Hostage to Fortune, page 1
Table of Contents
Books by L.M. Somerton
Title Page
Legal Page
Book Description
Dedication
Trademark Acknowledgements
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
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Pride Publishing books by L.M. Somerton
Single Books
Mountain Rescue
Black Dog
The Portrait
Stroke Rate
Chemical Bonds
Testing Lysander
Owned by the Sea
The Wyverns
Mantrap
Deathtrap
Rattrap
Sand Trap
Steel Trap
Tales from The Edge
Reaching the Edge
Living on the Edge
Dancing on the Edge
A Double-Edged Sword
Rough Around the Edges
Scorched Edges
Driven to the Edge
Binding the Edges
Edging Closer
Investigating Love
Rasputin’s Kiss
Evil’s Embrace
Tarot’s Love
Warlocks
Elemental Love
Elemental Hope
Elemental Faith
The Retreat
Serving Him
Trusting Him
Finding Him
Fairground Attractions
Ghost Train
Merry-Go-Round
Helter Skelter
Treasure Trove Antiques
The Lucky Cat
The Gilded Mirror
The Poison Bottle
Anthologies
Racing Hearts: Keeping the Luck
His Rules: Tagging Mackenzie
Hard Evidence: Secret’s Hold
HOSTAGE TO FORTUNE
L.M. SOMERTON
Hostage to Fortune
ISBN # 978-1-83943-303-0
©Copyright L.M Somerton 2023
Cover Art by Erin Dameron-Hill ©Copyright September 2023
Interior text design by Claire Siemaszkiewicz
Pride Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Pride Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Pride Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2023 by Pride Publishing, United Kingdom.
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 authors’ rights. Purchase only authorised copies.
Pride Publishing is an imprint of Totally Entwined Group Limited.
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book”.
Sooner or later, something, or someone, has to break.
Tyr Blackstone is a bodyguard for hire assigned to protect the nephew of a wealthy businessman. He’s prepared to babysit a spoiled rich kid but instead finds himself guarding a young man held virtual prisoner.
Milo Forbes wants nothing more than to escape his brutal uncle’s clutches but is trapped. If he runs, his uncle will withdraw funding for his brother Matthew’s care.
On his twenty-third birthday, Milo will inherit a vast fortune, but his uncle has been plotting for years to prevent that happening. As the date approaches, his uncle sets in motion a set of plans designed to destroy Milo’s mental stability.
Tyr, tasked by his mysterious employer with keeping an eye on Milo’s uncle as well as his charge, soon realises that Warren Forbes is evil, concealing his greed for wealth beneath a veneer of concern for Milo’s wellbeing.
Forced proximity with a fragile young man means Tyr’s growing feelings for Milo are tempered by guilt. His need for control and Milo’s willingness to submit are thrown into stark relief by their circumstances.
Can Milo survive the trauma his uncle has subjected him to, accept his found family and find his happily ever after?
Dedication
To always seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.
Trademark Acknowledgements
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Wedgewood: WWRD UK Ltd
Converse: Nike Inc.
Valium: Hoffman-La Roche Inc.
Mills and Boon: Mills and Boon Ltd.
Kevlar: DuPont de Nemours Inc.
Calvin Klein: Calvin Klein Trademark Trust
What3Words: What3Words Ltd.
Crufts: The Kennel Club Ltd.
Boy Scout: Boy Scouts of America
Chapter One
“Quoth the raven, nevermore.” Milo Forbes admired the raven’s blue-black feathers even as a cold chill of trepidation ran down his spine. “Stop looking at me like that.” The bird pinned him with a black, piercing stare before executing a graceful take off towards a majestic oak. It perched on a low branch preening its plumage with casual nonchalance.
If only I could be that sure of myself.
Sunlight flickered through a scattering of high cloud, casting an amber glow on the honey-gold stone of the cloisters. Once a monastery, the ancient building still had an atmosphere of calm tranquillity despite its current occupation as the home of over two hundred postgraduate students. The archaic walkway surrounded a lawned quad where a dozen or more students lounged with books and laptops, enjoying the mild spring day. Behind the pillars it was cool, pockets of deep shade alternated with patches of bright sunlight. Milo fancied it as the starting point for an Escher drawing, one that drew the eye but misled the mind. He leaned against the wall in a dim corner, one leg drawn up, eyes closed. A leather satchel rested at his feet. His intentionally relaxed stance concealed a nervous tension that stiffened his shoulders and had him tapping his fingers against the stone in impatient agitation.
