Taken - A Gangster Stepbrother Romance (2 page)

Chapter Two

              7:58

              7:59

              Emma sat on the floor by her dining/office/coffee table, her eyes zeroed in on the small folded flip phone.

              It was Thursday night and all throughout the day, her stomach had been in coils thinking of this moment. She rubbed her palms against the edge of the table, feeling nervous and nauseous.

              8:00

              Immediately, the phone rang.

              Emma jumped, despite having expected the call. She had half-hoped that the call would never come and that the note could be dismissed as some odd hoax gone wrong.

              But the phone had rung.

              Emma lunged for it and almost flipped it open to answer when she remembered the note’s instructions:
Pick up after the third ring.

              With sweating hands, she waited. Before the third ring could completely finish though, she flipped the phone open and answered. “Hello?” Her voice was husky with her nervousness. Clearing her throat, she said again, “Hello?”

              There was a quick beat.

              Then a voice that sounded like the rumble of thunder or the crash of heavy waves echoed through the phone, “Emma.”

              Hearing her name said by such a voice made her skin from nape to butt shiver and prickle in just
awareness.
His voice intimated a sense of intimacy and familiarity that made Emma feel a burst of heat and shyness that was unexpected and surprising.

              “Y-Yes?” she whispered, feeling completely off balance.

              “Emma,” the voice said again, “what if I were to tell you that your entire life has been a lie?”

              Emma swallowed. She felt like she was falling deeper and deeper into some kind of rabbit hole. “What?”

              “Your life, your history, even your very own family was a lie. What would you think of that?”

              “I…” Emma felt her voice crack and tried to strengthen her resolve against this crazy suggestion. “I’d say that I don’t know you and you don’t know me.”

              There was a small huff of a laugh. “Oh but I do know you, Emma Harper, aged twenty four, 5’6, brunette, brown eyed, adopted daughter of Doug and Ethel Grant. I
do
know you, Emma Harper, resident of 1325 Virginia Ave, apartment 1012, sitting in front of her coffee table.”

              Emma’s mouth opened and shut like a dying goldfish. She whipped her head around the apartment, half expecting to see a man standing in the corner with a phone in his hand. But of course, there was no one.

An icy trickle ran down her spine. Who
was
this man? How did he know all this? And more importantly….

              “What do you want?” Emma asked breathlessly.

              “I want you to know the truth,” the man said. “It’s time you knew your history, your family.”

              That word zinged through her body like an electric shock.

             
Family.

              But she had no family. She was an orphan.

              Wasn’t she?

              “Emma,” the man said, “It’s time to come home.”

***

             
I should’ve called the police.

              As Emma stood on the corner of 126
th
and Mona Blvd, she realized she could’ve notified the police about the note and the call. But just as quickly, she realized maybe it was better she hadn’t.

              The De Marco Clan’s power knew no bounds and many of the law enforcement agencies from ICE to LAPD were in their pockets. These days, the police were usually more of a hindrance than a help.

              But as she stood on the corner, wrapping a jacket around herself even though it wasn’t the weather that made her feel cold, Emma wished she had done
something
rather than just following the mysterious orders.

              Before the man had gotten off the phone yesterday, he had given her an address and told her that if she wanted to find out the truth, she would be there at 8 PM the next night.

              Checking her phone, her
real
phone, she saw the bright numbers glow back at her, “7:56.”

              There was no one here on the corner yet. It wasn’t safe at night for people, especially women, to be standing like this in the open. Only a few minutes ago, Emma had heard the echoing cracks of gunshots a few streets down, followed shortly by the whine of sirens.

Maybe this was a blessing in disguise? She could just turn back around and head home. After all, this mysterious man had given her almost no chance to process everything he had said. She was still reeling from their phone call yesterday.

But as she mentally debated what to do, a sleek black sedan smoothly pulled up against the street. Emma froze.

A large man exited from the back seat. By instinct, Emma checked to see if the windows were rolled down for guns. Drive bys were all too common in this part of the city.

Wearing all black with a black blazer, the man was beefy and wide with a stocky neck and a bald head. “Emma Harper?” he asked, his voice rough and gravelly. He was definitely not the man from the call last night.

“Who are you?” Emma asked, taking a step back in preparation to flee. This just felt too real. What was happening? How had she fallen so deep into the rabbit hole? Why had she picked up that call?

