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A charley horse crippled her, a fiery sting through her ass cheek, nearly putting Celia on her ass.
Breaths pummeled the air, creating bursts of fog in front of her face, as she leaned against the pine tree. Panting loud in her ears, she struggled to regulate her breathing. Celia’s legs burned from crouching beneath stumps, skidding down hills, climbing knolls, and running at breakneck speed. This curvy girl avoided exercise. Neither were her fashionable shoes built for escape. If the men chasing her didn’t kill her, this physical assault no doubt would.
Might be an easier death if I flung myself off a cliff.
She should’ve never met with the Feds and turned over her father’s cooked accounting books. New level of stupidity right there. As the kingpin of Tannehill Enterprises, Daniel Tannehill’s enemies outnumbered his friends, but not his firepower. And damn sure not his reach. She’d learned that lesson the hard way when the books went missing and she’d hit the top spot on his most wanted list.
I’m so screwed.
Despite him being her daddy, they didn’t have a tight relationship. After her mother’s murder, she’d lived the majority of her life in boarding schools. She’d caused drama at those institutions just to piss him off. Snuck out of her bedroom at night and fucked convicts at the all-boys juvenile detention a couple of miles away, making sure she got caught more than once.
Daniel hadn’t cared, but a Tannehill never gave up that easily. Undaunted, she’d stolen petty shit, but when that induced no response, she’d gravitated to grand theft auto, intentionally wrecking her classmate’s car. He’d paid off the family. She committed larceny then and spent a six-month stint in juvie. Her criminal activities amused him, and he’d called her a ‘chip off the old block’. His pride was worse than him ignoring her, so she’d executed a 360 change in behavior and graduated with honors. Graduation gave her real freedom.
Working as a bartender in Miami, Florida, she’d been anonymous and content having no rapport with him. Visits and phone calls were nonexistent, and he didn’t support her financially so she owed him nothing. Or so she’d thought until his goon showed up unannounced to bring her ‘home’. Home was not with Daniel.
She’d refused to go with his men, and they’d roofied her. Later she’d awaken, groggy, with a dry mouth, and in his jet landing at Opp’s airport. With her balance unsteady thanks to the fucking drugs, his hired thugs had bustled her off the plane, into a limo, and drove her ‘home’.
Her father’s right hand man, Rico, had greeted her like he was pleased to see her. Celia had barely kept from grabbing the Ming Vase off the hall table and smashing it over his head.
In the dining room, her parent and Carl Stewart dined. No one greeted her when she entered. Instead, her father had looked her dead in the eye and said, “Carl, please accept Celia, my beloved daughter”—Celia snorted at the ‘beloved daughter’ part because it was total bullshit—“as my gift to you as a token of my commitment to our business ventures.”
Carl had peered at her, his eyes lighting with dark pleasure.
Sputtering in outrage at her father’s audacity to hand her over like he would a car or necklace, she had all the proof she’d ever needed that her dad didn’t give a damn about her. And that he saw her as not his family, but his property. “You can’t give me away like that. You do not own me.”
“Mind your manners in the presence of your betters, girl.”
Like always, her temper had gotten the better of her, and she’d shot back, “If I was in the presence of anyone better than me, I would consider my manners. Since I’m not, you both can fuck off.”
Daniel’s jaw clenched. She knew that look; she’d seen it every time she pissed him off. Good. At least he knew she wouldn’t consent to his gifting, and neither would she go amicably without a fight. Spinning on her heels, she’d made a direct path for the door only to have Rico block her exit. He shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest.
Celia pivoted and scowled at her father. “Tell him to get out of my way.”
Her parent patted his mouth with a cloth napkin and leveled a cool stare on her, but what he said was directed at Carl, “Would you like me to deal with her or do you prefer to begin her training?”
The cruel twist to Carl’s mouth as he perused her figure made her skin crawl. Death would be a better fate than whatever he planned for her.
“Deal with me? Deal with me!” With any luck, that final screech would’ve been unattractive enough Carl would cut his losses and run in the opposite direction. “I’m twenty-six years old, and I’m the only person who owns me. Not you or this dickhead.”
“You’ll refer to me as master in the future.” Cold, dead eyes regarded her, and she rubbed her arms to eliminate the sudden dread prickling her skin.
“Don’t count your chickens, asshole.” Carl Stewart was a crazy bastard. A real psychopath. At fourteen she’d watched him beat a girl almost to death just for rejecting him. Carl had bought off the family and the law. No telling what he’d do to her if he thought he owned her.
So, no fucking way was she marrying the monster—if that was even the plan. Fucking her until he tired of her and then putting a bullet in her brain seemed more like his style.
“You’ll be fun to break, but you will break.”
They’d see about that, she cowed to no one, but her bravado wavered a little just the same. This was a game she should probably play smarter. Her sarcasm and outrage only earned her their disdain. “If you’re smart enough. Maybe I’ll break you instead.”
