safe.”

  “A doctor helped you drug me?”

  “A pharmacist.”

  “A corrupt pharmacist.”

  “He’s not corrupt. I’ve known him for a long time, and he’s a good man. He mixed the drug combination as a favor to me; I needed you to be safely sedated while being transported from the casino to my house. I didn’t want you to be high on some junk that came from a drug dealer on the streets.”

  At least he had the good sense to have a knowledgeable medical person prepare controlled pharmaceutical drugs instead of resorting to a dealer for something uncontrolled. “I guess I should thank you for not shooting me up.”

  “I would never do that to you.”

  I pull the comforter higher and step backward when he moves closer.

  “I know that you don’t believe me—and I understand why you don’t—but you were never in danger. I stayed by your side all night. I didn’t leave until this morning. Your safety is my number-one priority.”

  No worries, sweetheart. I’m going to take care of everything, including you.

  “You told me that you were going to take care of everything, including me.”

  “I am.”

  I clench the comforter in my fist. “Why am I naked? What did you and that woman do to me?”

  “That was Dr. Catherine Miller. Cat. She did an exam on you.”

  “What kind of exam?”

  “Routine pelvic exam for you and STD testing for both of us. It’s standard stuff for this lifestyle when you switch partners. All of our test results will be back in a couple of days.”

  She did a pelvic exam on me? A pap smear? While I was unconscious? That can’t be legal. But neither is kidnapping or blackmailing or drugging someone, and he’s done all of those things.

  “My sexual health is none of your business.”

  “Your sexual health is very much my business; I need to know that you’re clean before I fuck you.” My heart rate increases by about a million beats per minute. “And I want you to know that I’m clean so that you can enter into this relationship with full confidence that you are safe with me.”

  Safe with him? I will never feel safe with him. Not after the things he has done to me against my will.

  “What is happening here? Are you holding me prisoner or what?”

  “None of the doors are locked. You can walk out right now if you like, but I suggest that you don’t. At least not until after you’ve heard my terms.”

  “What terms?”

  “We’ll discuss them over dinner.” He brings his wrist up and looks at his watch. “Which will be in an hour. I’d like you to shower and wear one of the black dresses in your closet. Hair down. Minimal cosmetics—your face is beautiful. I don’t want it covered with a bunch of unnecessary garbage.”

  Again with the shower and wear this order. But this time he’s adding hair and makeup directions. “Why do you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Give me specific instructions on what to wear and how to look?”

  “I like what I like, but occasionally I’m in the mood for a different flavor.” His eyes roam over my body. “I’m not opposed to your coming to dinner as you are—minus the comforter—if that’s what you prefer.”

  He could change his mind and tell me to come to dinner naked if I’m not careful. “Actually, I’m looking forward to wearing one of my new black dresses.”

  He smiles. “I’ll be back to fetch you at six sharp. Be ready. I don’t like to wait.”

  Not another word. He simply walks out. Leaving me alone. Leaving the door unlocked from the other side. Leaving me unguarded. Expecting me to obey his commands.

  And I do. Because I’ve seen what happens when I challenge him.

  I get into the shower, hoping that the water will help the pounding in my head and queasiness in my stomach. No luck.

  I pick up the bottle of shampoo and look at the label. My favorite brand. And it pisses me the fuck off. This asshole knows everything about me. Every. Thing. Down to the kind of tampons that I use. That’s just fucked up.

  Why is he doing this to me?

  Who the hell does he think he is that he has the right to take me away from my life? I’m a fucking human being, for God’s sake.

  I concentrate on the anger raging inside me. It helps suppress the panic, the urge to cry, the impulse to run.

  Six o’clock arrives, and Tristan doesn’t come for me. I’m certain that h
e said six sharp. I recall his telling me that he doesn’t like waiting. Well, I don’t like waiting either.

  I open the door and peek down the hallway. No sign of the lunatic so what the hell am I supposed to do?

  “Miss Grant.”

  I nearly jump out of my skin when I hear my name. “Yes?”

  A man in a dark suit ascends the staircase and approaches me. “Hello, Miss Grant. I’m Ray.”

  “Hello.”

  “Mr. Broussard had an unexpected visitor. Dinner will be delayed.”

