Holding Fast

By Billi Jean

Sara Stevens left her dreams behind long ago, but with William Bryson she can't stop wondering if they really can come true.

Will knew when he first met Sara Stevens that she was a temptation. He wasn't prepared for her, not six months ago in Wyoming, and certainly not now with the wild storm of the Sentinel drug still thrumming through him.

But life wasn't going to allow him the luxury of time. Not when Sara's threatened by Ashton Potter.

If Sara had learned one thing, it was that dreams were meant for fools. Life was raw and terrible. William Bryson was every girl's dream, which meant he wasn't to be trusted. But faced with an insane serial killer wanting to make her his next kill, she has no option but to let William close.

Only when she does, her fear switches from the evilness of the man chasing her, to the sexiness of the hero who held her close. He might protect her, but who will protect her heart from him?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Totally Bound Publishing
• Release date: May 23, 2017
• ISBN: 9781786511584

Billi Jean

Billi Jean was born in California but didn't stay put for long. She's lived in New York, Indiana, Missouri, Arizona, Colorado, Florida, Massachusetts and Vermont. She's lived in and worked from ranches to beach-side coffee shops to the woods in western Massachusetts. Now living and working in China, she continues to write for Totally Bound Publishing. Billi Jean has been writing since high school when she couldn't wait for Robert Jordon to write his Wheel of Time series faster. As an adult, she still finds herself drawn to fantasy-adventure stories, but with an erotic romance flair. Her books are extremely hot, with a focus on strong characters that are shoved into fast-paced adventures. Her unique style of incredible journeys infused with hot passion leave her fans hoping for more.

Book preview

Page

Holding Fast

ISBN # 978-1-78651-158-4

©Copyright Billi Jean 2017

Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright April 2017

Edited by Sue Meadows

Totally Bound 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, Totally Bound Publishing.

Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorized 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 2017 by Totally Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, UK

Totally Bound Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.

Warning:

This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Totally Burning and a Sexometer of 1.

Love’s Command

HOLDING FAST

Billi Jean

Book seven in the Love’s Command series

Sara Stevens left her dreams behind long ago, but with William Bryson she can’t stop wondering if they really can come true.

Will knew when he first met Sara Stevens that she was a temptation. He wasn’t prepared for her, not six months ago in Wyoming, and certainly not now with the wild storm of the Sentinel drug still thrumming through him.

But life wasn’t going to allow him the luxury of time. Not when Sara’s threatened by Ashton Potter.

If Sara had learned one thing, it was that dreams were meant for fools. Life was raw and terrible. William Bryson was every girl’s dream, which meant he wasn’t to be trusted. But faced with an insane serial killer wanting to make her his next kill, she has no option but to let William close.

Only when she does, her fear switches from the evilness of the man chasing her, to the sexiness of the hero who held her close. He might protect her, but who will protect her heart from him?

Dedication

For my fans—I hope this one is worth the wait!

Trademarks Acknowledgement

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

Applebee’s: Applebee’s International Inc.

Swiss Army backpack: Victorinox AG

Skype: Microsoft Corporation

Wal-Mart: Wal-Mart Stores, Inc.

Honda: Honda Motor Co., Ltd.

Stetson: John B. Stetson Company

KFC: Yum! Brands

Waffle House: Waffle House, Inc.

The Nutcracker: Marius Petipa, Lev Ivanov, Pyotr Ilyich Tchaicovsky

Oscars: Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences

Gap: Gap, Inc.

Ford: The Ford Motor Company

Dr. Pepper: Dr Pepper Snapple Group

Squirt: Dr Pepper Snapple Group

Mary Had a Little Lamb: Sarah Josepha Hale

Sauer: Sauer & Sohn

Budweiser: Anheuser Busch

Seven Eleven: Seven Eleven Japan Co., Ltd.

Mobil: ExxonMobil

Playboy: Playboy Enterprises

Sprite: The Coca-Cola Company

Chapter One

Sara stared down at the piece of paper in her hands. The insignificance was astonishing when she considered how hard she’d worked for it. What struck her wasn’t that all her studies were over, or that she could now follow her dream of working with English language learners, it was that the registrar’s certified letter wasn’t even printed on high-quality paper. It was more like a receipt she’d get at some dry cleaners than proof that the last four years of attending classes, finishing assignments, passing exams, while holding two jobs, meant anything.

