Chained to You, Vol. 1-2

  All I'd gotten was a phone call from Andy and then an email--a threatening email--from a man simply called J. Maxwell. That email was short and to the point. Even now, I felt a little dizzy thinking about it.

  Ms. Donovan,

  I would like to inform you that your brother, Andy Donovan, has done a very unwise thing. He and his friends have swindled and lost two million dollars of mine in a gamble. He is currently under our protection. Negotiation between us is prudent, and I urgently advise you to make an appointment to meet me.

  J. Maxwell

  The bastard had made it sound like he was the police with the words protection and negotiate. But then again, Andy and his so-called friends had swindled millions from the billionaire, and now, it was my job to replace them. Once again, the number of zeros following that two made my head spin. How the heck was I supposed to supply two million dollars?

  The plane landed, and I found myself shuffling through thousands of people I didn't know. I tried to pass them as quick as I could, clutching my backpack close to me. I knew I looked like a fish out of water here, and those staring at me with the look were evidence of that. I didn't care though. I had a mission to accomplish, and their judgement wasn't going to faze me.

  I sighed with some small relief once I was outside where there were less people to encounter. It was hot. So hot in fact I had to take off my jumper. I knew I had to take the bus into town because a taxi was way too expensive, and I couldn't afford that, what with only three hundred bucks cash in my wallet.

  I jumped into the bus a few minutes later, and after paying my fees, I settled in a lone seat, placing my backpack on my lap in front of me. I kept to myself throughout the whole journey. When the bus stopped in town, I took another up to Beverly Hills and then another one farther out. This took me another hour, and by the time it stopped at the very end of the route, I was exhausted and thirsty.

  Out on the rather deserted street lined with big mansions that both terrified and amazed me, I took out the Google map I'd printed out and peered at the white, neatly folded piece of paper. The glare was getting to my eyes, so I moved around, trying to find a bit of shade. My finger followed the line of roads on the map as I muttered to myself, "Where am I? Where am I?"

  An angry, long, loud beep blared from the distance. Tires screeched against asphalt. I lifted my head, and my eyes rounded with dread. Panic seized me the moment I saw the car heading toward me. I reacted by staggering back, just in time, as the vehicle came to a sudden halt inches from me.

  I fell on my backside, my heart pumping loud and fast. I was still paralyzed with fright when the door of that expensive car opened. Shiny black shoes landed on the pavement, followed by clean black trousers.

  I watched, suddenly fascinated as that pair of shoes came my way. They stopped right in front of me, as if waiting patiently for me to lift my head. And I did. My eyes slowly drifted up to the long legs trousers and then to the slim waist and expensive-looking pale-blue shirt and dark jacket, and then... My breath was taken away the moment my eyes met his.

  Strong, aquiline nose, deep-set eyes, prominent jawline, and dark hair--this was the type of face found in fashion magazines. The male models in ads for perfume and expensive suits. The type that was out of my reach. The rich, expensive type that every girl drooled over and dreamed of dating.

  He was the type that scared the shit out of me, and he was doing so right now. My breathing became shorter and faster. At that moment, I just wanted to run. My legs, however, seemed to have become numb, and I couldn't command them to move.

  The handsome stranger made my condition worse by coming down to one knee. I was surprised he actually allowed those expensive, clean trousers to touch the dirt.

  When he faced me, I swallowed.

  Prussian blue. The color of his eyes. Dark yet bright, with an ominous feel to them. A shade of blue that had fascinated me since I was a child. It was the shade of the sky I'd seen when I opened my eyes that day many years ago, my whole body aching in agony and my bones broken. The sound of sirens and people shouting, asking me if I was all right. I'd never been all right. I was dying from a car accident. And they asked me, a child of twelve, if I was all right.

  I flicked my mind back to the present, to the man in front of me, and bit my dry lip. I subconsciously licked them--a mistake. His Prussian blue eyes drifted to my lips, and suddenly, my whole body reacted in a way it had never reacted before.

