The Girl With Diamonds (Midtown Brotherhood Book 2)
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Authors: Savannah Blevins
The Girl with Diamonds
Midtown Brotherhood Book 2
Savannah Blevins
The Girl with Diamonds
Copyright © 2016 by Savannah Blevins.
All rights reserved.
First Print Edition: April 2016
Limitless Publishing, LLC
Kailua, HI 96734
Formatting: Limitless Publishing
ISBN-13: 978-1-68058-576-6
ISBN-10: 1-68058-576-2
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
AUSTIN’S MISTAKE
Crimson leather straps bit into Austin Blakely’s wrists. The razor-sharp sensation caused his heavy eyes to pop open. He yanked his hands forward, but the unforgiving material confined him to the sturdy wooden headboard behind him. White orbs flashed in his vision. The room titled as if on a spindle.
Memories.
Blurry little puzzle pieces from the night sluggishly patched themselves together.
A trendy Art Deco bar with ridiculous yellow cubicle seats and neon lights. Techno blasted too loud. He wanted to leave, but his teammate and new wingman Callen had an off night during their game against the Blackhawks and needed to let off steam.
Shots of Patron sliding down a tan stomach. The Katy Perry lookalike sported a short purple bob. Her hair wasn’t natural. It was a wig, which he found weird, but she’d been nice and flirty.
He liked flirty. Flirty held promise.
The candy pop princess hailed a cab for them after last call. That should have been the first sign. He liked aggressive women. However, eagerness was a red flag. Too eager and easy tonight meant too clingy and stalk you tomorrow. The burden of being a professional athlete. It hadn’t registered with him. She lacked all the other warning signs. Well, except maybe that wig.
She’d been calm, though, and friendly. Not in the ‘oh my gosh, he’s a professional hockey player’ kind of way either. She stood at the edge of the bar enjoying her martini, her eyes everywhere but on him. He made the first move. When he slid in the cab, he thought his night would end like any other after a big win.
He was wrong. Very wrong.
Bondage.
Purple wig girl slipped the leather ties around his wrists with the ease of an expert. He normally didn’t allow that sort of thing. He didn’t understand why he agreed so easily. Then blackness. That hadn’t been part of the deal.
The room in front of him steadied. The familiar hum of the heater beneath the window rose above the screaming headache behind his eyes. A giant number forty-three poster hung on the bathroom door, a Nerf basketball goal above it. It was his room.
It didn’t stop the panic in his gut or the cold sweat that formed across his brow. “Hey—” He paused. Yeah. He didn’t know her name. “Hey, purple hair girl! Are you here?”
Nothing but the grumble of the heater answered him.
Awesome.
“Callen Copley is a dead man.” Austin twisted on the mattress, fighting back the urge to decorate his sheets with refurbished tequila. The slight movement transformed his bed into a Hugh Hefner Tilt-A-Whirl.
How the hell was he still drunk? A formidable buzz was ridiculously difficult to accomplish for a man his size. Barefoot, he was six-four. Not to mention two hundred and ten pounds of solid rock, thanks to his training regime. It would take a hell of a lot of alcohol to get him tie-me-up drunk.
Even then, he would have told the girl no. He always had his career to consider. ‘Don’t let strange women hog-tie you to a headboard’ wasn’t in the NHL player handbook, but it should be. The media was cruel on its best day. They’d have a field day if they found out.
Fifty Shades of Blakely. The headline would practically write itself.
He couldn’t afford to have his opposition laughing at him every night.
Despite his prowess as a goal scorer, Austin was better known for his uncanny ability to strike fear into the hearts of even the most courageous. He was an enforcer for the New York Rangers, and if he wasn’t on your team, you might even call him a goon. It was his job to make sure no one touched the team’s greatest commodity, his best friend Henrik.
Speaking of his good-for-nothing brother-in-law, he reached for his phone.
Pain. Pins and needles piercing his skin, scraping the bone. “Shit.”