I’m done. It doesn’t matter what it looks like. I’m a college graduate.

The graduation ceremony would have made more of an impact than the letter she held, but she’d been…unavailable.

Memories of those frightening days tried to swarm her. Sweat dampened her palms, so she straightened her shoulders and smiled at the student behind the registrar’s counter.

Not thinking about that time.

Thanks, this is great. She tried for a bright smile, but her lips were so numb she wasn’t sure if she’d pulled it off.

The girl smiled back, though. She probably meant it, too. It must be amazing to be done. She leaned on the counter. "I have two more years. It seems like forever."

Enjoy it. This place rocks. A safe place. If I hadn’t left here, I never would have gone to Wyoming, never would have taken a drug that changed everything. I wish I had two more years, she added.

The big bad world, huh? Yeah, I guess going to school isn’t so hard, right?

Hard doesn’t even begin to describe it. Sara kept her thoughts to herself as she folded the paper carefully and tucked it away in her backpack. Right. Now to go sell back my books, huh? Got to pay for this thing somehow. She waved the piece of paper and plastered on a smile again.

Stepping through the double doors and into the sunlight, she tried to slow her pounding pulse rate. The jitters had her in a stranglehold, but she’d been warned it wouldn’t be easy getting back to life after Wyoming. Sara held the breath and counted to seven, then released it slowly counting to three, then repeated it until she could see past the shimmering brightness that often came with the nerves. The freakiest part of her mini-panic attacks was that they could be triggered by anything. It was never the same thing. She’d suddenly feel a sharp jab in her chest followed by the explosion of adrenaline. Her therapist, Cheryl, had taught her the breathing exercise. It seemed to do the trick.

Cheryl suggested stability would slowly put the past behind her. Getting a teaching job would help. When Sara found work and made money, paid for her apartment, and had what she needed, the events in Wyoming would slowly fade.

First, she needed stability, and to achieve that, she had to close the door on a few other things.

A shout in the distance caught her attention. A couple of college girls were taking the old wooden bridge that spanned the falls. They seemed oddly out of place. The campus was quiet, deserted in a way that made the laughing, playfulness of the girls stand out. Maybe everyone was in class, or it was that time of day to study and grab a coffee. Whatever the reason, Sara was thankful. She didn’t want to run into anyone who might’ve kept her there answering too many questions.

When will I stand here again?

Not for a long time. Now, leaving, everything seemed so sharp and clear. The old brownstones were majestic. The enormous trees on either side provided comforting shade on hot summer days. She’d spent endless hours under them, studying for exams or reading. Everything, even the classrooms she’d spent so much time in along her left, held a special, safe spot in her heart. For the past four and a half years, all her focus had been on finishing her degree so she could begin a real life. Now that she held the paper to prove she’d managed it, an unexpected sadness struck her. The choked-up feeling tightened her throat, catching her by surprise as the beautiful scenery of the campus blurred.

Crazy, she muttered, brushing tears off her cheeks. I should be happy, not sad.

No more classes, no more tutoring students in English after school and dancing all night, only to repeat the same thing the next day. Her beloved Swiss Army backpack held not only her degree but a brand-new teaching license.

I can start building a normal life. I can have a family. One of those families I always see through the windows, sitting at their table, eating a meal together.

A husband, children, a dog, maybe a cat, a house with a yard and summer vacations with their kids arguing while she and her husband wondered why they’d ever left the driveway.

Smiling at the silly dream, she tossed her hair out of her eyes and started walking. Before she could get on with her new life, she had to end the old one.

It shouldn’t be too hard. Leaving things behind—or being left behind—was her specialty. She’d once dreamed of being a skater, like her friend, Paris. But that had proved impossible. Her mom had wanted her to have something different—so she’d taken Sara’s skates away and given her ballet slippers instead. But when Sara had hit her teenage years, she’d quit ballet and joined a contemporary dance company. Her mom had been horrified. But what about her hadn’t dismayed her prim and proper mom?

