The Redeemer
Authors: J.D. Chase
© J. D. CHASE 2014 (All rights reserved)
All characters in this book are fictitious and have no connection whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. All events are either a figment of my imagination or are linked to personal experiences! Any similarities are purely coincidental . . . or just plain luck!
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in a file retrieval system, or otherwise without the express permission of the author.
This book is dedicated, as always, to my girls who continue to put up with having an author for a mum. That’s no easy task when she locks herself away for hours at a time when a character is misbehaving or when she looks like a zombie after writing until stupid o’clock to meet a deadline. Not to mention the fact that her head’s most often in her current WIP, so she doesn’t really hear half of what’s being said in real life. Sorry girls!
I would also like to dedicate it to my other half, Chris Young, whose support knows no bounds. Yes – even when I’m too busy writing to realise that I haven’t showered all day long . . . he doesn’t desert me. Or when I’m so lost in my writing that the house could fall down around me and I wouldn’t notice. Once again, he’s the cover model for this book . . . and the photographer . . . and the editor . . . I guess that makes it my round . . . again!
There are so many people to thank for their part in making my life easier and my writing better. First and foremost, Karen Perkins of LionheART Galleries and Publishing House for putting up with my stressed out ‘help!’ moments and for going beyond the call of duty. Thankfully, she’s an author too so she understands the pressures. I love you Karen!
Secondly, my street team, The Chasers, who work tirelessly and voluntarily to promote my work and spread the word to other readers. I could ask no more of them and yet, they ask for nothing in return. They do what they do for the love of a good book. I am truly blessed. Julie Mae Collins deserves a special mention here. She is currently Queen of the Chasers – thank you Jules. Love you hard, lady!
Thirdly, my beta readers, who realise the importance of giving a truly honest critique. They turn good writing into something great before it’s seen by a wider audience. Yet again, I’ve been blessed by some fantastic feedback, despite the tight timescale.
As an Indie author, the support and kindness I receive from book bloggers is invaluable and, if I’m honest, quite humbling. There are so many who have touched my heart. This time, special mentions are for the following extra special and extra lovely ladies . . . Jo Webb of Four Brits and a Book (once again), Sharon Therese Nuttall of Kindle Friends Forever, Laura Scranage and Lynn Booth of Chasing Orions Rouge Odyssey Book Blog (Orions . . . Rouge . . . yup, it’s partly named after my series so far!) I’m truly honoured.
Finally, and most importantly, you guys. Yes! You! Thank you for your continuing support. I know other authors will say it too . . . and it’s true. MY READERS ROCK! Every book that’s sold, every review that’s left, every message I receive, and every thoughtful gift I receive . . . oh, the reasons for my gratitude are seemingly endless. I got to meet some of you in Edinburgh at the RARE signing in July. I can’t tell you how happy that made me. I hope to see some familiar faces at book signings next year – along with many new ones. Keep your eye on my FB page for news on signings but so far in 2015 I’m confirmed at Peterborough, London, Dublin and Aberdeen but there are likely to be more. Have you got your tickets yet? I promise solemnly to misbehave . . . oh go on, you know you want to!
Much love,
J.D.C. xxx
Isla replaced the phone, sat back in her chair and closed her eyes. During the call, she’d felt slightly calmer. Doing something productive to hold that cheating rat, Xander Rhodes, to account had felt good. But now her heart was thumping in her chest so badly, she could hear it inside her head. She tried to tell herself that it was just because she was angry but she knew it was more than that. As a result of her phone call, two security guards were on their way to the hotel. And not just any security guards – she’d been quite specific about that. They were both ex-Marines who would be more than capable of ejecting anyone from the premises, no matter how strong or angry they were. Of course, she would only provide them with one name and description. There was only one persona non grata at Rouge Passion...
. . .
and he’s the owner.
Fuck!
Her heart began to accelerate further and, as she pressed her fingers to her temples, she realised they were clammy. Or was it her forehead? Swiping her fingers across it and opening her eyes to look at her palms, she realised it was both. Sure, she could tell herself that her heart was hammering from anger as she took the first step needed to punish Xander for the unforgivable fact that he’d neglected to mention that he was married. But she knew she had no right to take the hotel from him. It was hers legally, in terms of the paperwork, but not morally – his money had paid for it.
She kicked herself for agreeing to take ownership of it. At the time, he’d said he trusted her instinctively, that he knew she wouldn’t screw him over. Yeah, at the time, he’d been right – she wouldn’t even have considered fucking with him . . . until he screwed her over. He must have been so sure of himself, so sure that he could get away with fucking her and allowing her to get attached to him without finding out that he was married. She leaned forward and rested her forehead on the cool wood of the desk.
