Read His Urge Online

Authors: Ana W. Fawkes

Tags: #Romance

His Urge (7 page)

BOOK: His Urge
7.98Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

“That’s enough.”

The voice boomed and it shook me to my core.  I looked down and saw Jonathan Black still out cold.  But there, standing in the doorway, was a wobbly but awake John Black.  His mouth was open like he had more to say but he was seeing and realizing the position I was in.

Cresh looked at John and scowled.  “Get out of here.”

“No, not her.  Not like this.”

“We have a deal...”

John looked down at his son.  “Yes, we do.  But it doesn’t include this.”

“You said I could have her.”

John looked at me and I took a deep breath.  “I hate you,” I said.

“Peter, get off her right now.”

“Fuck you,” Cresh said.  “This is all over.”

John Black pointed to the knife on the floor and made a motion for it.  Could father be like son and murder someone? 

Cresh moved from the bed with speed and stepped on the knife before John could actually make a move for it.  I wasn’t sure if he really would have done anything anyway.   John Black became furious and he took a swing at Cresh.  I almost felt bad for Cresh, for the amount of abuse he had been taking so far, but John Black didn’t have the accuracy or strength of his son.  The punch connected, but hit Cresh in the shoulder and it appeared to hurt John more than Cresh.


If Cresh knocked out John Black then I was in bigger trouble.

Cresh grabbed John by his suit jacket and pulled him nose to nose.

“Don’t fuck with me,” Cresh growled.

“Don’t fuck with me,” John said back.  His eyes were huge and bloodshot, his hair messy, and the lines in his face looked terrible.  He looked weak and useless, but his mind was still sharp. 

At least I hoped.

Cresh slammed his head into John’s face, hitting his nose with a crunch that brought blood instantly. 

John fell back but gained footing and hit Cresh again.  This time he connected with Cresh’s face.  Cresh cried out and John continued swinging.  It was a terrible fight to watch, both men looking unsure of how to hurt the other.  There was more at stake that met the eyes because neither man took the time to get the knife or go to the bathroom and get the gun. 

John put Cresh against the wall, his hands on Cresh’s throat, squeezing.  He gritted his teeth and growled as Cresh’s face turned red. Cresh still had use of his hands and started to land heavy punches to John’s aged body.  John managed to absorb the first few punches but one caught him in the ribs, taking his breath away.  His hands released off Cresh and held his side.  Cresh then went for John’s weak spot, hitting him repeatedly in the stomach and ribs.  John turned and fell against the wall. 


“I told you not to fuck with me,” Cresh said.

He made another fist, shaking his head.  Now it seemed like he was going to go in for the kill.

That’s when I saw movement.  Not from Cresh, not from John.  As Cresh wound up with a fist that, if connected, would take John out for good, Jonathan moved to his hands and knees.  He turned his head and looked at me first.  I smiled, telling him that nothing had happened.  I was still his, always his.  He then jumped, grabbed the knife, and as Cresh turned his head, realizing Jonathan Black was back to life, Jonathan rammed the knife into Cresh’s stomach. 

The sound was wet and sickening.  Cresh’s mouth fell open and had an eerie resemblance to Oliver Rush.  This time though, Jonathan didn’t pull the knife out.  He drove it deeper, his hand touched Cresh’s stomach.  He pushed at Cresh, forcing him back until he hit the wall.  Jonathan let go and stepped back, only staring at Peter Cresh.  I could only imagine the thoughts floating around Jonathan’s mind. 

John reached out and touched Jonathan’s shoulder.

Jonathan dropped his shoulder and stared at his father.

“I’m sorry,” John said.

“For what?” Jonathan asked.

Right on cue, a crashing sound came.  Someone else was inside the house.



“You have to go,” John said. 

“What the fuck is this?” Jonathan asked.

John lowered his eyes. “It’s detectives.”

“You set me up,” Jonathan said.  “My own father...”