All those miserable memories clouded her thoughts as she walked across campus. She wondered what her mom would think of her now, but not enough to pick up a phone and call home. More likely than not, being a teacher, something so mundane, wouldn’t impress her any more than how much money she’d made dancing.

It didn’t matter. Trying to please her unhappy mother had fallen to the wayside years ago. They didn’t speak, and when they did, it was usually because someone had asked about her and her mom felt guilty not being able to answer even the most basic question.

Thinking about those times brought back memories of pain when she knew she should be focusing on the future. When she did that, and worked at her dreams, anything was possible. At least she hoped it was.

Now a job as a teacher was her goal, and dance would fade away like skating had. The ice still called like an ache in her chest, until it grew impossible to ignore. Then she would lace up and spin in the frigid air until she couldn’t breathe, but her heart felt right again each time. Now she had something else that did that—working with kids who didn’t speak English.

But skating had turned her from a shy, insecure child to a person with confidence. Dance had taught her what a woman could do with her body. Both had given her the strength to understand that nothing she did would ever change her mother’s misery, nor live up to some standard set by her.

So let it go.

Taking another deep breath, she willed herself to send those memories back where they belonged. The future has to be better, because the past sucks.

Her favorite motto brought a smile to her face. Yeah, eyes forward, and remember what you want.

* * * *

One hour later Sara sat, more nervous than she’d thought she’d be, trying to explain to her soon-to-be ex-employer why she wouldn’t be dancing for him any longer. It had seemed so simple when she’d practiced what she’d say, easy even. But face to face with Mr. Davis and his penetrating questions and she felt as if she’d walked onto the ice wearing her slipper socks.

It’s not the dancing, Mr. Davis. It was harder to explain to him than she’d thought it would be. Maybe that’s because I barely understand the need to move on. It’s everything else.

Mr. Davis was the owner and operator of the burlesque club, Sweet Shady’s Smile. She’d worked there three years to help pay for the cost of her tuition. Mr. Davis had given her a job without even seeing her dance. She’d been out on the ice, headphones on, her music filling her with the happiness she only found there. Right after she’d taken her skates off, Mr. Davis had walked up and made her an offer. She’d handed in her Applebee’s apron the next day and tried on her first risqué costume.

I see. He rested his large, tan hands on his desktop. The room was elegant, like the club. Everything was decorated like a 1920s joint. But in here, the dark, highly polished mahogany furnishings were rich with tones of red that matched the floor-to-ceiling bookcases. The shelves were lined with old leather-bound books that she itched to touch, but didn’t dare. Still, the room was soothing to the senses, all except the man behind the enormous desk.

Mr. Davis.

He might wear elegant clothing, but he struck her as dangerous. It wasn’t merely his sharp eyes and narrow face with the line of white slashed along his chin and continued on to wrap around his neck—a scar that the girls here all talked about. It was…him. He oozed deadly dangerous.

Well, I can’t lie. I had hoped to change your mind.

She dropped her gaze, unable to tolerate the intensity in his light gray eyes. His hands caught her attention. They were so beat up, they were at odds with the elegant charcoal-gray thin turtleneck and black trousers he wore. His hands weren’t dirty—they were tough. His nails were cut short and orderly, but he couldn’t straighten one finger so it angled upward. His joints were big, the knuckles scarred with traces of white lines that also appeared like faint ridges of scar tissue on the backs of his hands.

Is it a customer? Or is it someone who works here—?

She startled, realizing she’d been staring. She lifted her attention to his face. His dark eyebrows were slashed downward, a clear indication he wasn’t pleased.

No, it’s nothing like that. Everyone is great, Mr. Davis, but… She shrugged and twisted the material of her shirtsleeves, unsure how much to say. After Wyoming, she’d taken an extended sick leave. Mr. Davis had given it to her himself—no questions asked.

But she couldn’t get into all that with him. She could barely talk to her therapist about it, and she wasn’t strictly honest with her, either. Cheryl had been willing to do Skype sessions, only because Sara had lied and told them she was still in Canada. So, yeah, no one knew that today was the first time since Wyoming she’d left her apartment. And there was no way she was explaining that to this man. He might wear sophistication as if he’d been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, but she knew danger when she saw it, and Mr. Davis was dangerous. He probably had no idea what it was like to be afraid, so scared he couldn’t leave his room for fear of what might be waiting outside the door.

