Un-Kidnap Me: Billionaire Alpha Age Gap Romance (DOM for Hire Book 1) Read online

  Un-Kidnap Me

  DOM for Hire

  Hazel Parker

  Copyright 2021 by Hazel Parker - All rights reserved.

  In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher.

  All rights reserved.

  Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1: Scott

  Chapter 2: Kaylie

  Chapter 3: Scott

  Chapter 4: Kaylie

  Chapter 5: Scott

  Chapter 6: Kaylie

  Chapter 7: Scott

  Chapter 8: Kaylie

  Chapter 9: Scott

  Chapter 10: Kaylie

  Chapter 11: Scott

  Chapter 12: Kaylie

  Chapter 13: Scott

  Chapter 14: Kaylie

  Chapter 15: Scott

  Chapter 16: Kaylie

  Chapter 17: Scott

  Chapter 18: Kaylie

  Chapter 19: Scott

  Chapter 20: Kaylie

  Chapter 21: Scott

  Chapter 22: Kaylie

  Chapter 23: Scott

  Chapter 24: Kaylie

  Epilogue

  NEXT BOOK IN SERIES

  Chapter 1: Scott

  “I beg you, save my daughter.”

  Standing underneath some foliage at the far end of a gravel road, I examined my surroundings as I held the letter close to my body. Of the many properties I had across the globe, this was the best for private correspondence. If someone wanted to spy on me, Mother Nature would make it more difficult to reach me than anything I could spring.

  Still, there was a reason that I had this letter sent to an outpost in the UK first, then to a rural town in Washington, and then finally here.

  As far as clients like this woman knew, DOM, my agency, did not exist. Not on paper, not to the world, and not to prospective clients. To people like her, we were whispers in the air, sometimes felt, but rarely actually seen or heard.

  And the more that we could remain in the shadows, away from the eyes of the world, the better we could do our jobs—the better chance we had of rescuing this woman’s daughter.

  I looked at the trees.

  Nothing.

  I looked down the road, careful to keep my eyes peeled for anything in my peripheral vision.

  Nothing.

  I looked back to the house, trying to spot anything out of alignment from how I usually had.

  Nothing.

  The silent lake house in Maine, in a spot not even my associates knew of, was, for the moment, secure. Unfortunately, in this world, things were never what they seemed. I had numerous escape routes and rendezvous spots if I needed them.

  I tucked the letter into my jeans pocket, just to the side of my silenced pistol, and made my way back to my home. I locked the door behind me, clicked a button to draw all the blinds, lit a fire in the back of the living room, and held the letter close enough to the flames to be disposed of with a flick of the wrist, but not so close as to catch a stray ember by mistake.

  I did nothing by mistake. I hadn’t gotten this far in the world by being sloppy. If anything, age had made me more purposeful.

  I reached back into my pocket, pulled out the gun and letter, and held the pistol under the letter, ensuring no delay if I required its services.

  “My child, Kaylie Charleston, has been kidnapped while on vacation with her friends.”

  Charleston.

  Christ, it’s that family? You better have a fucking solid payment for trying to drag me into this shit. Last thing I need to do is appear on TV.

  “I don’t know how it happened or why anyone would want to do this, but I don’t know who else to turn to. I was told to contact you if I needed your help.”

  You don’t know why it happened? Maybe it’s because you’re all on every social media platform, flaunting your wealth and trying to get all your kids to be fucking media stars? Maybe it’s because you’re practically begging the assholes of the world to come and get theirs?

  “I will pay you ten million dollars for you to rescue her.”

  I tsked. It was as much indication as I would give that this woman officially had my interest. Ten million dollars had a way of making a lot of concerns go right out the fucking window.

  “I have attached a photo of her. She is twenty-five years old, blonde, blue eyes, and sweet as can be. Please help me. You are my only hope, DOM.”

  I looked at the photo. The girl—Katie, Kaylie, whatever her name was, it didn’t much matter—certainly looked damn fucking cute. Petite, blonde, spunky—the kind of gal who looked like she thought the world would bend to her will and give her whatever the fuck she wanted because her last name was Charleston. And given how most people treated the rich and famous, she probably had good reason to believe so.

  Little brat looked like she could learn a lesson or two. What I’d do to her in the privacy of my—

  Third rule, Scott. Third rule of DOM.

  I pursed my lips, grimaced, and nodded. I’d rescue the brat, get her to a safe spot, collect my pay, and forget her name—if I ever bothered to remember it in the first place.

  There was some concern that dealing with a person of this level of fame would get DOM exposed. That would violate rule one, which would probably lead to the violation of rule two down the line. But honestly, rescuing daughters of families with more money than they could keep in a bank was one of the easiest gigs in the business. Bust in, break some necks—or knock some assholes out, depending on who was behind it all—rescue girl, tell her to shut the hell up as you got her to safety, reunite her with someone, collect payment, disappear into the woods with a healthier bank account and into a world without internet or TV.

