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  DEVOTED

  DEVASTATED AND DEVOTED BOOK 2

  MARIE JOHNSTON

  LE PUBLISHING

  Copyright © 2022 by Marie Johnston

  Editing by Evident Ink

  Proofing by My Brother’s Editor, Deaton Author Services, and Judy’s Proofreading

  Cover Design by Secret Identity Graphics

  * * *

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  * * *

  The characters, places, and events in this story are fictional. Any similarities to real people, places, or events are coincidental and unintentional.

  Created with Vellum

  After being abducted from my bodyguard’s care by my soon-to-be ex-husband, who paid him to off me in the middle of nowhere, I’m locked in the basement of my old Bel Air mansion. Not exactly where I saw myself at this point in the separation—with a bodyguard I feel like I can trust but who accepted millions from my ex, and an ex I suspect is still plotting my demise.

  * * *

  When that bodyguard rescues me, I’ve had enough time to decide he’s the better option. A guy who makes my whole body ignite from head to toe can’t be all bad. I’ve made worse decisions when it comes to men, but I don’t have time to question him as we flee my rich and powerful ex. We escape to a cabin in the middle of the mountains where I have nothing but questions Cannon refuses to answer.

  * * *

  I’m tired of being jerked around by the men in my life. It’s time to do some digging—and what I learn about my bodyguard has little to do with the ex who’s hunting us, but it has everything to do with why Cannon won’t let himself get close to me. I just hope we can work through his past to build ourselves a future—and stop my ex before he steals that from me too.

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Marie Johnston

  CHAPTER 1

  Cannon

  * * *

  Penelope’s not only gone, but she thinks I’m a greedy liar who’s going to murder her.

  That pisses me off more than the gun in my face.

  I’m on my knees, by an open trunk, the gun aimed between my eyes.

  Then the white van arrives.

  As I watch it bumping down the uneven road toward us, I grind my teeth together. It’s the same van I saw when we were parked at the gas station. How did these guys follow me and I didn’t notice?

  Did they track my vehicle? They can’t track my phone—

  Penelope’s fucking phone. Roman knows where she’s at every second of the day. How did I not think about that?

  Because it didn’t matter in town. It didn’t matter if he knew she was at the studio or her mom’s place.

  I lost my head. I didn’t pay attention. Now I’m going to pay the price and so will Penelope. Roman’s not done with her, not if he’s going through all this to get her back. Not if I’m still alive.

  He’s got plans. And I’m back to square one. Finding out what the fuck he wants.

  All I’m confident of, and what I don’t have proof of, is that Roman is using Penelope. Whether he truly wants her dead is a looming question, but there’s no doubt he means to use her.

  The van approaches. And when the guy with the gun turns to look, I make my move.

  I lunge and grab him around the knees. He’s surprised and the gun goes off, shooting somewhere above my head. I keep my momentum going and twist. He can’t regain his balance and falls.

  Scrambling up his body, I grab a fistful of hair and bang his head to the ground.

  He groans, but my surprise advantage is gone. I’m unarmed, and I have no idea how many people are in that van. I have to get away. I send my fist into his jaw, jump up, and kick him in the side.

  Then I fucking run. Whatever they have planned for me isn’t a simple death.

  Roman’s shown me he’s too devious for that. He can’t frame me as Penelope’s stalker if I was paid four million to kill her. He can’t frame me for her murder if I look like a hired hit man. I have no doubt he’s going to frame me for something, but he needs time. I’m not giving it to him.

  I shed my brightly colored shirt as I go. I’m in nothing but cargo shorts, but it’s better camouflage than palm trees on a red background.

  Old training kicks in and I make good progress, ducking and diving through trees.

  Shouts resonate and get swallowed by the trees behind me. They’re charging after me, but I’m not going to be easy to chase.

  I pick up my pace. It’s not that I have a ton of experience running in woods or forests. It’s that I have speed and balance, and I doubt the fuckers behind me are as equipped.

  Wood chunks fly off a tree trunk just as the gunshot rings out.

  I keep running. The farther away I get, the harder it’ll be for them to hit me. They can’t aim and run, which’ll only give me more lead.

  My chest is on fire, but I use everything I have—energy, agility, brains. I duck through trees, plow over uneven land, and weave through it all. Blue glitters from between the trees. A small lake or pond is straight ahead, and that means the trees will start thinning.

  I slow and angle around the water. I switch my tactic from fast and furious to low and quiet.

  Voices drift toward me, but they can no longer hear me crashing through branches and trees.

  Burning and tingling along my arms and chest barely enter my consciousness. I’m scratched to hell and bleeding.

  I stop and crouch to look through the trees. My body’s flooded with adrenaline and I’m tempted to keep running, but I have to be smart about this. I fucked up once already; it’s not happening again.

