Hostile Taking
Traumatized father Merrick has a
business that’s about to fail. That
means both
him and his company will be claimed by a ‘Mentor.’ This riveting and spicy sci-fi romance has a
guaranteed HEA and is presented in its entirety in a single installment.
This is not a series. By the author of The Eidolon’s Conquest!
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Excerpt ~
Merrick got
up two hours earlier than usual. He made
his still sleeping son Daniel a stack of pancakes from a mix too cheap to have
real jetta-berries. His son was
young enough to be happy with sugary artificial berries, and money was
tight. The condo rent hadn’t been paid
in two, no—three months. That was the
usual limit he could get away with before the Association began hassling
him.
He considered things while lacing
his running shoes. It’s not that he’d be
evicted. Men like him didn’t get
evicted, but Daniel could overhear something if Estelle came up to berate
him. He didn’t want his son to have any
inkling of how bad things were.
It was high time to juggle some
finances again, and pull a draw from the company sufficient to catch them up on
rent. Groceries were a lesser
concern. Daniel was happy with chicken
nuggets or flavored nutrient powder most every night. Merrick hadn’t had
much of an appetite since…well, forever it feels like.
That morning he made himself eat
three of the six pancakes and washed them down with swigs of black coffee taken
straight from the pot. He was on a
mission: to jog the eight miles into
work. That would take fuel. Pancakes would do, and he’d given himself
enough time to take the run slow.
A long jog was just what he needed. It was a chance to get his head on
straight. To go through things—to try to
find out what he’d missed.
He started the run in front of the
condo in shoes that had been expensive once, but were completely worn-out with
several years of use. When he’d gone
online to search for new ones he automatically went to the custom fitter he’d
used back when his father was still alive and running the company. That’s when it dawned on him, like a broken
bottle smashed into his gut, that he couldn’t afford things like that
anymore.
So he ran on shoes that were
destined to give him sore feet all day, but still, he was running. He was moving. He enjoyed the impetus of the motion—a
symbolic ‘moving forward’ that he hadn’t been able to achieve in reality. After a mile he actually felt some of the
tension begin to give in his shoulders.
Yes, this was a good idea. Things would start to get better. Today is the day it would all start to turn
around.
He brought his mind to safe subjects
as he ran. Today the Proctor General of
Fort Bragg-Vis’ni was coming in to discuss their peace-time food needs. It was a contract his father had fostered so
well that he knew he could always count on the business. It wouldn’t be enough to pull the company out
of its nose-dive, but it was business.
It was money. He could probably
siphon enough off the top of the deal to catch up on his condo rent.
There was that, and—what else? What else was positive to focus on?
He ran a while with his mind
drawing up a blank. Black tendrils of anguish
started to worm into his brain. What was
Janine eating these days? Probably not
even cheap pancakes.
He fought to resist the pain
clenching his chest.
No. Don’t think of her. Anything but her.
He ran faster.
What was the company debt? It had to be close to the two million
mark. He hadn’t checked the books since
it was one point seven million. That was
when? Right after the…after the first
visitation.
Don’t think of that either!
Maybe he was still below two
million. That was possible, right? Wouldn’t the bank have cut them off if they
were close? Martina took care of that
stuff. He could ask her. Or better yet, he could avoid the
subject. When things started to get
better—then he’d ask. Once there was
some hope of digging themselves out of this pit. Why dwell on it now?
Because that bastard is going to
show up and drag you away.
No. Definitely don’t think of that!
If he gave thought to that prospect
he made it real and if it was real he might end up hurting himself. Daniel needed him. His son may not have a mother anymore, but
he’d always have him.
Daniel was the only one he could
ever do right by anymore.
Merrick kept
his thoughts focused on his son. Ten
years old and as blond as he was at that age.
He’d be waking up now and cheering to see the pile of pancakes. Such a great kid even after everything he’d
been through. After having his own
mother…
No!
He forced himself to stop
thinking. Just run. Let your body work out all its stress.
His feet continued their steady rhythm
through suburbia, just as the rest of the world was waking up and beginning
their own treks towards work. Beyond
that was an industrial area. Machines
that looked pre-invasion were cranking to life.
Merrick wondered why forklifts were still of such
an ancient design. As a kid he pondered
such things often. Why didn’t more
things hover? Aliens had perfected the
technology and gifted it to them. Why
couldn’t their world look as futuristic and fancy as what they had on that
other world he’d seen on TV? When he
took over the family business reality answered his questions. Fancy technology is outrageously
expensive. MFPI never had those kinds of
funds, even when his father was running things.
The office complex came next. Merrick was disheartened
to see it so fast. Two more streets and
he’d be at work. He’d wanted the run to
drag out longer.
He slowed to a walk in the MFPI
parking lot. His mind was still
wandering while he caught his breath. He
vaguely registered the black vehicle parked in the fire lane in front of the
building. At first he thought, why is
there a black limo in front of my company?
Then he realized that the slick gleaming vehicle was floating with hover
motors that gave out a gentle hum.
Merrick froze. It felt as though a hand penetrated his chest
and seized his heart.
There was one alien race who could
afford hover technology easily.
Golheen. It was a Golheen car.
Vadovas Redd had come for him.
Merrick
started walking backwards. Then he
turned. Then he ran. He was running through the industrial area in
moments.
Had he seen him through the
windows? Would he get his address?
Oh God!
It was happening. He sprinted through the hideous panic attack
that seized him.
Home…home…get home!
Why hadn’t he taken his fucking car
today!
He ran until his chest burned, then
slowed enough to bend over and vomit.
After that he gasped and gagged for several minutes. Then he braced himself against a tree.
What could he do now?
He let the tears come. Quaking, shattering sobs that made his throat
feel like it was going to burst.
This was it. He’d truly ruined things beyond any hope of
repair.
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