  The Charlestons could have all the fucking TV shows they wanted. I only knew of them because Liam, an associate of mine, had once cracked a joke about which families would pay the most to rescue their daughters. I couldn’t tell you what channel their show was on.

  I read the letter one last time, taking special note of Mother Charleston’s phone number at the bottom. Once I had it committed to memory, I flicked the letter into the fireplace, any evidence of our correspondence erased. I had the memory of an elephant, so I did not need a fucking letter that could compromise my existence for me to remember everything.

  Damn shame I had to burn the photo, though. Girl was smoking hot. But “luckily” for me, I would get to see her in person.

  Rule three, Scott.

  I went down to a secret basement behind one of the bookshelves in the house, found one of the various burner phones we had, dialed Mother Charleston’s phone number without hesitation, and went through a gate that led to a small beach. No one ever came to this beach, and even if someone accidentally stumbled onto it, they’d have to go through an awful lot of shit to reach me.

  “Hello? Who is this? What do you want?”

  Mother Charleston answered the phone in such hysterics, I wondered if she’d spoken to Daughter Charleston’s captives just before me.

  “This is Scott from DOM,” I said, my voice calm, cool, and even. “I received your letter.”

  “Scott!” she said, screaming.

  The screaming was not hyperbole. It seemed so over-the-top as to be scripted, almost fake. I seethed at the thought that she might be recording this for her TV show, but fortunately, I had an a
pp that distorted my voice, and the burner phone would never trace back to me.

  “Scott, oh, thank heavens, oh, thank God, I was so concerned—”

  “Let me go over some ground rules before we continue,” I said. To her, my voice probably sounded like James Earl Jones. To me, it sounded normal. But to both of us, it was firmly in control. “If you are recording this, if you make mention of my services to anyone, there will be dire consequences. No one is to know of this attempt, no one is to know of this job, and no one—not your parents, not your other kids, not any other loved ones—are to know of this. As far as you are concerned, this phone call never happened.”

  “I…hold on.”

  I waited somewhat impatiently as I heard Mother Charleston shouting some things in the background. I supposed even reality TV stars had a limit on how much they wanted cameras in their life. It was of some small solace that she cared more about her daughter than recording the rescue.

  Well, somewhat. She probably would have kept the cameras recording if I hadn’t said anything.

  “I agree to everything you said, Scott,” she said.

  “Good. Tell me everything that you know. Spare nothing here, but share nothing after we hang up.”

  I heard Mother Charleston take a deep breath. The woman probably hadn’t had someone boss her around like this in quite some time.

  That was the perks of not existing, not officially, at least. I didn’t give a flying fuck who someone was in the “real world” because I wasn’t a part of that. I could tell powerful people to fuck off and rich people to do as I said.

  “Kaylie went on vacation to the Cayman Islands about two weeks ago, and obviously, she never came home,” she said. “Near the end of the vacation, her friends woke up one morning and realized she wasn’t there. At first, they said they didn’t panic because they assumed she and her boyfriend had gone off somewhere. But that didn’t sit right with me; Kaylie’s a good girl, and she wouldn’t…”

  I started to tune out Mother Charleston and rolled my eyes at that notion. For as perky and hot as that young gal was? There was no fucking way she was a “good girl.” She might have given a fucking good time—one that, if not for rule three, I wouldn’t have minded enjoying—but the word that followed “good” was most certainly not “girl.”

  “But then her boyfriend came down after sleeping in late and started asking where Kaylie was. They were really stupid, Scott, they didn’t call the police for a full day—”

  “Stick to the facts, please,” I said.

  “But—”

  “Talk to your therapist on your own time. Give me the facts and nothing more.”

  I was pretty sure Mother Charleston would cuss me out before the end of the call. It wouldn’t be the first time. But everyone always stuck around.

  “The local police didn’t do anything, Scott. It was horrible. They kept saying she was rich and pretty; she’d probably gotten bored and gone somewhere else. We pushed them so that they started doing something of an investigation, but I didn’t have any faith they’d actually do anything. So, I…I put out a press release.”

  Overtly, I displayed no reaction to this.

  But inside, I wanted to knock some damn sense into this woman. The last thing you did when you found out a public figure had been kidnapped was put it on blast. That was a good way to give the captors all the leverage they needed to extract as much money as possible.

  And while I didn’t think he was the one behind all this—not yet, at least—anyone worth half a mind would know full well that ransom for someone famous would fetch a hell of a lot more than ransom for some relatively unknown hot girl. And nothing quite shouted, “She’s important!” like a fucking press release.

  “That same afternoon, I got a call from a robotic voice. It said they had Kaylie, and they wanted ten million for her return.”

  Mother Charleston started to sob. I held the phone a few inches from my ear. This could have been his work, but there wasn’t enough to go on yet.

  “When did the voice call come to you?”

  “Three days ago.”

  That was enough time that they could have taken her anywhere in the world. Most captors who wanted ransom and not something else—primarily to send someone into the sex trade—would not take the person far, because it would make handing off difficult. But still, it went without saying sooner was better.