  I can’t see them. I was too quick for them. Our training might be similar, even our experiences, but I doubt they had my unusual upbringing. I can gut through this all day and again tomorrow. I force my breathing to slow, swallowing to catch my breath. I sound like a freight train in my own ears, but I don’t need to panic, thinking they can hear me.

  Voices reach me. Damn. They aren’t far enough away.

  I take stock of my surroundings. I’m heading back into the thickest of the forest. I’m not familiar with the road I crashed on, and I’m not as familiar with the area as I’d like to be, but I’m familiar with the terrain. I did a lot of trail hiking while trying to figure my shit out when I came home from overseas.

  I think about where I’m at compared to the gas station I left. I can’t go in the direction I came from, but if I loop around the water and head west, then I’ll end up near the highway I turned off of. From there, I can find a phone and call for help.

  I’ve left Jacobi and Kase out of the loop. I didn’t want to risk them, but whatever Roman has planned for me and Penelope is going to draw them in anyway.

  Penelope

  * * *

  The drive back to LA takes an eternity. My driver, the man who yanked me from Cannon’s car, is named Mick, and other than telling me his name, he doesn’t talk. He also doesn’t stop for water or a bathroom break. My mouth is parched, but I refuse to ask anything more from Mick. I doubt he’d humor me.

  I use the car’s mirror to look at the damage from the airbag. My eyes are red and my lips are a little puffy, but I don’t have any scratches. I might have bruises tomorrow, and whiplash, but I’m not concerned. Nothing’s broken, and my pain is mental.

  I can’t quit worrying about Cannon. The steady stream of questions in my brain about him and his motivations is going to drive me over the brink. The questions that surface thanks to Mick and his vague answers and unwavering loyalty to Roman are going to give me a heart attack.

  An hour ago, I told Mick I’d like to go back to my mother’s.

  She’s visiting a friend, and your father is in Hong Kong. Mr. Hughes would like you brought home.

  That’s no longer my home. Take me to my friend London Dixon’s place, please.

  Mr. Hughes will explain what you need to know.

  My decision to divorce is the same. Why does Roman insist I return to his place?

  Fear claws up my throat. He supposedly saved my life. Why am I scared of him? Why is terror building when I think about Roman and not when I think back to the recording Mick played for me?

  The lack of answers I’m getting doesn’t help. All my questions are met with Mr. Hughes will explain what you need to know.

  Why can’t I call anyone?

  Mr. Hughes will explain what you need to know.

  I have to hand it to Mick. He doesn’t lie. Roman will tell me what I need to know, and I doubt it’ll be any more informative than what I’ve learned from Mick.

  I don’t want to talk to Roman. I thought I’d have to see him only at our divorce proceedings. What will he do? We haven’t talked since I hung up on him. His anger scares me, but he hasn’t physically hurt me before.

  But then he couldn’t be bothered to.

 
The longer the drive takes, the angrier I get. We’re going through the city. I should be able to tell him to stop the car and get out. I could ask someone to call London for me.

  But I know Mick’s response.

  I’m seething by the time Mick turns into the long driveway to Roman’s Bel Air mansion. Stomach acid climbs up my throat, leaving a sour stain in my mouth.

  I don’t want to be here, but if I have to be, I don’t want him to be home. What are the chances I can get out of this car, find the keys to his Jaguar in the garage, and leave?

  Since Mick doesn’t move from my side as he opens the passenger door and follows me through the front door of the house, the chances aren’t high.

  Roman strides out of the large den on the first floor. I’ve stayed out of that room since we were married. When we were dating, he took me in there and fucked me on his desk. It was exciting, thrilling to my young, inexperienced self. A powerful businessman lost his head and couldn’t resist me when he had so much else to occupy his time.

  Now, I can see it for the calculated move it was.

  Mick stops several feet behind me while I study my ex. I refuse to think of him as my husband. I don’t want to be married to him, and I don’t want to be in this house. And the feeling that I don’t have a say in either is disturbing. He’s dressed in his impeccable suit. He’s tall, but after being with Cannon for weeks, Roman’s height doesn’t overwhelm me.

  Cannon’s expressions were closed. He hid what he was thinking. Roman’s are the same, but so different. There’s no concern in his eyes. No warmth. No hint of humor or dedication to me or anything else that isn’t his work.

  “Penni,” he says grimly. “Good to see you’re safe.”

  My brows draw together. I don’t detect concern. Are his words for my benefit or for Mick’s? “I’m safe. I can call a ride and be out of your hair.”

  His lips turn down. A troubled frown at first glance. But I’ve seen the way he reacts when I don’t do what he wants. I don’t fear it like I used to; I’m annoyed. I don’t have time for this, and I’m leaving as soon as he forgets me and goes back to work.

  “I have your room ready.”

  “I don’t have a room here.” Our bedroom was always his bedroom. I’d rather sleep in the hallway. “And I’m not staying.”

  His expression turns to chiseled marble. “I don’t have time to continuously explain things to you.”