  It flared with heat and delicious sensation coursed through me, making me almost breathless. I was trembling more fiercely than I had when I'd thought the car was going to hit me. My whole body trembled beneath his stare, at the sudden electrical sparks that charged and pulsated between us.

  He narrowed his eyes--against the glare of the sun or a knowing sign, I didn't know which. When he grinned at me, one that would take any girl's breath away, I knew it was the latter. He was way too handsome for my peace of mind. It was a crime for such a man to exist. He was too much.

  "Are you all right?" he asked, his voice timbre deep.

  A thrill rushed down my spine. I tentatively nodded and wished he'd just up and go.

  He didn't, which both angered and pleased me at the same time. At that moment, I didn't understand my own feelings. Yes, I wanted him to leave me alone, but at the same time, I didn't want him to go.

  He surprised me by wrapping one large, strong hand over my arm. I jolted at the touch, and my whole body went into a frenzy of sensation, a whirlwind of heat.

  He pulled me along as he stood, and I mindlessly followed. My head barely reached to his massive broad shoulders. I swallowed as I stared at his shirt.

  "Don't walk into the road without looking if you don't want to get hit," he said.

  I nodded, still not looking at him. "Thanks," I said, stepping back. I felt his hand releasing me, his warmth leaving me.

  I turned, picked up my backpack, and gave him a small smile. I saw him cocking his head to one side before turning away. I was still trembling when a few moments later I watched his car speed by.

  * * * * *

  CHAPTER 2

  James

  The moment Whitney and her new boyfriend stepped into the ballroom, James Maxwell wanted to get the fucking hell out of there. His hands fisted tight as anger threatened to erupt to the surface, destroying his calm exterior. Having had years of experience with emotional control, he immediately slammed down the fury inside him with the force of cold logic. Getting pissed with her would bring him nothing but wasted energy on useless emotions.

  "What the hell is she doing here?" Scott, the Maxwell second brother, hissed. "I thought she was in Rome." He was staring at James's ex-wife, dressed to the nines. She was still breathtakingly beautiful, James admit, but that beauty was now tainted in his eyes.

  "How should I know?" James said calmly. "We're divorced."

  Eric, the Maxwell youngest brother, snorted. "The bitch does know how to turn the party sour."

  "You okay, bro?" Scott asked.

  James nodded. Leaving the party now wouldn't look good, and everyone would know it was because of Whitney. Hell if he'd let anyone think that. This alliance with the Worthingtons was too important to let this small inconvenience destroy the hope of a business contract between their two powerful families.

  "The boyfriend looks as young as that kid Andy Donovan," Eric said.

  James flicked his gaze to the new boyfriend. Eric was right. He looked as young, naive, and gullible as Andy Donovan, the boy who'd been deserted by his so-called friends when they'd stupidly swindled and lost James's two million in a gamble.

  "Speaking of Andy," Scott asked. "What the hell did you do to him?"

  "Gave him a good talking to," James said coldly. Of course the brothers knew what that meant. "He's with Matt."

  "Shit! James," Eric said in disbelief. "Why the hell did you give the kid to Matt? He'll fuck the shit out of the boy."

  James didn't disagree with that. Matt Caine preferred males for bedmates,
not that James ever thought anything was wrong with that. After all, he was one of his best business partners as well as his best friend. Of course, Andy was just Matt's type. He could tell the moment the man saw the boy. Sparks! Funny how he'd never felt any spark with Whitney.

  "He likes the boy enough," James said, shrugging. "Besides, I offered him a job for now, and Andy needed that job and a place to stay. Matt will look after him."

  He didn't add the fact that William's men were hot after the boy. Andy was an important eyewitness to a deal gone wrong a few months back. There had been a bit of backstreet shooting and bashing, as per usual in their part of the world, especially in Las Vegas where this particular incident had taken place. Of course, Andy would be dead in a few hours on the streets, even under the cops' protection, if not for Matt's expertise.

  Scott laughed. He understood why James was keeping an eye on Andy. "You still want that two million back, don't you?"