He quickly shoved his heel into the mattress and pushed himself back up the bed to take the pressure off. The inner band of the leather straps must be laced with porcupine quills. That, or his seductress was a voodoo witch. At this point, he wouldn’t doubt it.
Carefully and with enough caution to make him feel like a complete pussy, Austin moved nothing but his eyes to look down his body in search of his pockets. Stark white briefs stared back at him.
Damn. He could have sworn he had pants. His phone was in the front right pocket.
He closed his eyes and concentrated. Pants in the cab. Pants in the elevator. Pants in the hallway?
Stupid, black, fuzzy, nauseous thoughts. He had no clue. It didn’t matter, though. He didn’t have any pants right now.
“Hey!” His voice started to sound desperate. The silence only grew louder and more maddening. “Why the hell tie me up and leave? Huh?”
A ticking bomb, Austin lay perfectly still and seethed. They hadn’t had sex. He still wore his boxers. In fact, now that he fought to focus his thoughts, the girl hadn’t shown any kind of affection toward him at all. No kiss. No hand holding. She hadn’t touched him until she brought out the restraints.
A stage five clinger didn’t sound so bad at the moment.
Something was wrong with the entire situation. His gaze darted around the room, evaluating every detail. A replica of his college dorm room, but bigger. The walls were bare as ever. His dresser still sat lopsided from that game of Mario Cart gone wrong his sophomore year, and a basket of gym clothes remained unwashed in the corner.
Everything looked normal.
Well, except for the obvious fact that he was half naked and tied to his bed. If she robbed him, he’d never live it down. He needed his cell phone from the pocket of his jeans.
He eyed the leather straps over his shoulder, contemplating whether the risk of jerking his hands free with his entire strength would be worth the reward of freedom.
He gave it a slight tug. It wasn’t fucking worth it.
“Help me, damn it.” His voice echoed off the walls of his apartment and back to him.
Why hadn’t he let Callen move in with him?
That’s right, because Callen had idiotic ideas like ‘try a new scene’ and ‘broaden your Friday night horizons.’ He needed a new wingman, pronto. Shit like this didn’t happen when he roamed the bar scene with Henrik.
Austin’s fingers clenched, his knuckles turning white. He was going to broaden Callen’s nose when he found him.
“Hey, Austin. Do you know your door is wide open?”
Austin’s head popped up. Morning grumpies with a side of Swedish accent. He knew that voice. He’d recognize it anywhere. Henrik.
Henrik, the best fucking friend in the entire universe, Rylander.
Austin glanced at the clock on the night stand, relieved. It was seven o’clock, which meant it was time for their ritual morning workout. Good ol’ responsible and reliable Henrik.
Austin spotted the familiar blond, mussed hair of his friend as he crossed the threshold to his bedroom. Henrik, holding two cups of what could only be green mush in his hands, paused mid-step.
It wasn’t the typical scenario Henrik was accustomed to walking in on when they lived together. His head wasn’t covered up with blankets, and he wasn’t demanding pancakes as tribute. Henrik’s mouth dropped open, but then the shock slowly turned into a grin.
“Holy weird kinky shit.” Henrik looked around, his pupils the size of a mothership. “What the hell, Blakie?”
Austin rolled his eyes and looked away. He didn’t want Henrik to see the embarrassment on his face. Or the shame and betrayal. “Long story. Can you just untie me, please?”
Henrik’s grin widened. “Of course.” He set the cups down on the dresser, then pulled out his cell phone. Then Henrik aimed it at him.
“Don’t you dare—”
“Say cheese.” The camera flashed.
“This isn’t funny, Henrik.”
Henrik laughed from around his phone as he reviewed his picture. “Oh, I beg to disagree.”
The camera flashed again.
“Fuck you. That wasn’t necessary.”
Henrik shrugged. “This is worth sharing. You know it.”
“You won’t think it’s worth it when I let them crash your head into the boards tomorrow night. It will be real funny from my front row seat on the bench.”
“You won’t let anyone touch me. It’s your job.”
“Everybody has an off night. Or has your precious nose forgotten that quickly?”