John grabbed Jonathan’s arm, squeezing with a shaking hold.  “You have to take her and protect her.”  Both men looked at me.  I was naked and I only wanted one set of eyes upon me.  “She’s worth dying for, Jonathan.  Now go.”

“How?” Jonathan asked.  “They’re here.  They’ll see...”

It was perhaps the weakest I had ever seen Jonathan Black.  He wasn’t shaking, he wasn’t scared, but for the first time, he lacked a full plan. 

John nodded at his son then set his attention to Peter Cresh.  Cresh was still standing, touching the end of the knife, his breaths counting down.  John grabbed the end of the knife and pulled.  He grunted as he pulled, sliding the knife out of Cresh’s body.  Then he stabbed Cresh, again and again... and again...

John was going to take the fall for Peter’s Cresh’s murder.

Jonathan wasted no time, moving to the bed, taking the handcuffs off me.  The feeling of being released, being free, was enough that I let out a whimpering cry of relief.  I jumped into Jonathan’s strong arms and he held me tight.

“Mr. Black,” I whispered.

“Oh, Isabella Grace, did anyone hurt you?”

“No.  But I think we have to go.”

Jonathan walked me to the other side of the bed.  He found me a fresh set of clothes in his black bag.  As I dressed myself, he dressed too.  Sounds above us told me detectives were upstairs searching for bodies and they’d find what they were looking for, soon enough.

Once we were dressed, Jonathan took my hand.  “Come.”

I looked at the bed and stopped to get the four sets of cuffs.  I handed them to Jonathan.  “Wouldn’t want to waste these, right?”

“Isabella Grace, good girl.”

We started to walk again as another horrible crashing sound came.

“They’re down here,” John said.  Both the knife and his hand were covered in blood.

He looked at me.  The look we shared was enough.  I could still see deception behind his eyes, whether taking the fall for this murder was part of his plan or not.  Maybe he had a better lawyer than Jonathan did.  Or maybe he really meant his words when he said I deserved to be protected.

Jonathan took me into the bathroom and he grabbed the gun from the floor.  He stuck it into the bag and as we turned, standing in the hallway, was a group of men, holding guns, ready to fire. 

“Don’t shoot,” Jonathan said.  “We’re trying to escape.”

The two men in front were dressed in armored black clothing.  Behind them were two more men, in long tan trench coats, pistols by their sides, looking angry but calm.  Their faces were tough looking.  The man on the left had the eyes of a rattlesnake.  He eyed me and Jonathan. 

The man on the right asked, “Where’s the problem?”

The problem
if he knew what was happening...

“In the bedroom,” Jonathan said.  “He has a knife.”

“Is Mr. Black dead?” the man on the left asked.  His voice was rough and deep.

“No,” Jonathan said.  “Mr. Black is alive and well.”

I couldn’t tell if he was referring to himself or his father.

The group went into the bedroom and the look on face of the trench coat men was nothing but shock and awe.  The one with the rattlesnake eyes looked to his partner and shook his head.

“What the fuck is this mess?” he growled.

“Calm down Niles,” the other man said.

“He called this on himself then Harper,” Niles said.

I looked at Jonathan and he took a step.

Niles threw his arm out and said, “Don’t fucking move a muscle.”

So we froze.  I shivered in fear and Jonathan put his arm around me and squeezed.   He looked down the hallway towards the large living room and whispered, “Wait right here.”

He pushed his way around Niles, making me shiver, as I expected something to happen.  He disappeared and came back a few seconds later with a black jacket.  It was his father’s jacket and I hated to have it touching me but I needed comfort and warmth.  This was too much.  Way too much.

The men introduced themselves as detectives, explaining that John had called them to report a murder.  When they heard the name and location, and how to find the secret basement of the cottage, they knew it was something serious.  Throwing around the name
Jonathan Black
will get anyone’s attention it seemed.

What they didn’t expect to find was John Black holding a bloody knife, claiming he murdered Peter Cresh.