  James shrugged. Two million was a lot of money, and he wouldn't deny the fact that he wanted it returned to him. He knew, however, there was no hope of seeing even a dollar back from Andy himself. The boy was only twenty and barely able to survive in this sick, competitive, cutthroat business world. He looked like a lost, innocent lamb accidentally stepping into a pack of hungry wolves.

  His sister, however, was a different story. She sounded like she had two million to spare, informing him via email that she'd be over to negotiate for his release.

  James wanted to laugh at the word release. It wasn't like he was imprisoning Andy against his will, for fuck's sake.

  "James, Scott, Eric." Mr. Worthington's voice drew James's attention. He turned, as did his brothers. He put on the facade of the usual smile as he reached out one hand.

  "Mr. Worthington," he said. They clasped and shook hands, strong and firm, confirming their confidence and power to one another. Once released, the older man did the same to both Scott and then Eric.

  "So how's your father?" Mr. Worthington asked.

  James shot Eric a look, wondering how the brother would react. Ever since their dad's announcement last week, informing them of his intended marriage to a twenty-five-year-old, they'd been shocked. But Eric was the most affected, since he'd thought his mother, a half-Asian beauty who'd only died a couple years ago from cancer, would be their dad's last bride. After all, they'd known how much their old man loved and cherished her for the last twenty-five years.

  But then no one could stop the man from falling in love again, even at fifty-eight and retired. The fact that he'd only seen the young woman twice, according to their very reliable source Lee, their dad's chauffeur, didn't dampen the old man's enthusiasm either. And Eric's rage against the outrageous notion certainly wouldn't stop the planned ceremony that, James had no doubt, would take place in the near future. She'd be wife number four. A twenty-five-year-old woman would be their stepmother.

  Just like Eric said... It's fucked up! So fucked up.

  "Good," James said to Mr. Worthington. "He's good."

  "It's unfortunate he couldn't come," Mr. Worthington replied. "Maria would have been pleased." At this comment, he eyed his wife on the other side of the ballroom, chatting with a group of people. "But never mind." He smiled. "Shall we go to my office?"

  James smiled and nodded curtly.

  The discussion went as planned, and by the end of that short, unplanned session, an unofficial business contract between the Maxwells and the Worthingtons was sealed.

  It was an hour later, as James stood alone on the balcony and looked out at the vast city below--a scene he was used to and quite tired of--when Whitney approached him.

  "Hello, James," she greeted.

  Irritation burst within him immediately. He was pissed she was disturbing his peace, and he didn't bother to hide it. Reluctantly, he turned his attention to her, a dark scowl on his face. "What do you want?"

  She shrugged her slender shoulders elegantly. Then she leaned close to him, her hand touching his arm, lightly but intimately, like she used to do. He used to love it when she touched him. But after witnessing her touching another man, caressing his flesh and stroking his cock, it was quite different. Not this current guy. Another one. He couldn't remember who he was now. He'd been a blur to James during the accidental discovery. He just remembered feeling the shock and then the anger and disbelief that his wife was fucking another man in their house. Well, her house now.

  A sting of disgust burned his arm where she still had her hand, and the urge to shove it away was strong.

  "Don't you miss this?" she asked, resting her head on his shoulder.

  Irritation surged stronger through his veins, and he couldn't stand it anymore. He propelled her off him and took a step back. "What are you doing?"

  "I thought you missed me," she said, giving him that beautiful smile of hers that used to bring him to his knees. But not any longer. Now he only felt disgusted by it.

  He folded his arms across his chest and chose the subject he needed to discuss with her most. "Are you planning on seeing Aria anytime soon?"

  At the mention of their daughter, she became agitated. "Well, you know, it's better I don't see her... yet."

  "For fuck's sake, Whitney, give your own daughter some of your time. It's been three years."

  He hated to say the next sentence, because to be honest, he didn't want Aria to see Whitney, a mother who didn't give a shit about her own daughter. A mother who'd rather run off with a man she'd been fucking than stay with her own three-year-old, who cried and begged for her. But his heart hurt like hell when he saw Aria so wounded every time he told her Whitney wouldn't be able to come.