  I’ve already seen how mad he gets when things don’t go according to plan. I bet he’s good and pissed off about this interruption.

  “Do you know how long the delay will be?”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t.” Ray gestures toward the bedroom. “Mr. Broussard has requested that you wait for him in your bedroom.”

  My bedroom? I don’t think so.

  “May I bring you anything while you wait?”

  My throat is parched, and my tongue feels like leather. Whatever drugs that asshole slipped me last night have given me a severe case of cotton mouth. “I’d love some water. And something for a headache.”

  “Right away, miss.”

  Ray is much more accommodating than his employer, or whatever Tristan is to him. Mr. Broussard could take a lesson or two from Ray.

  I swallow the two white capsules, finish off the bottle of water, and wait. And pace the floor. And wait some more. I don’t have a watch or a clock to tell me how long it’s been, but it must be at least an hour. “This is just fucking ridiculous.”

  I consider storming out of this bedroom. I consider stalking down the hall and barging in on Tristan and his unexpected visitor. I also consider telling him to kiss my fucking ass before I blow this joint.

  But I don’t.

  Tristan Broussard has terms. He also has the upper hand. And I don’t think that he’s bluffing.

  7

  Tristan Broussard

  Conrad Grant stands when I enter my office. It’s a show of respect, but I’m not held in high regard by this man. Disregarding the fact that I kidnapped his beloved only daughter, the man despises me simply for the Broussard blood running through my veins. But I have no beef with Conrad. He’s never stepped foot into one of my casinos.

  “Welcome to my home, Mr. Grant.”

  “Thank you for agreeing to see me on such short notice.”

  “I think that you mean with no notice.” Unannounced visitors. Another thing that I loathe. But I’ll cut Conrad some slack for this unscheduled visit, considering that I am the one who provoked it.

  “I wouldn’t have shown up at all if you hadn’t kidnapped my daughter.”

  “No. I suppose that you wouldn’t, and we wouldn’t be about to have a conversation regarding Emma Lia.”

  I cross my office to my wet bar and take out two glasses. “Could I interest you in a scotch?”

  “I could stand a drink.”

  “Neat suit you?”

  “Neat’ll do just fine.”

  “Sit. Make yourself at home.”

  His narrowed eyes watch me for a moment before he sits in one of the chairs opposite my desk.

  I remove the stopper on the decanter and pour two fingers for myself. A little more for Conrad Grant since he looks like he could use something to calm his nerves. The man is shaking like a fucking leaf in a windstorm.

  His trembling hand takes the glass from my steady one. “Are you okay?”

  “Parkinson’s. Can’t control the shakes anymore.”

  “I didn’t know.” I had heard that Conrad Grant hadn’t been on the scene in a while. This explains why. “I’m guessing that you’ve retired permanently?”

  He chuckles and holds out his hand palm side down, demonstrating the severity of his condition. “Don’t have much of a choice when this is what your hand does every moment of every day.”

  “I suppose that does make for a significant problem when you’re trying to not call attention to yourself.”

  He takes a large gulp from his glass. “That is some fine scotch.”

  “Glenmorangie Grand Vintage. Aged twenty-five years.”

  He holds up his glass. “This scotch is older than my little girl.”

  I’ve seen his daughter naked. She is definitely not a little girl. “Let’s talk about Emma Lia.”

  “Let’s talk about how much it’s going to take for me to walk out of here with her tonight.”

  I might as well break the bad news to him. “I’m sorry, but that’s not going to happen.”

  His face is blood red. I bet his blood pressure is nearing stroke level. “Everything has a price, Broussard. Tell me what my daughter’s is. You know that I’m good for it.”

  Conrad Grant has been a cheat for more than thirty years. A successful cheat. He’s nowhere as rich as I am, but I’m quite certain he could afford to pay a pretty penny for his daughter’s return if that’s what I wanted.

  “There are certain things that I don’t excuse in my casino and cheating is at the top of that list. Oddly, it has nothing to do with the money that is taken. It’s pride, Conrad. I have an image to uphold, and I look like a fool when a twenty-something-year-old girl comes into my casino and takes me for a hundred grand. Money isn’t going to replace my tarnished image, and it isn’t going to repay the debt that she owes me.”

  “No amount of money will buy your pardon?”