Harper was the calm detective, listening.  Niles was an asshole, asking me too many questions about the marks on my wrists and trying to find holes in the stories.  There were none because all that was said was true... right down to how John Black stabbed Cresh over and over.

John Black remained in the bedroom, speaking loud enough for everyone to hear.

“And for the record,” his voice said, sounding so convincing, “there’s a dead body in a hotel... Oliver Rush.”

Harper asked, “Mr. Black, did you murder that man too?”

I looked at Jonathan, realizing the answer to the question would be truthful.  Mr. Black did kill Oliver Rush...

“Yes,” John said.  “Oliver Rush is dead.  From a stab wound.”

Harper glared back at Niles. 

Niles looked even more angry.  “Clean this mess up and get him the fuck out of here.  We need more questioning.  These stories are bullshit.”

“We have to get out of here,” Jonathan said. 

Niles looked at Jonathan, making his pistol visible.  “What makes you think you get to leave?”

“Because you have nothing left for us,” Jonathan said.  “I just watched my father murder a man and confess to another murder.”

“You and your father are close?” Niles asked with a cocky grin.

“You can contact my lawyer,” Jonathan said.

Niles grabbed his wrist.  I gasped, hoping Jonathan wasn’t crazy enough to strike a detective.

“Niles, cool it,” Harper said.  “Let them go.  Mr. Black confessed to everything.  He gave us the location of the hotel and the hotel room.  We need to see if the body has been discovered.”

Niles curled his lip and let go of Jonathan.  We started to walk and Niles called out to us one last time.

“That’s one hell of a father you have there... I’m sure I’ll be in touch,

Jonathan growled under his breath but he didn’t stop.  I slipped my hand into his and we walked into the living room area.  In the back corner was a secret door leading to the upstairs of the real cottage.  Why Jonathan hadn’t just taken that to get to the cottage before I didn’t know.  There were too many unanswered questions floating around but I was suddenly too tired to care.

We rushed through the cottage.  Outside, there was a small collection of vehicles.  Authority vehicles, unmarked, undercover vehicles.  The frigid air pounded at my lungs and at my still damp hair.  I felt weak and tired, and my emotions were starting to run high.

Just as I was about to ask where we were going, a set of headlights turned on.

Our car.

I looked at Jonathan and he looked at me.

“I’ll always protect you, Isabella Grace.  Just trust me...”



It was the same driver who took us to the private jet.  The man with the writing on his knuckles.  The man with the huge muscles, the big head, and mean look.  But I was relieved to see him.  In the protection of Jonathan Black and this man’s driving ability and loyalty to Jonathan, we were putting the night behind us with each second that went by.

In the backseat of the car, the tension seemed to lessen.  Jonathan put his arm around me, puling me close to him.  I welcomed it, needing it.  My body - and mind - had been through so much, it was hard to grasp.  Sexually, I felt more free than I had ever been in my life.  Being handcuffed to the bed wasn’t as much of a punishment as it was a liberating experience.  I really did want more from Jonathan, and maybe in time I’d get it.

As my head nestled against his warm chest, I closed my eyes and inhaled him.  It was a wonderful smell, much better than the stench of his father’s coat that still rested on my shoulders.  I thought about taking the jacket off but before I could come up with an answer, I fell asleep.

I had a dream but the details were fuzzy.  All I could remember was seeing silhouettes of everyone.  From Jonathan to his father.  To Peter Cresh.  To the driver with the knuckle tattoos.  To the detectives - Harper and Niles - and even Oliver Rush. 

When I opened my eyes, it could have been a minute or a day.  But I felt relieved, the dream was a way of letting go.  Jonathan had started this with all his commanding obsession to enjoy me.  Circumstances tried to step in the way, but he defeated them.  And the best part was that I had the ability to get him his three billion dollars back.  My obsession with Jonathan was as strong as his with me. I would choose the right moment to tell him I had his three billion.

BOOK: His Urge
7.98Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

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