Say You’re Min, page 1
Say You’re Min
Alexa Riley
Contents
Say You’re Mine
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue
Paying Daddy’s Debt
Chapter 1
Read Me Romance
Stalk the Author
Copyright © 2021 by Author Alexa Riley LLC. All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, email to riley_alexa@aol.com
http://alexariley.com/
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Edited by Aquila Editing
Say You’re Mine
by Alexa Riley
Iris woke up one morning thinking she knew exactly how her day was going to go. But being kidnapped and smuggled out of the country wasn’t part of the plan. Now she and the muscled mercenary are confined to a train with a bed only big enough for one.
Dutch was hired to do a job, but things got…complicated. One sassy comment has him weak in the knees, and now he’s ready to make her his.
* * *
Warning: Did we accidentally write a daddy book? No. Yes. Okay, fine we did. But we didn’t mean to! Just read it!
For Jisa Dean… your books made us do this.
Chapter One
Iris
“Iris, stand up straighter and suck in.”
I do as my mother asks as she pulls on the zipper of my dress up. She tugs hard, and I hear her strain, but it doesn’t budge. She lets out an irritated huff and then narrows her eyes.
“Did you drink water all day yesterday?”
“Yes.” I always do as she asks, and even though I’ve never lied to her, she looks like she doesn’t believe me.
If she could control every bite of food that went into my mouth she would. She’s put me on a diet before, but then my dad found out and he went through the roof. Mom can get away with a lot of things, but on a rare moment when Dad pushes back, everyone falls into line, including Mom.
“We’ll have to get something else.” She tsks and shakes her head. “Such a waste of a beautiful dress.”
The passive aggressive dig is something I’m used to, so I ignore her. I wiggle out of the dress, and she turns around to shuffle through the rack of clothing her personal shopper brought over today. This is so over the top for a backyard tea party, but I keep my mouth shut.
I’d love to tell her if she wants the dress so badly she should wear it herself. Although it would hang off of her slender frame and look like a paper bag. Years ago I found pictures of when she modeled. She was gorgeous then, and she still is now. She’s all legs, with silky hair, and her skin is perfect too.
I’m constantly disappointed I didn’t get one of her traits out of the gene pool. I’m short, extra curvy, and my hair is impossible to control unless there is a professional nearby. Dark freckles spread across the tops of my cheeks and nose that even the best makeup can’t hide. She never comments on the differences in the two of us, but I can put it together when she does everything in her power to cover up all my flaws and puts me in shoes that are impossible to walk in.
While she can be hard about a lot of things, she can be sweet and supportive too. I’ve never understood how she can go from one extreme to the next, but everything with her is often one way or the other. There is no gray, it is only black and white, and it’s a constant struggle to keep up with her mood swings. Some days I think I hate her and others I love her. Maybe I get more from her than I realize.
“How about something that’s a little more girl next door. I should have started with that. You’ll look adorable with your dimples and a sundress, and you can even wear flats.” She’s talking more to herself than me, but I still respond.
“That sounds amazing.”
“Perfect.” She hands me a white dress that has dark blue eyelet lace at the bottom. When I hold it out, I realize there’s nothing at the top. “Strapless?”
“Yes, I’ll get you a bra to change into.”
At least I’m getting flats and a dress I can breathe in. I can’t complain too much, but my mom has no idea what it’s like to wear a strapless bra with boobs my size. Luckily when I put the dress on it’s actually snug at the top, which will help. It’s fitted through my chest and waist, then begins to flare at my hips. The material stops a few inches above my knee, with the dark lace just a little below that. It’s beautiful, and I’m surprised that I actually love how it fits me.
“Oh! You look perfect!” She comes rushing into the room with a bra and hands it to me to put on while she gets my shoes and any accessories she wants to add.
Sometimes I think I’m her dress-up doll more than her daughter. I used to love it when I was younger, but now I want to wear things that I pick out myself. Still, this is a small price to pay to make her happy, so I let her do her thing. Especially because the tea this afternoon is with her friends. Since I’ve gotten older, she’s been including me in more of her events. I think she might be grooming me to be a mini her and take over some of the responsibilities she has for the family.
“And we’re right on time.” Mom grabs my hand and leads me out of my bedroom.
We walk down the grand stairs that lead to the front entrance, and I realize I don’t even know what the tea this afternoon is for.
“You never told me who’s coming today,” I say as I’m careful to not wrinkle my dress.
“Just Molly Rineheart.” I stop walking. Now I know why she never told me. “What?” she asks innocently.
