Claimed

Chapter 1

ALEXIA GREEN.

I have seen enough loan sharks on my door looking for Rhett Kingston to know very well the men standing outside my door fall in the same caliber.

The last men who came looking for Rhett had been gracious to leave the minute I failed to answer the door. As my heart plucks against my ribcage harshly I can only hope that these new men are no different from the rest. Emphasis on the hope part.

I peep through my door hole looking at the douchebags who are pretty well-dressed for loan sharks.

The one on the front is stacking a black signature brand shirt coupled with black pants.

The sleeves of his black shirt are pulled back up his elbows to reveal veiny, muscular arms that would put even the holiest nun to her knees.

Douchebag number two has Armani slacks and a black t-shirt too.

He too is as handsome as the man in front of him, only difference is the one at the front carries more power that exudes past the door straight to my titties.

And that in itself is a bad freaking omen.

I pull away from the door making subtle steps back to the scrapheap I call my house.

“Rhett, we can hear you, man”, one of the men says.

Humor in his voice but full-on threat laced in between.

I want to scream that the man they are looking for left me nine months ago, but screaming equals them knowing I’m inside and I wouldn’t want them to know I exist.

These men…these loan sharks are as petty as they come. And they pretty much stick to that adage of ‘if we can’t find Rhett then his little woman will have to pay the debt’.

The little woman being referred to, being me. The woman who has no cent to her name or a hundred bucks in her purse let alone afford the rent to this place.

“You really want us to do this? We are losing patience here, man”, the same guy tsks.

I tiptoe to the wall separating my bedroom and the living room, scooting down to take the baseball bat that’s my only source of security.

“Freak this.”

The quiet baritone of another voice rings the air and I feel straight to my spine that I’m freaked.

It takes only seconds for my door to fling off its hinges, for the pieces of wood to fly in the air the way ash does after a fiery mbottomacre and when the dust and ramble settle down and my heart is beating like a metronome, two very angry figures stand in front of me.

Their presence is like a black hole sucking the warmth from my house and injecting their evil into it.

Douchebag number two, the one with the chocolate brown hair that’s slicked back, hard masculine features and tattoos peeking from his neck, sizes me up.

I gulp an invisible lump of saliva, holding my bat like it’s a rifle loaded with bullets.

“Rhett’s not here”, I say boldly. When on the contrary, I’m one step away from buckling underneath their stares and admitting defeat.

“Check the room behind her”, douche number one commands, I hold my ground blocking the door.

“I said…Rhett’s NOT HERE.”

The jerk smiles, rubbing his jaw like I’m the cutest thing he’s seen in a while.

The guy behind him…the boss, the one in charge looks around my home as if every minute in here is like subjecting himself to a dose of gonorrhea.

I mean my house isn’t much. The kitchen’s connected to the living room, the cherry blossom wallpaper is barely sticking to the wall and the floors. Well, they’ve seen better days.

“Look we don’t want trouble, sweetheart. We are here for Rhett.”

I eye the door that’s falling apart behind them then I stare at him with the nastiest glare I can summon.

“Says the guy who knocked down my door.”ConTEent bel0ngs to Nôv(e)lD/rama(.)Org .

“Rhett’s door. You were not supposed to be here.”

He tries to pacify me, failing disastrously at it.

“Not supposed to be here? Is that the excuse you are giving so that I won’t call 911 on you guys?”

Douchebag number two is about to fire some snarky statement when the boss, the one wearing a scowl bigger than the size of his head, pulls him back, steps all in my face and before I can whip my bat and hit him, has his huge tattooed right palm around my neck.

“Where’s Rhett?”

He thunders, squeezing the air out of me, lifting me off the ground like I’m some dead fish being sold in a deli.

My bat falls to the ground as air slowly and slowly escapes my body.

I have to hang on for dear life because someone needs me. Right behind this door, someone—

My lungs constrict, my eyes strain to look at the furious man who’s hellbent on killing me for Rhett.

All for Rhett. Everything about Rhett! I hate Rhett Kingston with every fiber of my being. I hate that my death will have something to do with him, I hate that because of him our—

“Volkov, she doesn’t know shit”, douchebag number two says behind us but that somehow encourages this Volkov to sink his hands in my neck riding me of precious oxygen.

I close my eyes feeling life ebb out of my body but just as I’m about to give up, a sharp cry resonates in the air and everyone stills.

I whimper, holding back my tears.

No. No. Please no.

The cries echo around the house again and the boss lets go of my neck.

I fall to the ground, nothing short of a coughing mess.

“Is that..?” Boss asks. He moves towards the door; I hold his leg like a vise grip.

“She has nothing…to do with this”, I mutter.

His eyes linger on me for a while before he shakes me off his foot opening the door and revealing a yellow room with a bbottominet next to my bed.

My baby girl’s cries engulf the room.

“Rhett has a baby?” it comes as a surprise to both of them.

The boss saunters into the room, his darkness, his height, his anger, his tattoos tainting everything good.

And when he reaches down where my daughter was sleeping taking her in his big arms, I snap.

“Let her go. Rhett owes you money, right? I’ll pay you. I’ll repay every cent just please…please don’t hurt her.”

My baby, Millie, has no clue who’s holding her. She stops crying holding onto the man’s thumb the way she does with mine.

The Boss doesn’t look at me when he says, “A million dollars”, he mutters, looking away from my daughter to me now, “Are you in a position to repay me a million dollars right now?”

A million dollars? I almost laugh. Rhett freaking Kingstone owes these douchebags a million dollars?

“No but I- “

“Then you are in no position to negotiate Mrs. Kingston”

My body tenses, his eyes are on me like lasers tracing my features, his muscle pops like he’s waiting for me to make a move or else…shit… they’ll hurt my baby, won’t they?

I mean they sort of look like the type who would do so. Hell, he was about to kill me seconds ago.

And yet with all that information inside my head, I offer myself on a silver platter HAVING NO OTHER CHOICE.

“I’ll work for you”

“I’m not in need of your…particular services Mrs. Kingston,” he says. I hate it every time his voice booms the words ‘Mrs. Kingston’. Because I’ve never been that in my entire life.

I hate the way he mocks me saying ‘particular services’ and I can read the unruly thoughts in his mind.

‘I wouldn’t freak a mother who delivered a few weeks ago.’

“I’m a nurse, I can maybe-“

The sentence is barely out of me when he says, “They are both coming with us.”

Oh yeah, I’m royally and elementally freaked.