The Virgin and the Beast (Stud Ranch 1)

“I want to hear the words.” My voice was harsh but I didn’t care. There was no way I could go through whatever the next year would hold without knowing he would be safe.

“I swear I won’t hurt myself. But, baby,” he looked at me with anguish. “You swear that you’ll be safe, too?”

I nodded. “I swear, Dad. We’ll get through this. It’s all going to be fine.”

Just then there was a knock on the outer bedroom door. “I hate to interrupt,” came Mr. Owen’s voice, sounding anything but sorry, “but we are working under certain time constraints. If we could move things along?”

“I don’t like this,” Dad said, his head shaking. “If something seems too good to be true, it usually is.”

I plastered on my brightest smile. “Everything’s going to be fine. It’s just a job, Dad. Trust me.”

I took his hand and pulled him through the bedroom to his closet. “Get your shoes and let’s go.”

He did, reluctantly, and we went.

Yeah, so that saying Dad mentioned about everything seeming too good to be true? I’ve always known my father to be a very smart man—apart from the whole Ponzi scheme and getting involved with crimi

nals thing.

Because the second Dad and I stepped into the black van Mr. Owens directed us to, two huge, burly men cuffed our hands behind our backs and shoved black bags over our heads.

They must have injected Dad with something because he stopped shouting almost immediately.

I freaked out, thinking they killed him, that the ‘client’ was actually the people who wanted Dad dead after all. But Mr. Owens calmly informed me, maybe from the front seat, “He’s just taking a little nap but will feel right as rain once he gets to his destination.”

“Wait, so you don’t want him dead?” I asked in a confused panic.

“Of course not.” Mr. Owens sounded perplexed. “We signed a contract, did we not? As long as you live up to your end of the bargain, your father will be perfectly fine.”

Said as I was shoved in the back seat and one of the muscled henchmen sat beside me.

“The client doesn’t want anything in your system,” Mr. Owens continued in his calm voice as if none of this was out of the ordinary. “He’s very wary of anything that might harm a potential fetus. Even though I informed him that was perfectly absurd and it was highly unlikely at such an early stage of development. Still,” Mr. Owens sighed. “He was adamant. Well, this is where I leave you. Pleasure making your acquaintance.”

And then I heard the sound of a car door opening and closing.

Fucking lunatic. I started screaming my head off and flailing every body part possible.

That lasted as long as it took for the muscle beside me to lift my hood and shove a gag in my mouth. Then he reached down and tied my ankles together.

I spent the hour-long ride in the van and then an even longer ride in what sounded like a small jet tied up like a stuck pig.

And now that the bag is finally off my head and my legs are untied, I find myself out in the middle of…

God, am I still even in the States? I blink and look around at the endless rolling grassy hills, mountains out in the far, far distance. It could be one of the… western states? I don’t fucking know, I’m a city girl for God’s sake. But those are definitely cows on the hills in the distance.

Fucking. Cows.

Where the hell am I?

I take one last desperate look around for any other sign of life and the phrase no one to hear you scream echoes in my head.

Two of the brutes who got off the plane with me drag me up the few wooden stairs to the doorway of the giant western-style lodge. The large three-story building stands starkly against the otherwise bleak landscape. There might have once been a façade with a sign over the door but it looks like it was torn down a long time ago. Now the wood over the door is just grayish and weather-worn.

The two men push it open and yank me inside.

“Dad!” I still call out uselessly, trying to look over my shoulder. I stop fighting the men carrying me but neither am I going to help them. I go limp, refusing to walk forward. The men on both sides keep me upright, dragging me through the entryway. Unlike my polished marble foyer in Manhattan, the interior of this place is wood, wood, and more wood. The walls are styled to look like it’s a log cabin.

I’ve been kidnapped by Paul fucking Bunyan.