OBTAINED (Book One) Read online

  OBTAINED

  Book One

  Shanora Williams

  © Shanora Williams, 2012-2013. This publication is protected under the US Copyright Act of 1976 and all other applicable international, federal, state and local laws, and all rights are reserved, including resale rights. You are not permitted to give or sale this book to anyone else. Any trademarks, product names, service marks, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. All rights are reserved.

  The names, events, and character depictions in this novel are not based on anyone or anything else, fictional or non-fictional

  Book Cover Design created by Stephanie White of Steph’s Cover Designs: Paranormal, Fantasy, Horror, & more

  http://www.facebook.com/StephsCoverDesign?fref=ts

  To my brother, Demontez, who is in Israel living his dreams. I love you.

  Table of Contents

  1. Mr. Hot

  2. Spy

  3. Not Like Me

  4. Not Alone

  5. Hidden Reasons

  6. Stare-down

  7. Memory Loss

  8. Post Date

  9. The Cross

  10. Familiarity

  11. Guardian

  12. Prey

  13. Jealousy

  14. Fallen

  15. Brunch

  16. Goodbye

  17. Protector

  18. Men’s Room

  19. Hellions

  20. Suicide

  21. Abducted

  22. Remembrance

  23. Unfolding

  24. The Law

  25. Beautiful

  26. Rich Scheme

  27. Runaway

  28. Nightmares

  29. Battle of Offers

  30. Snatched

  31. Least Suspected

  32. Death Plan

  33. Brotherly Battle

  34. Surprise

  35. Start Over

  MR. HOT

  There’s something different, yet awfully familiar about this guy—and I don’t mean that in a bad way. Around six every afternoon he’ll come in, sit in a corner table, and draw in that sketchbook of his. I’m not sure why anyone would want to come to this mundane coffee shop just to sketch or draw, but he does. Every single day. I take it that he just loves the warmth and the smell of roasted coffee beans. Every time that I spot him, his hand is always moving and he will never look anywhere else but the paper on his sketchbook. Even when Mindy (one of my co-workers at Think Coffee) asks for his order at the counter he never makes eye contact with her and he always asks for the same thing: a white-chocolate mocha with an extra shot of espresso and a coffee cake. Mindy thinks the guy is a creep but I find him intriguingly mysterious. But I’m sure that if it weren’t for his looks, I would consider him a freak, too. The guy is hot—and I mean really hot. His dark jeans fit against him perfectly. They aren’t too loose or too tight and they hang just below the waist. He wears a black leather jacket every day and as soon as he steps inside, he brushes the snowflakes off. And once he steps in, everything seems to pause for him—like he’s famous and has the spotlight, no matter what anyone is doing. I can tell that he isn’t a man of color because he only wears the neutrals.

  Now, about his looks. His black hair meets at the nape of his neck, super curly—bouncy curly—and is always pushed back. I find myself wishing that I could rake my fingers through his hair whenever a free tendril falls over his face. His hair always looks so healthy and clean and his facial hair is always neatly trimmed, especially the stubble above his lip and on his chin. Mindy thinks that he’s gay by the way he dresses and keeps up with himself but I know she only thinks that because he hasn’t hit on her. I have to admit that I am beginning to think the same thing. He shows no interest to Big-Boob Mindy who purposely wears shirts that are too tight and cut low in the front to reveal more cleavage. Mindy always has men drooling over her.

  “Alexandria, did you hear me?”

  I whirl around quickly, almost spilling the topless cup of coffee on myself. “Uh, no. I’m sorry. What did you need, Mr. Lee?”

  He rolls his eyes and smacks his teeth at the same time. I really can’t stand when he does that. It’s okay to be gay but to roll your eyes every five seconds is terribly annoying. “Don’t call me Mr. Lee, Alexandria. Call me Chris. You know I hate feeling old.”

  I purse my lips, fighting the urge to tell him that he is old. Chris is balding but tries to hang on to the few strands of hair that he has left on top of his head. He always has bags beneath his eyes and he’s always complaining about having crow’s feet and wrinkles. But one thing that I will give Chris is the fact that he can dress. He’s a swell man when it comes to the wardrobe. He wears the finest scarves and the best skinny blue jeans that I myself can’t even find, no matter how hard I try.

