Owned (Office Intrigue Book 8) by Nicole Edwards (year 2 reading books TXT) 📗

no desire to dress up, even if it’s glam, for some fetish party.”

“You don’t have to dress up,” he said, his tone amused. “Submissives don’t get to wear clothes.”

I nearly choked as I swallowed. “Very disturbing, Ransom. And you and I both know, a submissive I am not.”

“Considering you never gave it half a chance…” He chuckled, quickly tacking on, “Not that you’ll hear me complaining. Last thing I want’s my baby sister to be some Dominant’s play toy.”

He always said that, and while I suspected there was truth to that statement, Ransom had always encouraged me to do what made me happy. It wasn’t that we’d talked at length about Domination and submission or my curiosity regarding it; however, he had always been there to answer my questions, insisting that if I opted to pursue that sort of lifestyle, it was imperative I understood it. For Ransom, sex was a biological necessity, and he was not embarrassed discussing it the way that I was.

“Trust me. I tried and failed. I’m beginning to believe there’s not a man alive who can give me what I need, so what’s the point?”

“Well, if you change your mind…” He laughed again, but this time it was mirthless.

“I won’t,” I assured him.

“I’ll send you the address anyway. In case you get bored. Or, you know, in case you can’t reach me and need to.”

I didn’t bother reminding him I already had the address. I’d finagled it out of him as a joke, and that was how I’d wound up there two Halloweens ago when I’d had an unexpected panic attack when I hadn’t been able to locate him.

Something I’d purposely never told my brother and apparently no one else had, either.

“I’ve got plenty to keep me busy,” I told him.

Such as trying to figure out just what in the world Owned, Incorporated was. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t come up with anything about that company.

I nearly blurted out the news that I’d been canned from my job, but opted to hold off. No reason to ruin Ransom’s night. Rarely did he go out and enjoy himself, and I knew if I told him, he’d want to come over and console me. In turn, I’d have to tell him about Tiegan Shaw, which would then have him reading me the riot act for not being more careful.

Neither of us needed that right now.

“Well, I better get going,” Ransom said, his words coming faster now. “I’ve got some errands to run before I head over there.”

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” I teased.

“Likewise,” he said, his voice softer than before. “I love you, Brae.”

A strange feeling washed over me. “I love you, too. Hey, are you—”

I didn’t get to ask if he was all right because the call disconnected. I set my phone on the counter, stared at it. A minute later, a text with TJ’s address came from Ransom, followed by: in case you need me. Another chill snaked down my spine. Something was wrong and he wasn’t telling me what, which was new. Ransom had always been open and honest with me.

Maybe he just needed a night out to indulge. He hadn’t been doing much of it lately.

I spent the next couple of hours doing my best to not think about my brother’s strange behavior, all the while continuing to perform one Google search after another. No matter what I inputted, I couldn’t get a bead on Owned, Incorporated. I even attempted a search on Tiegan Shaw and came up with nothing. I was tempted to hack a few databases but held off. I would give her the benefit of the doubt.

For now.

While I stretched, contemplating another avenue to go down, there was a knock at my door.

Frowning because I wasn’t expecting company, I glanced around, suddenly having the urge to find a weapon. Clearly I was on edge, and I had a feeling it was Ransom’s doing. He always weirded me out when he wasn’t acting normal. And right now, Ransom and normal weren’t in the same hemisphere.

Another knock sounded.

It had to be Ransom. He was the only person who knew where I lived. Save for the pizza delivery place, anyway. Maybe he’d decided to skip TJ’s party. He’d never been a big fan of dressing up. I could see him using me as an excuse to get out of it.

“I’m coming,” I shouted, sliding my hands over my hair to tame it.

Smoothing my shirt, I put my eye to the security hole. The lens allowed me to see the full width of the hallway, but there was no one there.

Probably just a kid playing a prank. There were a couple of tow-headed little boys who lived down the hall, and they liked to give their mom a run for her money, sneaking out whenever she wasn’t looking.

It took a second to unlatch the chain, unlock both deadbolts, but I managed to open the door, expecting to see the little boys grinning up at me.

No one. I peered down both ends. Not a soul coming or going, either.

“Strange,” I muttered, walking back inside and closing the door.

Before it aligned with the jamb, something slammed into it, forcing it open, knocking me back.

I stumbled, my socked feet sliding on the hardwood. My arms flailed as I grabbed for the bar to keep me upright. A scream was roaring up my throat when a man stepped into my apartment, a big black gun pointed directly at my head. My breath lodged in my throat, stifling my scream.

“Do it and die,” he growled, his face menacing, his black eyebrows slanted down in a harsh V.

I continued to stumble back, my feet still slipping and sliding.

My brain went into hyperdrive, attempting to place him. He wore all black—leather jacket, jeans, shitkickers, even his hair—and sported an unkempt beard and matching disheveled haircut. His face was lean and he had a menacing gleam in his dark brown eyes.

Instead of a scream, I managed a