  "She misses you."

  Whitney frowned and snapped, "She was only three. She can't remember much of me."

  Her words pissed him off. He had to take a deep breath to calm the wrath that was slowly building inside him.

  "And soon, she won't remember you at all if you don't make any effort to see her," he said coldly. He no longer wanted to be there, no longer wanted to be near the woman who had cheated on him--since the beginning of their relationship. He turned on his heel and walked away.

  "James, wait!"

  "Whitney," he said harshly over his shoulder, "get your life straightened out and then come and see our daughter once in a while."

  Back in the ballroom where billionaires and millionaires mingled, James headed straight to his brothers.

  "I'm leaving," he said.

  Scott eyed the balcony James had just left and saw Whitney there. He understood. "Kiss Aria for me," he said.

  "Me, too," Eric chimed in. "And tell her I already miss her."

  James laughed. The two were smitten with their niece, of course. Thank God the little darling wasn't one bit like her mother, both in character and looks. Aria was a Maxwell through and through. She took after James in every possible way, and he loved her for that. Hell, he just loved her regardless. She was everything to him, and he knew she wouldn't disappoint him like her mother had, throwing away his love like she did her no-longer-desired shoes or dresses.

  Fuck! Love was meant to be unconditional. A mutual feeling shared between two people, between husband and wife, that lasted 'til death do us part. Not something to be taken lightly and discarded without a second thought.

  At the door, he glanced once more at Whitney and then left.

  A sense of relief swept through him the moment he slid into the black Ferrari. Switching on the engine, the music blared into the confined space. Putting the gear on reverse, he whipped out of the parking space, then exited the Worthington estate.

  * * * * *

  CHAPTER 3

  James

  A cool breeze washed against his skin, which was nice. James let his mind drift off, thinking about everything and nothing. It was some twenty minutes later when his cell phone rang. He glanced at the screen and noted the name flashing at him. A smile crept across his face. He quickly flicked on the loud speaker, at the same time muting the music.
br />   "Hey, sweetheart," he greeted.

  "Daddy?" came Aria's voice.

  "Yes, sweetheart?"

  "Are you coming home soon?"

  He laughed. "Yes. Have you finished your piano lesson?"

  A pause and then, "Yes. But, Daddy, Sammy won't eat the food I gave him. He'll starve if he doesn't eat. I'm worried. He hasn't been eating properly for days now. Should we take him to the vet?"

  He frowned. "I'll be home in a minute, Aria. Daddy will take care of it."

  "Really?" She laughed merrily, which made his heart glow. "Daddy? I've just learned a new piece today. Do you want to hear it?"

  "Of course," he said even though he knew she was horrible at it. He didn't think piano was her thing, but he couldn't say no because she'd wanted to learn so much.

  "It was hard, but Mrs. West told me..."

  James shook his head. There she goes again, he thought.

  "Shit!" he swore as his foot slammed hard on the break whilst one hand pressed down on the horn and the other expertly turned the steering wheel, veering the car out of the way. The sound of tires screeching against asphalt was loud in his ears. An agonizing short moment later, the car came to a complete stop, missing hitting the girl by mere inches.

  "Daddy?" A panicky voice reached him, and James realized Aria was still on the line.

  He took a deep breath and said calmly, "Everything is okay, sweetheart. Just a rabbit on the road. I'll see you soon, all right?"

  "All right," Aria replied, uncertain.

  He quickly cut the line and opened the door.

  The girl was sprawled on the ground, her backpack and printout map scattered around her.

  He came to stand before her, concerned she might be hurt. Slowly, he watched her drift her gaze up his legs and then finally to his face. The moment he saw her fully, his gut churned into a delicious twist of sensations. Large, frightened eyes gazed up at him. Her face was flushed and delicately pretty. Long, tangled braided hair rested haphazardly over one shoulder. The longer he looked at her, the more he was convinced he'd seen her somewhere before. Then it hit him! Andy Donovan. Fucking hell! She looked like Andy Donovan. This had to be his sister.