The man nodded as if confirming something. “Get in the car,” he said, moving away from the door for her.

Emma remained frozen in place.

“Get
in
,” the man said again, his voice edged with impatience.

Without another word, Emma turned on her heels and ran. This was exactly how women were kidnapped and then murdered. She had no idea who had sent her that note or who had made that call but either way, she was no fool. This had danger written all over it.

But Emma had only managed to get a few feet before arms thick as tree trunks closed around her middle, trapping her arms against her sides.

Emma kicked and squirmed, landing a good hit against the man’s shin. “Fuck!” she heard him grunt.

Knowing that in her neighborhood, screaming could sometimes invite more trouble than help, Emma took the risk and opened her mouth but before she could even take in a breath, a damp cloth was pressed hard over her mouth and nose.

Emma’s eyes widened in shock as she squirmed and fought the man’s ironclad hold. She wriggled and kicked. And she inhaled.

Losing her breath from struggling so much, she breathed faster, inhaling the fumes of the damp cloth. A thick haze began to quickly creep in upon her. Her limbs felt heavy and awkward. Her muscles felt like they were made of pudding.

As if from a faraway world, she felt the man carry her to the car and push her in. Her eyelids felt like they were made of steel beams. As she slowly let the fog carry her away, she wondered if anyone had seen her, if anyone had witnessed her kidnapping.

And if anyone had seen, she wondered if anyone had cared.

But she knew the answer. With a detached feeling of aching loneliness, Emma let herself drown in the heavy fog of drug-induced sleep.

Chapter Three

              A soft ringing called out to her, cutting through the darkness and haze.

              Emma moaned a little, still feeling the heaviness of her arms and legs weigh her down. The muffled ringing continued, as if coming from a faraway room.

              She hoped she had woken up early enough to catch the bus for school. Or wait, was it clinic day today? She couldn’t remember. Feeling as though she were lifting an arm made of redwood tree trunks, she reached for her phone to check the time. But as her arm swung up, it brushed against something smooth and silky.

              Emma’s arm froze, midair. With her eyes still closed and her brain still slow, she remembered her bedroom quilt. It was a gray and white checkered cotton quilt that had needed its edges to be resewn more than a handful of times. Her sheets were a matching gray cotton that had been purchased when she had started college. They were nearly threadbare now.

              In short, nothing in her room should feel silky and smooth.

              With aching slowness, Emma squinted open her eyes. Instead of the peeling walls of her studio apartment, she saw a clean white wall with an elegant matching white chair rail trim across the middle.

              This…this wasn’t her room.

              Where was she?

              As she tried to get her vision to focus, Emma thought back to what she remembered last.

              She had gone to clinic. Seen her patients. She had stayed late to finish some extra work. She had gone home. Checked her mail—

              Her mail!

              The package. The phone. The note.

              It all came screaming back to her. Remembering the black sedan and the burly man who had kidnapped her, Emma forced herself to sit up.

              Though her movements were still a little sluggish, she managed to pull herself upright. Sitting up, she looked around her surroundings, convinced she would find herself in the middle of an unknown room filled with kidnappers and gang members bent on raping and murdering her.

              But instead what she saw made her jaw drop.

              She found herself in what looked like the most luxurious hotel room she had ever been in. The walls were painted a warm white with crown molding and trim. The room was spacious with high ceilings. A large crystal chandelier hung high above her, glittering and sparkling in all its glory.

              A silk covered loveseat and armchair were at the far end of the room with a delicate table between them. Off to her right was a large vanity complete with lights and a velvety soft stool. A satin covered chaise bench stood at the foot of the bed.

              The bed!

              Looking down, Emma realized she was sitting in a soft pile of white covers and sheets that were thick and downy soft. Judging by its size, it had to be a king size mattress. Having slept on a twin bed all her life, Emma was sure she could roll around on this bed till next Tuesday.

              But she didn’t want to roll around till next Tuesday when she wasn’t even sure where she was. Or even what day it was! This definitely wasn’t what she had expected to wake up to but it was nonetheless an unfamiliar environment.

              Feeling her coordination return to her with every passing minute, she pulled the heavy covers off of her and scooted off the luxurious bed. With a soft thump, she landed on the thick white carpet below. Unable to help herself, Emma wiggled her toes, feeling the softness tickle her feet.