Where is he? I need to get this over with.
A few more minutes passed. At the sound of approaching footsteps, Milo opened his eyes. The newcomer paused in front of him, blocking his line of sight through the quad.
“Milo, I’m glad you’ve seen sense.”
Milo sighed. “What are you talking about, Todd?”
“Don’t act coy. I asked you on a date, you said you’d think about it. So, when are we going out?”
“And by ‘going out’ you mean you, me and a box of Trojans, right?”
“Dancing the horizontal tango, whatever you want to call it. I know you want to, and there’s little enough talent around this place.”
Milo held back a shudder. “You make it sound so inviting. It’s not going to happen.”
“Right now works for me, my room isn’t far. Wait, what did you say?” Todd narrowed his eyes.
“I said it’s not going to happen. I can’t go out with you.” And wouldn’t if you were the last man on earth. Male pregnancy is a thing, and we are the last hope for saving the human race. “I can’t see anyone right now.”
“So why did you string me along?”
“There were people listening when you asked me. I didn’t want to get into a fight in front of them when I told you no.”
“You’re a fucking tease, or are you playing hard to get? I can deal with that. Want a bit more persuasion, huh?”
“No, Todd, I don’t need persuading. I’m not playing games and I’m sorry if you got the wrong idea. I realise you’re probably not used to being turned down but I’m not interested.”
“You sure about that?” Todd crowded into Milo’s personal space and kissed him.
Milo wrenched away, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand. “Fuck’s sake! What the hell, Todd? That was so out of order.” Milo grabbed his satchel. “Don’t come near me again.”
“Yeah, yeah. We’ll see. The thrill of the chase and all that.” With a shrug Todd walked off across the quad. He turned once and blew a kiss in Milo’s direction before disappearing down a passageway between two buildings.
“Unbelievable. What an utter shit.” Milo wanted to clean
Could be a breeze.
Milo’s stomach knotted at the thought he might have been seen. Someone at that window would have had a clear view to the back of the cloisters, and his uncle had spies everywhere.
Milo did what he always did when anxiety threatened to get the better of him, he headed to the library and, more specifically, the rare books vault. To get there he had to pass through the main library where the barrel-vaulted ceiling combined Wedgwood-blue paint with white plaster decoration and oak structural beams to match the book stacks. The stacks extended to two levels, creating a series of enclaves for individual study. Milo loved the space and often worked here rather than in his cramped room in the accommodation building. There was still the danger of interruption even in the studious hush of the reading room. He had a pass to ‘the vault’ as it was known by the students. Underground, temperature controlled and silent, it was rare to find anyone else there.
Milo swiped his card through the electronic reader to gain entry and once the door closed behind him, he relaxed his shoulders and took a deep breath. His grip on the freedom he’d been granted was fragile. Meeting Todd had been a calculated risk but he hadn’t considered that Todd might get physical.
That kiss tasted of poison. Milo shivered, wishing he’d worn a thicker sweater. That would please Uncle Warren.
Not wearing anything provocative was one of a long list of conditions Milo had agreed to in order to attend college in person rather than studying remotely. ‘No relationships’ was top of the same list.
He trudged across to a table, pulled his laptop from his satchel then sat staring at the blank screen. He had no doubt that there was key logger software installed on his machine. As soon as he switched it on, every word he typed or website he visited would be logged and tracked. The demands of his Master’s thesis didn’t care about his online privacy however, and work at least provided a distraction from his reality. Milo frowned, wondering how much longer he’d be able to escape into the history of military orders originating from the crusades. Not long enough. For now though, he turned his laptop on and got to work.
As usual, Milo got lost in his research and when he eventually looked up from his laptop he had a crick in his neck and a grumbling stomach. He had to rub at his eyes to bring the clock in the corner of his screen into focus and made a mental note to see an optician. He was sure he needed glasses but making an appointment never seemed to make it to the top of his to-do list. He kneaded his neck muscles, wincing at the stiffness, then packed his computer away.