  “And have the police given any other update since?”

  “They’re still skeptical. We haven’t heard back from the voice, so they doubt the legitimacy of the call. But I got the FBI involved.”

  “And did the caller say to not get anyone else involved?”

  The silence on the other end of the line was all I needed to know. On the one hand, such threats were often easily ignored—and thus, not surprisingly, disregarded accordingly. But someone who had the balls to capture a public figure of this magnitude and ask for eight figures’ worth of ransom was not someone who was to be taken lightly.

  That was probably why they hadn’t said a fucking word since the end of the first call. As soon as the FBI got involved and the captors found out, they knew they could play hardball. And more hardball meant a higher ransom figure.

  No wonder they fucking offered me $10 million to rescue little Kaylie. They probably feared having to pay an extra five or ten million dollars to their captors after reaching out to the FBI. And they would have been in the right to worry about it.

  “Scott, you’ve got to help me,” Mother Charleston said, her sobbing reaching a nearly hysterical level. “I don’t even know if my daughter is alive anymore. You are truly my only hope. I didn’t even know you existed before someone tipped me off to reach out to you, but…oh, fuck, Scott, please!”

  I let her have her moments wailing. Parents and clients like this just needed a moment to wail.

  “Will you do it? Will you rescue my daughter?”

  The question wasn’t hard. She might have been annoying as hell, and I could imagine her daughter being a pain in the ass, but there was a simple counterpoint. Ten million dollars went a long fucking way towards quelling a lot of concerns.

  “Yes.”

  Chapter 2: Kaylie

  I sat on the balcony of my Cayman Villa, sipping on a nice margarita as the sun set in the distance. It felt as if I had just spent the day tanning out on the beach, the whole time never moving more than five feet away from my boyfriend, Cameron.

  But at this moment, I wasn’t thinking about what I had done that day or what I would do that evening. I wasn’t thinking at all.

  Because Cameron’s thick hands rested on my scalp, giving me the most relaxing head massage I had ever had in my life. I mean, I’d paid some people to give me massages on this trip, and no one did it like my boy did.

  “Oh, fuck,” I murmured as his hands gently scratched from the crown of my head all the way back, tucking my hair behind my ear. “You know how much I fucking love it when you do it like that.”

  Cameron chuckled above me. He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around me, running his fingers across my arms, my chest, and down to my side. It was so evil the way he turned me on, I swore. He could start by putting his hand on my arm, as if to emphasize a point, and turn that into something sexual.

  And, oh, heavens, with the way our family’s house was set up with cameras everywhere, I had to make damn sure I found one of the hidden spots when he came over, because resisting Cameron just wasn’t something I was good at.

  Luckily, I wasn’t pining to be good at it.

  “You think that feels good,” he said as he ran his fingers around my belly button and beneath it, just inches above my bikini bottom. “Wait till you see what happens when I get those clothes off of you.”

  I was soaking wet, and it wasn’t because I’d spent time in the ocean. His hands continued to brush over my belly, and I swore I was seconds away from just twirling around, yanking his swimming trunks down, and sucking his cock off. It felt so nice not to be in
front of cameras, to have my own privacy with my friends, and I was feeling pretty damn frisky.

  But one of the parts of our sex life was enjoying teasing each other. Making the other wait. Seeing how long the other could hold out before finally giving in, succumbing to temptation and desire. And I was not at that point—yet.

  “Stand up.”

  “I’m sorry?” I said as Cameron pulled his hands back. “You’re going to tell me what to do?”

  “Damn right,” he said. “Stand up.”

  I thought about not doing that just to fuck with him. Unfortunately, he knew me well enough, and I knew him well enough to have an idea of what was about to happen.

  “You’re lucky—”

  I barely got the words out as he grabbed me by the ass once I got out of my patio chair. I let out a yip and tried to tell him that I was going to get back at him when we got to the bedroom, but Cameron’s ass-squeeze had the words caught in my throat.

  We stumbled toward the bed through the open doors, and he shoved me on top of the white comforter. I tried to sit up and reach down for his swimming trunks, but his body came forward, his lips pressed against mine, and I found myself more enthralled by his lips and tongue than anything I could not quite reach.

  He moved to my neck, biting hard. Whatever hickey I had here would heal by the time we got back, and even if it did not, I didn’t fucking care. Makeup could cover up an awful lot. He moved his hands under my bikini top, running his rough fingers over my breasts.

  “Cameron…” I said, his name barely comprehensible to my own ears, let alone to him.

  “You’re mine,” he said. “No one else can have you, Kaylie.”

  “Show me that you deserve to have me,” I growled back.

  Cameron paused, looked up at me as if to say, “You dare to question me?” and made his way down my belly and to my crotch. And…

  He raised up and went to my thighs.

  “Wrong spot, buddy!” I said.

  He shrugged. He ran his fingers around the strings of my bikini and untied them, tossing it to the side. With my pussy exposed to the warm air, it tingled and yearned for his cock or mouth.