  “Sorry, Chris,” I say, forcing a smile while sitting the cup of coffee down.

  “Listen,” he breathes, ignoring my weird behavior. “I have to leave early tonight. I have an important business meeting early in the morning and it is a must that I get my beauty rest. Do you think you could close the shop for me tonight, please?” He bats his eyelashes but in my mind, he isn’t asking. He knows that I can’t say no to him—that I won’t say no to him. I sigh, tugging on my apron.

  “I guess more tips for me,” I murmur with a faint smile and shrug.

  “Great!” He reaches to cup his hands around both sides of my face. He side-kisses both cheeks and then grabs for his cup of coffee. “I will see you tomorrow then. The keys are in the desk in my office and don’t forget to turn all of the lights off.” I nod as I watch him tug his coat on and head for the front door of the shop. “Oh, and I forgot to mention that I love your pixie cut! It’s simple . . . but different. It fits you!” he calls then steps out without looking back.

  My cheeks warm up from his compliment. I run my fingers through my blonde hair then sigh as I turn to face the empty coffee shop. It’s 9:00 P.M on a Thursday night and no one is here except me, one young woman on the sofa, and—oh—Mr. Dark, Quiet, and Hot that always sits in the corner with his sketchbook. I make my way around the counter and begin to count the money in the register. We aren’t supposed to close until eleven but I’m getting the hell out of here. I hate to be alone at this coffee shop and on top of everything, I have to walk in order to catch the subway.

  ****

  It’s 10:48 P.M. and Mr. Hot is still here. The woman that was here left over an hour ago but he hasn’t budged since. I sigh, wiping the last table down before stealing a glance at him. I want to get his attention and let my eyes speak for me but he doesn’t bother to look up. Instead, he continues to sketch. He’s too focused and determined to finish his masterpiece—whatever it may be. Maybe he’s a serial killer and is plotting his attack on someone. Maybe that someone is me and he’s purposely waited for everyone to leave just so we could be alone. I shudder at the thought as I head for the front counter.

  Five minutes pass by and I’m ready to go. I really wish that Mindy was here. She can be annoying, but she’s really good at giving people the boot. But me, I’m far from it. I hate to be rude or make anyone feel rushed but he is on my time now. Doesn’t he have a home to go to? I take a deep breath as I glance at him again. He’s still drawing and his hand is still moving swiftly. I wait to see if he will blink but he doesn’t. I blink way before he even bothers to.

  Okay, Alexandria, work up your courage, I say to myself . . . but am I really that brave? Am I really that rude? I grab my Blackberry out of my apron to check the time. It’s now two minutes until eleven. That’s it. It’s really late. I head for his table casually, hoping that he looks up and realizes that it is late and that it is t
ime to go, but he doesn’t. I finally reach the table that is a few steps away from his and his pencil stops moving. He glances up slowly and I suppress a gasp as his dark-brown eyes twinkle and look me over. It’s as if he is intrigued but aggravated by my presence at the same time. His mouth twitches at the corner, as if he’s going to smile and say something polite, but he doesn’t. He just stares at me with his lips pressed and his head slightly tilted.

  “Hi,” I mumble, folding my fingers in front of me. My face burns like a furnace. I’m embarrassed and annoyed all in one. How in the hell can he make me feel that way? “Um, it’s really late. We close at eleven and I have to get out of here before the next subway comes . . .,” My fingers remain twisted as he looks away from me with a frustrated huff. He immediately shuts his sketchbook, tucks his three pencils that were lying on the table into his pocket, and then grabs for his black leather jacket. He rushes for the glass door without looking back and without even bothering to put his jacket on. He dashes past the few windows of the coffee shop, stalking the pavement with attitude before completely disappearing into the night.

  Wow. When Mindy said he was weird, she wasn’t lying. I had obviously done that all wrong. I didn’t mean to offend him at all but he was furious. Why was he so upset?