It’s time to move on. New life. New job. New everything. Even me, I hope. I’ve changed.

Surprising her, Mr. Davis didn’t argue. She’d never spent much time with the man. He was too busy and more, too intense, for her to feel comfortable around. But he’d always been fair and he never hit on the girls—or allowed anyone else to, unless the girl was receptive to the attention. Over the past three years, she’d only spoken to him a handful of times. All had been over incidents in the club—fights mostly—that she’d witnessed.

You have changed. I worried that someone had caused you harm, perhaps you were attacked, Ms. Stevens. Since you didn’t come to me, it is clearly not my business. But whatever the case is, I fear someone has hurt you, am I correct?

She licked her lips, suddenly feeling that rushing need to vomit hit her again. There was no room to not answer him, so she avoided the question. I really want to teach, you know?

Mr. Davis didn’t answer for long enough that the room became uncomfortably silent. But since there wasn’t a chance she’d explain what had happened to her, she couldn’t say a word. The antique clock behind his desk ticked the seconds by. She even watched the narrow second hand move and could tell when the larger minute hand was tensing to click.

Ah, I see, well, I have a suggestion for you. One I hope you’ll take.

Okay.

Take a longer leave of absence. With your voice, and the way you dance, I’d offer you twice what you were making to stay on. But take some time, find a way to get through whatever happened to you this winter and move past it. Then give me a call on my private number. He handed her a crisp white business card with his cell number scrawled in bold lines on the back. If you need anything, anything at all, or you want to take my offer, call me, Ms. Stevens.

Mr. Davis stood, ultra-polite, and as always, soft spoken. She got to her feet as well, already pocketing his number and knowing she wasn’t going to need it. There were rumors about him, of course. Who didn’t gossip about the boss? But if only half the whispers about him were true, she wasn’t about to see if the interest in his light gray eyes went beyond her dancing on his stage.

Thank you.

Ms. Stevens, are you forgetting something? He held out an envelope with her last pay check in cash.

Oh, yes, sorry, I guess I’m more nervous than I thought. She’d asked for her last pay check in cash. He hadn’t asked why, and she was glad she didn’t have to explain. Starting over meant more than a new address—cash would help, especially now.

Take care of yourself, Ms. Stevens.

There’s no one else who can, now is there? The truth of the thought brought the clarity she needed to walk away from Mr. Davis’ offer of help.

Chapter Two

What do you mean she’s gone? Will Bryson almost knocked the files stacked on his desk to the floor. The paperwork was in jeopardy of toppling even without David Jansen’s announcement that Sara Stevens was missing,

He grabbed the top file too quickly and hit another pile with his elbow. He’d only gotten through one of the cases so far today. It was two in the afternoon. At the rate he was going, the other fifty weren’t getting checked through until next Christmas.

All that took a back seat because suddenly nothing mattered as much as Jansen’s response.

What do you think I’ve been trying to tell you for the past six months? She’s in trouble. She might be hurt more than we guessed. Duke’s drug was tough, you know? If she was given that shit, well, we’re worried.

Will knew that. He’d been troubled, too, but he’d tried to keep his mind off her as much as possible. He’d failed utterly. What makes you think she’s missing?

She hasn’t answered Paris’ calls in weeks.

She wasn’t missing—she wasn’t answering the phone. Women do that. Right? They get busy, like guys, and lose track of time. He tipped his chair back so he could stare at the ceiling.

We want you to go look her up and check on her, casual like. Act like you happen to be there, on a case. You must have something down there.

In Florida?

Yeah, Florida. And I might add, what a shock that you know where she lives. Jansen’s tone was filled with enough sarcasm that Will ditched denying he’d kept track of Sara’s whereabouts. The woman had a way of going off the radar that impressed him. But he’d found her, down in Florida, where she’d gotten her degree in education while working two jobs. One of those jobs had made the hair on the back of his neck shiver every time he’d thought about it. Sara dancing had to be a thing of beauty. Maybe not where she’d been doing it, but he couldn’t judge the woman for doing what she had to do to get her diploma.