He must think I’m a fucking idiot. It would have been bad enough to find that I’d been fucked and discarded by him after that first night together . . . especially if I later discovered he was a married man. But he knew how I felt about cheating . . . he knew how my heart had been shattered and my world torn apart after Jamie cheated on me. And still he let it happen. Worse than that, he made promises to be with me soon. That bastard allowed me to let down my defences and let him into my heart with all the bullshit he spouted about how much he needed me and how much I meant to him. And all the time, he was going back to her. His poor, deluded wife.
I was right – all men are bastards. He made me forget that. And for what? Sex? It may have been mind-blowing, filthy sex . . . he may have opened my eyes to that . . . but it was still only sex. He could have kept to our original no-strings-attached fucking agreement . . . but it was like he had to have me. All of me. Yet I could never have him. What a lowlife bastard!
I’ve been so blind. So fucking stupid. That’s why he couldn’t see me every night. Oh Isla, you stupid cow – that’s why you don’t have his mobile number . . . he didn’t want you texting or calling him when he was at home. Oh God . . . the ban on leaving marks on his skin should have been a dead giveaway.
Gently, she began to bang her forehead against the desk.
I’m a stupid, stupid cow. I’m as much to blame as he is . . . all the signs were there and yet I was too blind to see them. The smokescreen of exhilaration from his dirty mouth and talented fucking blinded me to seeing who and what he really was. Oh fuck that . . . no excuses . . . How the fuck could I be so blind, so naïve? How could I not see that he was a liar and a cheat?
But he didn’t lie, did he? Oh no, he was far more careful than that . . . he always said that he wouldn’t lie to me but that there were things he couldn’t tell me. Well, fuck him – that’s lying by omission. He misled me deliberately, playing me good and proper. I’m
not
as much to blame as him . . . I was honest and upfront . . . and I refuse to sit here beating myself up about it.
But the bastard deserves to learn his lesson . . . hmm, yeah,
he
deserves to suffer the consequences, not me, and not his poor wife. As Mum used to say, cheats never prosper . . . and I’m going to make sure that this cheating fucker certainly doesn’t. I’m going to make him learn a valuable lesson . . . cheating has consequences.
She sat upright and snatched up the phone. Half an hour later, after paying a small fortune for an immediate telephone conversation with a conveyancing solicitor, she felt a whole lot better – especially since she’d billed it to the hotel. Xander didn’t have a leg to stand on if he attempted to claim ownership of the hotel – even if he proved that he handed over the money. She had the law on her side, fair and square. The dice that had helped her make her decision were still lying on the floor where they’d landed and she walked over, picked them up and placed them back on her desk to serve as a reminder of the need to exact revenge.
She was distracted by the sound of someone tapping on her door. It was Belinda, who informed her that two gentlemen were asking to see her. She raised an eyebrow sharply when Belinda mouthed that one of them was hot, making Belinda grin as she followed Isla’s instruction to bring them to her office.
When they walked through the door, clad in expensively tailored black suits, she realised that Belinda hadn’t been exaggerating. One of them was attractive but it didn’t do him any favours that he was standing next to the other; in fact Isla barely noticed him. Her eyes were riveted to the other guy: a tall, muscular blond. There were no two ways about it, he was breathtakingly gorgeous in an I-want-to-touch-you-right-now kind of way and he had an unmistakable air of danger about him. He was tough . . . no, he was as hard as fuck. He was a former Royal Marine after all; he’d probably killed people without a second thought and yet he’d look at home on the front cover of any glossy magazine . . . especially with those eyes, that bone structure and his confident demeanour. He was a bad boy through and through. It was only when she heard Belinda asking if anyone would like a drink, that she realised she was staring at him. His mesmerising blue eyes, framed by long lashes and high cheekbones, widened momentarily as they bored into hers, leaving her in no doubt that he knew what was running through her mind.
Isla cleared her throat and requested a coffee. Whilst the men asked for the same, she recovered herself and held out her hand. Both visitors had incredibly firm handshakes; she knew they could break every bone in her hand effortlessly, should they wish to do so. It struck her when she shook the hand of Mr Hold-On-To-Your-Knickers-Ladies, who introduced himself as Jones, that she felt nothing. No spark, nothing. She hadn’t expected to exactly, but from the effect he’d had on her eyes when he walked through the door, she wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d felt something akin to that electrifying jolt generated whenever she touched Xander. She did, however, find herself wondering whether those strong hands would be rough in the bedroom until she gave herself a mental kick, questioning how she could be entertaining even mildly horny thoughts at a time like this. She had business to attend to; pleasure was not on the agenda.
She muttered her ‘All men are bastards’ mantra under her breath as she gestured for them to take the seats opposite her desk. Within five minutes, she’d furnished them with a photograph of Xander that she’d sneakily taken with her phone in Brighton, and what she considered to be detailed instructions for their task.
What followed made her swallow hard.