  I shake my head, finally finding the willpower to pick my dropped chin up, clear his table off, and march for my grey trench coat. I turn all of the lights off, set up the alarm, and then head for the subway as the cool air nips at my cheeks and the snow crunches beneath my boots.

  SPY

  I really hate the subway.

  Unfortunately, I am forced to ride in the musty stench and sit on the hard, cold seats. The engine of my Jeep stopped working less than a month ago and the money that I make at Think Coffee just isn’t enough to get it fixed quickly. I’ve always felt like my life has been in shambles, I just try to ignore the past—well all that I can remember. My mother is crazy as hell. My brother, Liam, tells me that she has been since I was twelve but didn’t show it until I was sixteen. My father was in the army and was sent to Iraq but when she got the letter that he had been killed, Liam said that she had started acting weird a few years after. He said that she had stopped taking me to ballet practice and that sometimes she would forget to pick me up from school. Need I remind you that I was twelve in that situation? I had no one else to call on but Liam and he was eighteen then. He couldn’t really help much.

  The day that they took my mother away, Liam said that my whole perspective on life had changed. He said that there was blood everywhere. A knife was in her hands, blood was on her shirt, cuts were on her wrists, and even on her ankles. She had been deliberately cutting and stabbing herself mercilessly—as if she’d wanted to die. I don’t know why I can’t remember much about my life. I can only remember small glimpses of things and certain people’s faces. Good thing I remembered Liam’s face, otherwise I would have never moved in with him. The memory loss happened when I was seventeen and sometimes I hate that it happened, but most times I’m glad that it did. I don’t want to remember my mother trying to kill herself. I don’t want to remember how weird she had acted or all that I’d felt when my father died. I don’t want to remember running away every night and sneaking in early in the mornings just to avoid my problems at home. Liam tells me that I was a big time runner. He believes I was afraid, lost.

  My mother is still in psychiatric therapy and I don’t think she will be getting out anytime soon. Liam and I try to visit her as often as we can but most times we have to leave because she says we look too much like our father. I honestly don’t even remember my father. The only thing I do remember is that he was tall and had muscles all over. When it comes to bonding and memories, I can’t remember a thing about him. Liam says my father and I spent a lot of time together but I don’t recall any of it. My father went overseas when I was only eight years old. Now, being twenty-one, it doesn’t bother me anymore whether I knew him or not. Liam really doesn’t bother himself with it either—especially after he landed a job as manager of an old department store. Liam tries to catch me up on everything with the family and what he thinks happened to me in my “accident” but nothing really makes sense to me.

  “Geesh, you are pretty,” says a man beside me. I frown as I turn to look at him. He smells like piss and beer, has on a dirty brown coat, and I can tell that he’s sloppy drunk. “I would do some fun things to you.” I roll my eyes in disgust. This is exactly why I hate the subway. Especially at night. I shift in my place uncomfortably, glancing around for an empty seat. I spot one but beside it is a person that I can’t picture myself sitting with– especially after our altercation at the coffee shop.

  It’s Mr. Hot. His knee is on the back of the seat in front of him and he’s sketching in his sketchbook again. He looks so humble, peaceful. His face is softer and I take it that he’s always like that when he draws—as if he adores it. He glances up and eyes me with his dark eyes and long eyelashes but I look away quickly. Is he following me? How did I not realize that I was on the same subway as him? Maybe he really is a serial killer.

  “I like your hair,” the drunk man beside me mutters lazily. “It looks like one of those bad-ass haircuts that the women in the movies have—you know the ones where they’re like undercover spies and shit but they still look innocent and pretty?”

  I press my lips together as I nod slowly. “Yeah . . . sure.”

  The drunk man leans back to observe me again. He studies my vintage black boots that come up to the calf, my skinny black jeans, and my grey trench coat. “Wait—are you a spy? You—you sure are dressed like one,” he admits.

  I sigh and prepare to stand for the rest of the ride but a wicked thought comes to mind instead. This is the perfect opportunity to get him to shut up and leave me alone. “Uh—yeah. I am. And talking to me can get you in a lot of trouble. People die when they are seen speaking to me.” I narrow my eyes and smirk heavily.