How much longer can I wait, and hold back, before I end up down there?

There’s no way I can head down there. He rubbed his hand over his hair. Not yet. I need more time.

Jansen cussed. That’s not the answer I wanted, Bryson. I need you to go and get Paris some assurances that her best goddamn friend is safe.

The idea made him sick. So, you think the Duke drug had side effects that are still messing with her? He’d learned firsthand what DNA-altering drugs could do when he’d signed up for the Sentinel Program. He’d never taken Duke’s serum, but he knew that it was a copycat of the original Sentinel drug.

Yeah, we think so. Jansen lowered his voice. Will guessed Paris had no idea Jansen was making the call. He wondered at that, since she knew what he did, and what he could do, especially to help a friend. That, or something else is wrong, and that’s why we’re worried. Paris believes it’s something else.

Goosebumps skittered up his arms. He forgot the worry that Paris didn’t trust him with her friend. What are you talking about? What else?

We don’t know, man. Hold on a second. The sound of Jansen mumbling filled the line, but Will thought he’d put his hand over the phone. So, she was there, or had stepped in on the call. Why was Jansen hiding? This was her friend, if she wanted answers, it made sense to ask Will. He was all about answers now. Unless Paris had guessed he was interested in Sara and didn’t like the idea. He’d been sloppy the last time he’d been out with the couple, asking way too many questions.

He moved his mouse, waking his computer, and clicked to the screen to run Sara’s license. Nothing new came up. No new address, no new number, place of employment, nothing. He found a change of address, but the mail had been shipped back to Canada and he knew damn good and well she wasn’t there.

So, where are you? What are you running from?

Months ago, he’d caught her heading off the compound, away from Derek, a man working under Duke. He’d assumed Derek had slipped her a dose of the sex drug, she’d found out and dumped the sorry bastard on the spot. He’d been partially right. Derek had slipped her the drug, but she’d not given him hell for it—she’d run.

When he’d offered to give her a ride into town, she’d accepted, but had been nervous the entire ride. But she’d thanked him, smiled briefly then hopped out of the truck and raced up the steps of the hotel.

The next time he’d seen her had been a different story.

She’d been scared—and coming back to the compound right when the mission was unraveling around them. He’d herded her out of there as fast as he could. He’d worried about her then, but had been too caught up in being near her, too busying trying to tame his reaction to her, to ask why she’d returned or why she seemed frightened.

Now, regrets flooded him. Something had been wrong. Something had frightened her enough to end up back at Duke’s. She’d been searching for Paris and the car. She’d wanted to go back to Canada immediately. He’d ended that idea and driven her to a hotel a few towns over and left her there, secure in a room he paid for.

Safe.

Only she hadn’t stayed. Not even the one night.

Will, man? Are you there?

At Jansen’s growl, Will glanced around, realizing he’d been lost in thought while his buddy had been talking.

I’m here. He switched to another screen, but found no trace of her in Canada, either. You’re certain she’s still in Florida?

Well, that’s what the hell I need you for. Go find out. We need some answers, Will, and you are in the business of getting those, aren’t you?

Jansen, it’s not that easy, but let me do some checking, he added when Jansen started swearing again. He clicked on a secure link and typed in the coded password to gain entrance into some of the most advanced search engines in the world. Being ex-special forces had some benefits. Within a minute, he had her location, under a new name, and an employment address. He sat forward when he found a rent-to-own agreement with the different name on it. Frowning, he got satellite images of the location and studied it. She’s in Florida, under a new name.

Damn, that’s good news.

A red flag appeared in the window and the goosebumps returned to shiver up his arms and down his back. Shit.

Shit?

He opened the operation details after locating and finding who was running the show. Carson.

Bryson, the silences are pissing me—

She’s in trouble. Carson is set up down there. A team’s in place. Sweat blossomed on his forehead and his heart went crazy as if he had to jump out first in a combat situation. Fuck, man, they think Ashton Potter has her in his sights.

Silence, then cursing from Jansen. He read the rest of the report, quickly skimming it until Paris’ name came up under a section describing who they felt were possible targets.