Jones’ accomplice, Smith, – she kicked herself for not seeing that one coming – grilled her thoroughly to ascertain the precise lengths to which they were permitted to go to ensure that a certain undesirable was kept away from the property and its grounds, and whether she would require assistance to ensure he was kept away from her when she was off the premises. Her mind raced; she hadn’t even thought about that. The severity of some of the options for removal and deterrence made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. They made it clear that they could prevent him from returning . . . well, if they had their way, it was more a case of him being unable to return.
Several times during the conversation, she felt as though there was a scorned devil woman on one shoulder and a cowering cherub on the other, each whispering their thoughts into the back of her mind. Yes, she wanted to exact revenge on Xander and teach him a lesson but she hadn’t considered exactly how she’d do it, not beyond claiming Rouge Passion for herself until she brought him to his knees. She hadn’t thought about the measures she’d be prepared to take in order to achieve that. Nor had she considered physically harming Xander in the process.
She went through bouts of feeling nauseous alternating with her blood boiling in her veins. Smith and Jones gave each other knowing looks on several occasions before giving her thirty minutes to make her final decision on how they should handle him. They then left her office to perform a security check on the grounds, refusing her offer to accompany them, stating that she wasn’t to leave her office until they gave her permission. They also explained that they would not leave the front entrance unattended whilst the grounds were swept and any areas requiring additional surveillance identified.
They closed the door behind them. Isla sat and stared at it blankly for several minutes as her mind attempted to grasp the position in which she now found herself. Then the image of his face kept swimming to the forefront of her mind and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t keep it at bay. She briefly wondered whether having security was overkill and whether she should allow him into the hotel, just so that she could sate her itching palm by slapping his face hard – several times – before confronting him. She was a tough cookie . . . and she was pissed; she could handle him. But she quickly dismissed the idea, knowing that once he was inside, without assistance she’d never be able to get him out again. In fact, once she’d confronted him about being a grade A cheat, there was a good chance she’d find herself out on the street, both unsatisfied and unemployed.
Therefore, she reassured herself that she needed Smith and Jones to give her the upper hand when dealing with such a cold, contemptuous snake. She considered whether she should allow Xander to be hurt and, whilst there was a temptation to make him suffer at their hands, she decided that she would rise above the thought and keep her conscience clear.
When Jones returned, he accepted her wish to prevent Xander setting foot on the property using only necessary force without question. He handed her what she thought was a mobile phone but he explained it was a walkie-talkie type device that would enable them to have hands-free contact with her as they worked. She noticed that he now wore an almost concealed headset with a microphone attached as she agreed to keep the device on her person at all times. Once he’d questioned her about whether Xander had keys to any other entrances to the building (she honestly didn’t know), he left her to re-join Smith.
Isla attempted to begin work herself – she had a mountain of paperwork and an inbox full of emails, all requiring her attention. She tried to relax and forget about Xander as she worked, safe in the knowledge that Jones would be stationed outside reception and Smith would patrol the perimeter of the building. They had assured her that she would not be disturbed.
It was towards the end of the morning when Belinda burst into her office uninvited, her painted-on eyebrows almost merging with her hairline.
‘Isla, what the hell’s going on here?’ she demanded, storming to stand right in front of Isla’s desk.
Isla frowned and replied coolly, ‘Well, if you mean the way you just burst through my door without displaying the courtesy of knocking first, that’s what I’d like to know. Perhaps then we’ll discuss the way you’ve just spoken to me.’
‘But─’ Belinda blurted, and obviously thought better of it as she found herself on the receiving end of one of Isla’s cold stares. She took a deep breath and continued. ‘Those men that arrived earlier, they . . . well, they just wrestled Xander to the ground as soon as he set foot out of his car and then one held him – well, sat on him really, and waited as the other one – you know, the one who makes your ovaries throb – yeah, well he got in Xander’s car and drove it back off the car park and on to the road and then they dragged Xander – who was shouting and struggling like something deranged – back to his car. I saw it happening from reception, you see Derek had popped to the loo so I was keeping an eye on the car park . . . and that blond guy is seriously easy on the eye so it was hardly a chore. In fact, I practically had my nose stuck to the gla—’ She broke off, seeing Isla’s eyebrow raise dangerously high before taking a much-needed breath and continuing.
‘Then, when they’d got him back inside his car on the road outside, I went out to see what was going on but I couldn’t hear anything really, just angry voices, so I thought I’d better come and get you so you can sort it out. I thought about telling them they’d made a mistake but, well if I’m honest, they scare the shit out of me and I doubt they’d listen to a lowly receptionist. So you must come quickly. Come and tell them to stop this madness before someone gets badly hurt. They’ll listen to you . . . actually, what are the hot men doing here anyway, Isla?’
Isla opened her mouth and then realised that she hadn’t a clue what to say to her. She hadn’t thought about what to tell the staff. She closed her mouth, saw Belinda frown in irritation and smiled in what she hoped was a reassuring manner. She needed time to think of a cover story for the staff, something believable that justified the presence of Smith and Jones, not to mention their treatment of Xander.