This isn’t the first time Mom has brought up Brock. The first time she told me about him, I said I had no interest, but clearly that didn’t matter. She’s pushing for this, and Dad isn’t here to stop her.
“Mrs. Adair, a car was just let through the gates,” Rita announces.
“Make sure everything is ready, and we’ll enter the garden in a few minutes.” Rita nods to my mom and then goes towards the kitchen.
“You’re trying to set me up.” My voice is quiet because I don’t want to make her angry.
“You should be thanking me. The Rinehearts are a prominent name, and the boy is handsome. Not to mention your father works with his father, so it’s in everyone’s interest to join our households. Make sure you’re on your best behavior.”
When have I ever not been on my best behavior? Mom had me learning fork placement and proper seating etiquette as a child. I bite my tongue to not say anything because Dad is the one weapon she knows she can use against me. I have to think about how to approach this situation and how to get out of it.
The doorbell sounds, and the chimes echo through the house. I know for a fact Mom set this all up for this specific time because Dad is out of town. She can be a bit of a snake at times to get what she wants.
“Welcome,” Mom says when the butler opens the front door. When I don’t see Brock with his mom, I perk up. Maybe this won’t be so terrible. “Don’t you look lovely today, Molly,” Mom says as they give each other kisses on both cheeks.
“Thank you.” Molly turns her focus on me. “Oh, Iris, I can’t believe how much you’ve grown. When did you get your braces off?”
“Last summer.” Without thinking, I run my tongue along the top of my teeth.
“What a lovely young lady you are now.” She smiles, but I look down at the floor.
“Thank you, Mrs. Rinehart.” I keep my voice appreciative, but inside my stomach is churning.
“Isn’t she pretty, Brock?” she calls out, and I snap my head up in time to see Brock make his entrance. He’s tucking his phone into his pocket as he walks up beside his mom and looks me over.
“She is.” Brock winks at me, and I feel my hands sweating.
His wavy blond hair is perfectly styled, and he looks like he could be on the cover of some kind of country club magazine. He’s wearing a classic pale blue polo shirt paired with khakis, and I wonder if his mom dressed him too. As much as I’d like to deny it, he is handsome. But he knows it, and that makes it so much worse.
Every girl in our social circle whispers about Brock. As connected as my mom is, I can't believe she hasn’t heard all the rumors. If she did it would be gross that she’s trying to set me up with the entitled jerk. He’s slept with half the country club, including a few moms if the rumors are to be believed. Why would she set me up with someone who has a terrible reputation?
“Come in.” Mom steps back, giving them room to enter the house. “Iris, why don’t you show Brock to the garden where we’re set up? The roses are in full bloom right now.”
“I’d love to see it.” He smirks at me.
He doesn't
“Of course, let me show you the way.” When I turn toward the patio and begin walking, I feel him quickly catch up with me. When he puts his arm along my back, I tense.
“Relax,” he says. “I don’t bite, unless you want me to.” He wiggles his eyebrows.
“I don’t.” I step to the side to open the sliding glass door and keep my distance so he can’t touch me again.
“You virgins are always so uptight,” he scoffs, shaking his head.
“No we’re not,” I say, but then regret the words immediately. I don’t know why I’m trying to convince him of anything because it’s pointless.
He pulls a flask out of his pocket and takes a swig before offering it to me.
“No thanks.”
“See, uptight.” He takes another drink before putting the flask back in his pocket. “Now let's go see this rose garden.” He licks his lips, and his eyes linger on my cleavage. “Maybe some are ripe for the picking.”
It takes me a moment to catch his innuendo, and my face flushes. Heat rushes to my cheeks as I walk ahead and try not to let it show.
I’m starting to think my mom might actually hate me.
Chapter Two
Dutch
Train is still the best way to get around without too many prying eyes or people asking questions. It’s also the easiest way to travel without giving too much information. Information that can easily be faked with the right credentials.
Most of my work is done overseas, but a call two months ago brought me back to the States. I had to travel by boat because chartering a private plane raises suspicions, and I always stay under the radar. In my line of work I have to be discreet; otherwise I’m not very good at my job.
Bronson Dian is a German baron who sells the materials used in making space satellites. He’s also tied to the Russian mob, which is how I came to meet him. Fifteen years ago Bronson’s young daughter was kidnapped from her bed in the middle of the night and was never seen or heard from again. She was presumed dead because anyone taking her would have used her as leverage for a ransom.
Bronson and his wife Freida reached out to some of my contacts as a last resort to find her. They still believe she was alive, even when everyone told them she was most likely dead. Otherwise they would have had evidence in the last fifteen years proving she was somewhere in the world.