Henrik cringed, and Austin knew he finally got to him. Everyone knew the story. His best friend went behind his back and slept with his sister Leila. Even though Henrik and Leila were married now and provided him with his adorable niece Lucy, everyone knew about the game when Austin let Henrik fend for himself against the nastiest enforcer in the league. He pulled the goon off Henrik in the end, but he made his point.
Henrik stuffed his phone in his pocket and came to undo the leather bands. Now that his fun was over, Henrik’s face was serious.
Well, sort of serious. “I know Callen said he wanted to try something new last night, but maybe next time you should ask him for clarification first.”
“Shut up and untie me. I’m mad enough at Callen as it is. I wouldn’t have met the crazy girl who did this if it wasn’t for him.”
Henrik sniggered until his finger caught one of the sharp edges of the band. He jerked his hand back. “Shit. That’s sharp.”
Austin glared at him. “Imagine how I feel. Could you hurry it up?”
“You realize this is dangerous, right?” Henrik meticulously untied the band and eased it away from his skin. Red prick marks made a torture bracelet around his wrist. “The girl could have robbed you, or worse, taken that same picture and had it on the front page of
The Whisperer
this morning.”
Austin cringed. The pain that still bit into his other hand dulled in comparison to the slap of fear that hit him at the mention of
The Whisperer
. The sleazy gossip magazine was legendary in Manhattan. Henrik knew that fact very well. He graced the cover on a weekly basis his rookie season.
“You don’t think I know that? She got me drunk.” Austin mentally kicked himself. He knew better than to get that drunk. Henrik had taught him better and warned him of the consequences. “More drunk than usual. I passed out.”
Austin reached over and undid the other leather strap. It fell apart easily, like it had never been in a death knot around his wrist. The girl definitely was a professional. He rubbed the blistering wounds.
“She got you pass out drunk?” Henrik’s head cocked to the side. “Did she realize how big you are? Did she have a forklift on standby?”
Austin shot his friend a glare. He wasn’t in the mood.
“Sorry.” Henrik held up his hands. “This is serious. I know.”
“I blacked out.” Austin rubbed his head. He still felt weird. “I woke up like you found me. The last thing I remember is this girl in a purple wig tying me up. At that point, I was too out of it to care.”
Henrik’s brows drew together. “A purple wig?” The cogs in Henrik’s brain shifted into double time. Austin could see it on his face. The calculation and debate. “Hold on.”
Henrik walked out of the room, a bloodhound on the hunt. Austin followed behind him, catching himself on the wall as he fought to find his balance.
Definitely still drunk.
Henrik searched the apartment from top to bottom. He checked behind doors and looked in cabinets. He riffled through every drawer, leaving no half eaten box of Crunch Berries unturned. Henrik knew his apartment better than he did. Probably because it housed all their old furniture. “It doesn’t look like she took anything. You keep any money stashed here?”
Austin followed him out of the kitchen and into the living room. “No.”
Henrik stopped and eyed him. Actually, he eyed his boxers. “Did you two…you know?”
“No,” Austin repeated. “At least, I’m pretty sure no. There’s no evidence of that.”
Henrik scrunched up his nose. “T.M.I, buddy. T.M.I.”
Austin gave his friend a shove as he walked past him. Henrik was the king of too much information. That’s why their newest friendship rule didn’t allow Henrik to even mention Leila in conversation. Ever. Austin didn’t even want to hear about their outings to the grocery store.
Henrik paused, halfway looking under the couch. “Where’s your phone? Maybe you took one of your famous drunk selfies.”
The phone. He’d forgotten about it that quickly. Austin looked around for his pants. At some point last night he definitely had pants. He found them by the front door.
Phoneless.
Austin closed his eyes, concentrating. He was positive his phone was in his pocket.
“There is no way she took your phone.” The laughter in Henrik’s voice was audible even though he attempted to stifle it.
“It’s gone.” Austin held up his pants, showcasing the empty pockets.
“Yeah, but it’s
your
phone.”