It was still light outside and after the dimness of the reading room, the brightness made Milo’s eyes water. He blinked away tears but still lifted his face to the sun. There were far fewer people in the quad, no doubt drawn away by the promise of food and the lure of alcohol. Milo didn’t drink, he didn’t dare. He had to stay in control or he might do something inappropriate. Something that could get back to his uncle. Opting not to go back to his room, he slung his computer satchel over his shoulder and headed off campus to his favourite eatery. It wasn’t far, a ten-minute stroll through narrow, cobbled streets shaded by half-timbered buildings that leaned towards each other as if seeking company. The ancient architecture always made Milo imagine the Great Fire of London in 1666 and how easily dancing flames would have jumped between properties.
His mind often sought refuge in imagining the past. There was safety in historic danger, and it was easier to picture miraculous escapes and heroic saviours when a painful death wasn’t actually imminent. His mental meanderings took him two paces past his destination before he realised and did an abrupt about turn, shaking his head at his lack of attention.
Jesus, Milo, get a grip.
La Caleta, a tiny tapas restaurant, was a student hangout with cheap, plentiful food and a good-humoured owner called Bautista who hailed originally from Cadiz. Milo pushed through the door and took a moment to breathe in aromatic scents of garlic and basil. There were a few customers already occupying tables, so Milo took a seat at one end of the bar. He wedged the satchel containing his laptop between the feet of his stool and the gleaming brass rail that edged the base of the bar.
“Hey, Milo, thought we might see you tonight.” Paolo, one of Bautista’s sons, was manning the bar.
“Hey, Paolo, your dad roped you in again?”
“Two bar staff called in sick. I had a free evening. You know how it is—family.”
Milo’s family didn’t fit anyone’s idea of a functioning unit. He summoned a smile anyway. “I’ll take an orange juice, no ice, and whatever the special is today.”
“Sure thing. The chef’s been trying out some new tortilla recipes. He needs a willing guinea pig.” Chuckling, Paolo poured Milo’s juice before slipping away to serve other customers.
Milo sipped his drink and did a little people watching. His own life was so restricted it was fun to build stories around others. The couple at the table in the window were getting over a row, their fingertips touching on the table top. From the heated glances and body language, Milo guessed they’d soon be getting hot and heavy with some make-up sex. A group of friends had pushed two tables together. A selection of tapas dishes were littered across their surfaces. Study group. Milo caught enough around the edges of their conversation to surmise that the topic of their paper had something to do with Romantic poets. At the other end of the bar from where Milo sat, two elderly men were deep in conversation. Milo recognised them as regulars. One of the bar staff had told him they were both from Cuba, political refugees who loved nothing more than to talk about the old country and berate Castro’s legacy.
Paolo delivered a plate stacked with triangles of thick tortilla and two side dishes containing dipping sauces. “That spinach one is fabulous,” Paolo said, “I helped myself to a piece in the kitchen.”
“They all look, and smell, great. Thanks, Paolo. Let me know what I owe you.”
“On the house. Chef values your opinion.”
Milo ducked his head, his face heating. “That’s so kind.” He wasn’t used to anyone caring what he thought. His uncle didn’t allow him to have opinions. Any indication of independent thought inevitably led to punishment. Milo repressed a shiver. He picked up a piece of tortilla, took a small bite and let the flavours spread across his tongue.
Wow.
Each section was different but there wasn’t a single variety that Milo didn’t enjoy. They all contained potato mixed with other ingredients. Milo decided the sundried tomato and goat’s cheese was his favourite, closely followed by the spinach and pine nuts. He had to gulp juice after the one containing sliced chillies, which were so hot he then had to fan his face with a beer mat off the bar. He caught Paolo laughing at him and gave a wry grin, pointing at his glass for a refill. When Paolo brought it over, Milo slipped off his stool. “Can you watch my bag while I run to the gents?”
“Sure, hand it over. I’ll put it behind the bar.” Paolo also put Milo’s drink on the shelf behind him. “Better safe, huh? I’ve only got one set of eyes.”
Grateful for Paolo’s care, Milo made his way to the bathroom. He needed to splash some cold water on his face after those chillies. He used the facilities, washed his hands and face, then grabbed a few paper towels to dry off. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing the over-long strands away from his face. Keeping his hair long was a small act of rebellion but he treasured every freedom he could hold on to.
When he approached the bar, Paolo handed him his bag and put his drink in front of him. “You timed that well. There were two guys in here asking about you, Milo. I didn’t like the look of them.”
Milo went cold. “You didn’t tell them…”
“They had a picture. I said I hadn’t seen you.”