  No longer fearing his wrath, I lift my chin. I’ve been through scarier things than him. “I don’t have time to tolerate another minute with you. Let me go.”

  “Don’t be foolish. You’d be dead if it wasn’t for me.”

  Something about his mocking tone bothers me, and a sliver of unease wedges underneath my skin. I don’t have any proof I wouldn’t be dead. If Roman’s correct, I should be profusely thanking him. He saved my life. But nothing he’s done in the last five years tells me he cares about me.

  I’m missing facts, and it’s irritating and unnerving. Crankiness emboldens me. “I’m tired of being insulted by you. The police will determine Cannon’s criminal activity, and I can face him in court.”

  The emotion that flashes through Roman’s expression is more than annoyance. He smothers it too quickly for me to identify.

  I press the topic. “Right? The police have Cannon by now.”

  His expression turns glacial but distanced. He smooths a hand over his tie. “As I’ve said, I don’t have time for this.”

  “Answer me, Roman,” I snap.

  He sucks in a sharp breath. I don’t talk to him like that, ever. “I see time away from refined society has given you an attitude.”

  “No, it’s given me back a part of myself you tried to take away. How do you have all those recordings of Cannon?” Realization dawns on me as pieces fall into place. Roman knew who to find me with. He knew when we were leaving. His men were spying on the place. He knew someone was hired to kill me. It’s all too convenient. “He was talking to you, wasn’t he? Or one of your guys? Why would he—”

  “Take her to her room.”

  Mick wraps a hand around my arm. I try to shake him free, but he doesn’t release me. The urge to run is strong, but I can’t break free. Why would Roman keep me here? “I want to leave.”

  “You’re not going anywhere, Penni,” Roman says coolly and nods to Mick.

  Dread stains my insides and only fresh air and distance from this place will wash it off. Mick tugs on my arm, and I aim a glare at him. “Are you paid to kidnap too?”

  Roman charges toward me, eyes flashing. “We’ve both had enough of you.”

  I imagine steel being poured down my spine as I face him. I’m not as impervious as I hoped. “Then let me go.”

  His features even out and the arrogant glint is back in his eye. “Now, what kind of husband would I be if I didn’t take care of my wife?” He nods to Mick.

  Mick’s grip tightens, but I strain against it. Rare rebellion rises inside me. I might be pouring gasoline on a garbage fire, but I have to push. I have to get some answers somehow, and the one topic we’ve never touched on might give me the reaction I want. “Did you treat your first wife like this?”

  Roman cups my chin in his punishing grip. “Don’t you dare speak of my first wife.”

  “Why? Wouldn’t she approve of how you’re acting?”

  My chin is crushed by his fingers. Rage blooms across his face like a black rose opening to the moon. Pain flares on my skin. I’d wince if I could move. The accident might not have left me bruised, but I’ll have finger marks from both Roman and Mick. This is a man who was deeply in love. Did losing her change him? Did it make him think a wife is nothing more than a tool to get what he wants?

  I believed he never loved me, but now it’s confirmed. And if he never loved me and is refusing to let me go—then I’m in trouble.

  He brings his face inches from mine. I’m afraid he’s going to do something I can’t recover from, but I’m willing him to say something. To crack his icy composure.

  There’s a slight tremble in his body before his fury drains and he releases me. I flex my jaw and use my free arm to rub my face.

  He speaks to Mick. “Take her away.” He walks down the hallway as if I’m forgotten.

  I can’t relax, but the oxygen Roman sucks out of a room flows back in. Mick leads me around the back of the elegant staircase that’s a showpiece as much as it’s useful.

  I pause when he starts down the stairs. After Roman proposed and I said yes, he converted his gym to an in-home studio. It wasn’t long before I quit using it. I craved the freedom my own studio gave me rather than being surrounded by the terrible decision I’d made. But there’s nothing else in the lowest level of the house other than my studio, the attached bathroom and locker room, the laundry, and the maintenance rooms for the house and pool.

  He prepared my room. Does he mean the studio?

  Mick nudges me but I refuse to move. There’s no kindness in his eyes when he says, “There are only two ways this can play out and they both end in me getting you to your room. It’s up to you how you want to get there.”

  I swallow my fear. Message received. If I fight, he’ll overpower me. “I’m a prisoner,” I say woodenly.

  “He wants you safe.”

  His answer is just as empty, and my response is automatic. “From what?”

  I don’t expect to see pity in his gaze, but the way he’s looking at me is how animal control must view their catches. They hate to toss them into cages, but it’s the requirement of the job.

  I can’t fight Mick. I’m not sure whether I can outrun him. He’s a guy who’d blend in anywhere, but he and his dad bod could still run me down. And I haven’t forgotten the gun tucked into his holster.

  I start down the stairs, my hands trembling. The great unknown looms below me. What’s going to happen to me? I want to ask what happened to Cannon, but Mick won’t answer.