After years of working as a freelance gun for hire, I’ve developed a reputation as someone who takes on odd jobs if they interest me. Normally I would have turned this down, but when my contact at the Bratva told me the story, I couldn’t help my own curiosity.
The Dians were almost royalty in Germany, and as far as the media was concerned they could do no wrong. I knew Bronson’s ties went deep with the work he did, which was why he was able to ask for this last-ditch help. I met with them at a hotel in Prague, and they told me the story. I promised nothing when I left that night, but the story wouldn’t leave my mind.
After a few days of brooding, I agreed to take on the case, but also told them to prepare for the worst. They told me they would pay when their daughter was delivered, and I agreed. When I told them that they wouldn’t hear from me again for months, they didn’t seem surprised. I knew the research would take focus, and having to report to them regularly would slow me down. When I left I didn’t have high expectations, but soon after I got a hit.
My time in the States gave me the info I needed to track down a family in Canada. I would have to cross the border and take a train, but it was doable. Tomas and Helen Adair have an estate in Northern Toronto that borders Lake Simcoe. That’s how I’m planning to get on the property.
The train journey isn’t long, but I force myself to sleep. After years of working when I didn’t know where I’d find my next bed, I learned how to take advantage of the time when I had it.
Hours later, I’ve got my bag strapped across my chest, and I’m boarding a boat. I paid a local enough cash to borrow it for a few hours and keep him quiet while I do what I need to. It’s nearly silent as I take it across the edge of the lake and to the estate in the distance.
I don’t have a picture of the young woman I’m after, only one of her as a child. It was taken the day before she disappeared, but seeing her mother and father should give me a good indication if it’s her or not.
The Adairs have ties to Germany, and the father Tomas used to go by the name Ansel when they lived there. They left right around the time of the disappearance but were never questioned or looked at as suspects. There’s a lot more dirt I found when uncovering the connection, but that’s not what I was hired for. I’m here to collect the girl and take her back home, nothing more.
It’s sunny on the lake, and most people don’t expect a hit to happen in broad daylight. Which is why it’s the best time to do it. I’ve also been keeping tabs on the Adairs, and Tomas is out of town until tonight. It’s the best time, and it’s why I’m traveling today instead of the day before.
The longer I’m here, the more likely people will either recognize me, or I’ll draw suspicion. I don’t exactly blend in at six-eight and three hundred and fifty pounds. The orphanage gave me the name Dutch because when I was born I was the biggest baby in all of the Netherlands.
In the distance I can see the back of the estate and house with their gardens surrounding it. They have a boathouse that’s open, so I turn off the motor and take out the paddle. As quietly as I can, I paddle the small craft into the boathouse and tie it off. I check the other boat nearby and see the keys are in it. Good.
Dropping my gear, I unlatch the knife at my side. I plan on going in silent and coming out hot. I cross myself and say a prayer to whoever might be listening as I quietly open the door of the boathouse and make my way through the trees. The gardens are dense with shrubs and roses that are almost as tall as I am. They’re in bloom, so they offer enough coverage that I’m not seen right away.
In the distance I can hear people talking, and I stop to see if I can make out what they’re saying. It’s getting closer, and I tighten my hold on my knife as I wait.
Footsteps are loud against the pebbles on the path, but I keep my breathing shallow. Through the leaves of the roses I see two people just on the other side.
“Now that I’ve seen these pretty pink petals, why don’t you show me yours?” I hear the man say.
“I’m sure my mom is wondering where I am.” The girl’s voice is so soft it’s hard to hear, and I see her feet moving back, away from the man.
“She knows exactly where you are, Iris, and she’s more than aware of what I’m capable of.” His feet move closer to her, and I clench my knife harder.
“What?” She pauses her retreat. “What are you saying, Brock?”
“Now you know I don’t kiss and tell.” His feet move closer to her, bringing him within arm’s reach.
I need to know if this is her, and I’m not stumbling on something that I should ignore.
“That’s a sick joke,” she says, and I can hear the hurt in her voice. “Don’t touch me.”
“Come on, Iris. You know our parents are going to force us to be together no matter how hard you protest. Why not let me get a little sample? I’m going to have you either way.”
“Stop, no!” I hear feet shuffling as she cries out, and I can’t take it anymore.
I’m a man with low morals when it comes to criminals and breaking the law, but I’ve never hurt women and children, or allowed anyone I know to do it. I’m not starting today, even if that means I have to come back another time to take what I’m here for.