              Taking in a deep breath, she headed towards the large door on the left that looked like the door out. Feeling steadier, she pulled the handle and walked out.

              But instead of the hotel hallway, she bumped straight into a broad back. She cried out in surprise as she fell back a few steps, rubbing her nose from smacking it straight into a hard back.

              “What the hell—!” a man grunted.

              The back turned around and Emma saw that it was attached to a man with a long face and a broad nose. He didn’t look like the man from the sedan although her memories were hazy of that night.

              The man studied her silently before raising his wrist to his mouth. “The acquisition is awake,” he said quietly into his wrist. “Repeat, acquisition is awake.”

              Emma stared at him. Acquisition? Who?
Her?

              “Where—”

              But before she could finish, the man put up a finger as he listened to his earpiece intently. Nodding at whatever was said, he grabbed Emma by her upper arm and pulled her out of the room.

              “Hey!” she cried out trying to jerk herself free. “Let me go! Where am I? Where are we going?”

              As the man silently pulled her down the hallway, Emma noticed they weren’t inside a hotel. It was instead some kind of opulent mansion. The ceilings rose and domed above her. The wide hallways were lined in an ashy gray hardwood that looked expensive and modern.

              The man eventually led her down a grand staircase that had wrought iron rails on either side.

              “Where am I?” she asked again, still futilely fighting against the man’s strong grip. “Where are you taking me?”

              “Office,” the man finally answered in a curt voice.

              “Office?” Emma echoed as she was dragged across the huge first floor foyer. She was led down another wide hallway.

              The man stopped at the first door to his right. He gave two respectful knocks then waited.

              “Come in,” a voice said from behind the door.

              Emma gulped. No one had answered where she was yet. And she had no idea who the man that had been dragging her was. Just like she hadn’t known the man from the sedan. And just like she hadn’t known the man on the phone. What was going on? How much further would she have to fall down this rabbit hole?

              But before she could gather her bearings, the man opened the door and pushed her in without following. Emma stumbled a bit, almost tripping over her own feet. She heard the door close behind her.

              Inside was the kind of home office old movies used to show. Huge windows graced the far side of the room, outlined in heavy curtains. Looking out, Emma only saw a manicured lawn and well trimmed trees, nothing to give her an idea of her location. The walls were a dark brown that gave it a richer, more masculine vibe. The wall in front of her was completely lined with bookshelves chock full of books. In front of the books was a grand desk made of a gleaming wood that Emma was sure was expensive and rare. She could probably lay along the length of the desk with a few inches to spare.

              And behind the desk stood a man.

              Emma watched his silvery gray eyes take in every inch of her. Although she was wearing the same clothes she had been on the night of her kidnapping, she felt naked and exposed under his gaze. Because it wasn’t just the keenness of his eyes or the focus of his gaze—it was the power of it.

              The man simply exuded power. Well over six feet tall, he wore a dark suit with a crisp black shirt, a few buttons casually undone. His black hair was cropped and neat and his clothes impeccably tailored.

              He
looked
like a wealthy businessman but the
feeling
he gave off was altogether different. The cut of his jaw, the broadness of his shoulders, the width of his clearly muscular body all spoke of a brutal kind of strength. Emma could tell he held his power in check and was in complete control of the aura he gave off.

              With one hand, he rubbed his cheeks, his wide blunt fingers scraping against his rough stubble. He then gave a quick nod as if accepting a job or a responsibility. Walking around the enormous desk, he leaned his hip against it and faced Emma directly.

              “Who are you?” Emma whispered, completely taken by his powerful presence. He made her body tighten in fear, awareness, and something else. Something unnameable.

              The man gave her a smile that never touched his eyes. It was a perfunctory movement he made with the muscles of his mouth, nothing more.

              “Hello, Emma,” he said. She immediately recognized that voice. She could hear the clap of thunder and the crash of waves in it. It was
him.
“I’m glad we can finally meet.”

              He waited a beat, seeming to expect Emma to say something. When she said nothing, he just nodded and said, “Since I know your name, I’m sure you’re curious about mine.” With a gaze that was piercing and completely focused, he said, “My name is Antonio Del Marco.” He made a small gesture with his hand, motioning towards the room in general.

              “Welcome to my home.”

              Emma swallowed.
Oh god.