  “No.”

  Conrad rubs his shaky hand over his graying beard. “I have another offer.”

  I don’t care what it is. Conrad can’t offer anything that I want more than Emma Lia. “Sorry. No negotiating.”

  “I can help you to never be made a fool of again. Save you millions. I’ll come to work for you. Teach your people all of the tricks. Teach them foolproof ways to recognize false shuffles, roulette past posting, baccarat scamming, card switching, card counting, hole carding, dice slides, card marking, dealer exploitation. Anything you want to know. That’s priceless, Broussard.”

  “It’s a good offer. One that I should take, but I’m not. No deal.”

  I want Emma Lia more than I want to stop millions of dollars from leaving my casinos in the pockets of cheats.

  “I will name names, Broussard. I’ll identify every gambling cheat that I know.”

  I shake my head. “Not interested.”

  “I can’t let you keep my daughter.”

  “What are you going to do? Go to the police?”

  “If I have to.”

  “I have video surveillance of your son and daughter stealing from me. Hours of footage. Trust me. It’s enough evidence to send both of them to jail for a long time. And if I reach out to other casinos, they’ll have surveillance of them too. You’ll lose both of your children. Is that what you want?”

  He stands and pulls a Glock; although shaky, he aims it directly at my face. He has a fifty-fifty chance of hitting me. “I will kill you if I have to.”

  It isn’t myself that I think about as I look down the barrel of that Glock. “Do you believe that’s what Emma Lia wants? For her ailing father to spend the rest of his life behind bars?”

  “I love my children. I would sacrifice myself for either of them. But I’m sure that’s not something that you’d understand.”

  There is no one that I love more than myself. “You’re right. I don’t understand the mentality behind that kind of sacrifice. There’s no one on this earth that I would sacrifice myself for.”

  “I don’t want to kill you, and I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in jail. I just want my daughter back.”

  “There are two choices where Emma Lia is concerned. She stays with me, or she goes to jail.”

  “What does she want?” he asks.

  “We were going to discuss the terms over dinner tonight. I was planning to let her make the decision.” And if her answer didn’t include choosing to stay with me, I was going to convince her one way or another.

  “Why do you want he
r to stay with you so badly?”

  “I don’t think that you, as her father, really want to hear the answer to that question.”

  “I should kill you and make the decision for her.”

  “Yes. You probably should.” And he would if he knew what I had planned for his little girl.

  Conrad lowers his weapon, defeat etched in the lines on his face. I almost feel sorry for him. “Emma Lia is precious to me.”

  I wish that I could tell Conrad Grant that no harm would come to his daughter, but the opposite is true. I plan to hurt her. Often. And in many different ways.

  “May I see her?”

  “Yes… but not with that gun.”

  Conrad places the Glock on my desk. “Take me to her.”

  I lead Conrad to Emma Lia’s bedroom and knock on the door. I’m both pleased and amused when she flings the door open and tears into me. “About fucking time, you asshole.”

  Her eyes widen when she sees her father. “Dad!” She hurls into his arms. “I knew that you’d come for me.”

  “I’m here, baby.” He wraps his arms around her and strokes his hand down her long locks.

  “You have ten minutes.”

  Emma Lia releases her hold and looks at me. “Ten minutes? What is he talking about? We’re getting out of here right now.”

  “We need to talk, baby.”

  “I don’t understand. What’s happening?”

  “Ten minutes,” I repeat before turning to leave Conrad with his daughter.

  8

  Emma Lia Grant

  I pull my dad through the doorway and slam the door. “Ten minutes? What does that mean?”

  “It means exactly what you think it means.” Dad looks at me, the expression on his face one that I’ve never seen on him before.

  Defeat.

  “No. No. No. I can’t stay with that man.”

  “I tried to buy you back, but he doesn’t want money. I even offered to work for him, teach his people our tricks. He doesn’t want any of it.” My dad takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. “He only wants you.”

  “And people in hell want ice water.”

  “He has us over a barrel. If you leave, he turns over surveillance that could send you and Adam to jail for a long time.”

  Dad’s tremors are far worse today. The worst that I’ve ever seen. Probably because of the stress he’s experienced over the last couple of days. And that makes me hate Tristan Broussard even more.