A smile crinkled the corners of his eyes, but they remained devoid of any real humor. Her new master appraised her as he sipped his wine. “Her hair will be the first thing to go. Not fond of the tattoos either. Only loose, trashy women have them.”
Celia snorted, but then again she enjoyed her sexuality. “Only uptight fucktards like you think that way.”
“She does have a nasty mouth on her.” Carl wrinkled his nose in displeasure. “I’d like to see how you deal with her, Daniel. That’ll give me some insight as to how to proceed with her future discipline.”
Her dad snapped his fingers, and his thug, Rico, clenched her shoulders, gouging his fingers into her flesh for the cruel enjoyment of inflicting pain. She went for his groin with her knee, but he managed to avoid the contact, and he smacked her. Not hard, but enough to remind her how he conducted business. Her belly quivered at the slight reminder of the pain he could exact. And had.
Rico forcibly shoved her into a chair, fisted her hair, and yanked her head back. Neck aching, she bit back her groan at the harsh angle, and glowered at him. She’d suffered many times at this man’s hands, always with her father’s permission, and most often at his command. Fear edged into her mind, even though she attempted to remain courageous, but she’d never won a match against her father.
There’s always a first time. This would be that time because she’d kill herself before she became Carl’s plaything.
Rico trailed his finger along the side of her face, from temple to jaw. She would’ve recoiled from his touch, but his hold on her hair remained too tight.
“You know how this goes, Miss Tannehill.” The excitement in Rico’s eyes begged her to challenge him so he had a reason to inflict harm on her. “You can submit now, or I’ll see that you hurt until you surrender.”
Celia gulped. Whenever Rico meted out punishment, she ached long after her surrender. Rico knew how to deliver the most pain with minimal visible proof of abuse. It took her no time to decide cowing now wouldn’t be such a tragedy. It’d give her time to plot an escape. She nodded, her stomach souring when she caught the smile on Carl’s mouth. This victory went to them.
“I don’t care what you do with her, but you’ll marry her.”
What did it matter if she married Carl? She was no virgin, and that wasn’t a secret. Sexual liberty could almost be considered her second life motto—her first motto being to stick it to her father—and she’d fucked half the—
Celia tripped over something and lost her balance, jerking forward on a clear trajectory to the hard earth. Arms cartwheeling, she somehow managed to catch herself on a tree. Ignoring the sting of scratched palms, she at least remained upright with her thoughts centered on the here and now instead of the past.
Gotta hide soon, before nightfall. She didn’t know her way around the area well enough to navigate it after dark. Not that she knew her way around during daylight either since she was lost three steps into the forest.
The advancement of dusk cast shadows about the timberland. She had been raised a city girl in a small southern town. All her former friends were citified and privileged. Pools had been their hangout, not local swimming holes in the forest. Sure, she’d heard of Blue Springs and Open Pond, but she’d stayed in town with her stuck-up, fake friends. Friends that refused to help her escape her parent’s current hit. A few had even tried to turn her over for the reward money.
Fuckers.
Thinking Daniel’s thugs wouldn’t follow her into Conecuh National Forest, she’d ventured within as a last resort. The joke was on her. Even wearing their high-priced, high-sheen loafers, his brutes had tracked her into what might as well be a jungle... or the rainforest.
With her heart in her throat, she struggled to catch her breath as she glanced over her shoulder. She spied no one, but she wouldn’t because the efficiency of her father’s men astounded even her. They were ghosts.
Celia pushed away from the tree and sprinted as fast as she could in fashionable boots. Breathless a few minutes later, she zigzagged through the underbrush until her chest hurt, her lungs ached, and her legs grew numb. Even her fingertips tingled.
Celia staggered to a halt when she spied a sign announcing...
Entering Blackclaw Matos Bear Territory.
A slightly smaller print below that read...
All trespassers will be eaten on sight.
The Blackclaw Matos werebear clan didn’t fuck around. A decade ago the clan had moved into LA—Lower Alabama, a corny joke in Southern-speak, one lost on Celia since it showed a level of redneck she wasn’t inclined to associate with.
Since the bears’ arrival to their area, Daniel had become obsessed with acquiring their land. In the beginning, he had plotted to run them off. The bears had dug their heels in—added claw marks to trees to mark their territory—and had scared off more than one poacher brave enough to venture onto their land.
The sound of crunching leaves behind her snatched her gaze about. She saw no one. Probably just a deer, a bunny, or some other creature scampering about the woods, but she fretted her potential killers advanced.
Definitely safer on werebear land. After the bears had dispensed a few of her father’s trespassers in pieces, he’d stopped sending men into their space. No one with any common sense encroached on bear acreage.
If they catch me, I’ll be dinner. Regardless of her choices, someone would want her dead. It came down to which was the lesser evil.
Celia took a deep breath and ran headlong into enemy territory.