  The drunk man’s face pinches as he stares at me with wide eyes. He then rushes for the front of the subway to find another seat but when he finds one, he continues to peek over his shoulder, stealing glances of me over a million times. He then turns to the man beside him and whispers something but the man rolls his eyes and slides away from him as much as he can. I giggle lightly, shaking my head. I knew this haircut would come in handy. I wanted something new and Liam was shocked when he’d seen that all of my hair was gone but he said that it really fits me. I had it razor-cut so I can see why the drunk man thinks that I am a bad-ass spy.

  I decide to get comfortable, leaning against the back of my seat, pressing the back of my head against the cool, rattling glass. I glance towards the back of the subway and spot Mr. Hot but he is already looking at me under his eyelashes, his face like pale marble, his eyebrows stitched, and his glare so cold that it temporarily freezes me. The blood drains out of my cheeks as I jerk my gaze away immediately while tugging my coat around me tighter. Maybe he’s still mad that I rushed him out—or maybe he is thinking of ways to torture and kill me. I bite at my bottom lip. Please don’t let Mr. Hot be a Mr. Crazy.

  ****

  I finally arrive at our not-too-shabby apartment where it is extremely dark inside which isn’t usual unless Liam isn’t home. “Liam?” I call, shrugging out of my coat. I hang it on the coat rack and head for the living room but it is vacant. He’s usually lying on the love seat when he’s here but not tonight. I head for his bedroom and peek in but there’s still no sign of him.

  I sigh as I stroll to my bedroom and immediately flop on my queen sized bed. It’s been a long day for me and besides having that weird altercation with Mr. Hot, things were pretty okay, but I’m extremely exhausted. I sit up to dig into my back pocket. I reach for my Blackberry and immediately text Mindy about my situation with Mr. Hot. I lie around, waiting for her to reply for a whole ten minutes but she doesn’t so I decide to head for the shower.

  But there is just something about showers that I don’t like and the
only reason that I take them is because I hate the feeling of being dirty—and because I’m a girl. That would be disgusting. Shower’s make me think too much. Most times I just let the water run over me. Sometimes I overanalyze things and tonight, all I can think about is Mr. Hot. Why is he so weird and what is he sketching in that book of his? It must be important if he does it every single day and night. Maybe I disturbed his peace and made him flustered. He lost focus. Yeah, that’s what I’ll go with. He lost focus. I don’t want the beautiful man to be crazy. I turn the nobs of the shower off and rush back to my bedroom. I check my cell for messages and to my surprise, Mindy has text me back.

  Mindy: The guy is a freak. Plz lose your interest in him.

  Me: Ur a big help.

  I scowl at her reply again, pressing the send button. She isn’t any help at all—she never is. I towel dry my hair, bundle myself in my favorite pajamas—a white tank and black flannel pants—and then hop into bed. I let the weariness take over, feeling that it is a must to get Mr. Hot off of my mind—or should I call him Mr. Creep? Either way, I have to lose interest, just like the unhelpful Mindy says.

  NOT LIKE ME

  “Alexandria?”

  “Yes Mr.—I mean Chris?” I turn around quickly. Damn. I’m caught staring again. He tilts his head with a frown.

  “Who are you looking at?”

  “Um—no one,” I say, reaching for my cappuccino and taking a quick sip.

  “Oh, no,” he says, smirking and scolding me with one stern finger. “That look on your face is a look that I recognize very well. Let’s see who you were making googly eyes at.” He prances behind the counter to get to my side. I groan as I watch him scan the shop. “Ew, it can’t be him,” he says, pointing to a middle-aged man with grey hair and a thick, broom-like moustache. “He doesn’t seem like your type.” He continues to look around, scanning each person at each table until he finally spots the corner where Mr. Hot is. Chris gasps as he watches him sketch in his sketchbook gracefully while taking brief sips of his usual white-chocolate mocha. “Oh, my, Ms. Marshall. I see why you’re so out of it. He is a hottie!” he chimes, spinning around to face me. He grabs my wrist then drags me behind the counter—as if it can hide us from him.