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  CHERISHED

  CORRUPTED AND CHERISHED DUET

  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

  Being tucked away in seclusion with a self-appointed bodyguard is way more fun than it has a right to be. I should resist, but I don’t, and after years of trying not to fall for anyone, I tumble hard for Kase Donovan.

  We still don’t know who’s after me, but with Kase’s help, I’m working to keep my business afloat. Until my father tracks me down and retrieves me for that pesky marriage contract he had drawn up years ago. I’m forced to return to the ivory tower I grew up in and stay locked up while my life dissolves.

  Locked doors have never stopped Kase, but even if he can rescue me from a fairy tale gone wrong, there’s still someone waiting to kill me. And we might not learn who it is until it’s too late and we’ve lost everything, including each other. Even if we track down my would-be killer, I’ve fallen hard for my bodyguard with the dark past, and the life I would have with Kase isn’t different from the prison I grew up in. How much am I willing to sacrifice for total freedom?

  Cherished is the second book in the Corrupted and Cherished duet and the completion of Kase and Holland's story.

  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

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Marie Johnston

  CHAPTER 1

  Kase

  Holland was taken over a week ago, and I thought I could move on. I thought I could forget it. She has a life that doesn’t include me, no matter how unfair, and I have mine. But I can’t escape the guilt. Could I have done more? Could I have covered our tracks better? I’ve hardly slept since she left. The only thing helping me through is remembering the desperation in her eyes to let her go.

  I pace Jacobi’s office like a caged tiger. The wall of windows leading to the deck outside is tempting to just crash through. The pain might give me something else to think about.

  The way her father broke into our house with armed fucking guards . . .

  Not our house. The rental. A place I continue to sleep at. On the damn couch with fabric piled everywhere. I left the outfits she assembled hanging in the corner, her half-cut-out pattern on the table, and the partially sewn dress by the sewing machine.

  I fixed the door. Connor Gray’s armed guards had no finesse. If they were good enough to find us, they should’ve been able to get in without breaking the damn door down. All they’d done was kill the security system.

  “Do you want to take this outside?” Jacobi asks from his office chair.

  “No,” I growl while I stalk through the room. Cannon’s watching me from his position on the floor, an arm draped over a knee, looking vastly different than he has for most of the time I’ve known him.

  The old Cannon wore loose Hawaiian shirts and cargo shorts—all wrinkled—and his hair had been more shaggy than stylishly long. The new Cannon wears fitted sweatpants and snug T-shirts since he is in Penni’s dance studio all the time as one of the most in-demand dance instructors. His hair hadn’t been more than trimmed, but he brushed it back. The guy looks like he walked off the pages of an elite dance magazine.

  “Why aren’t you going after her?” Cannon asks for the tenth time.

  “I told you.” I can’t not growl this morning.

  “Yeah, you told us,” he says, “yet here you are. Prowling like we captured you and put you under house arrest. You don’t agree with how she was taken, you don’t want her to be forced to get married because you want her instead, and you haven’t stopped pacing since she left.”

  “I told you why I can’t have her.” I told them everything. In a rare moment of weakness and desperation, I shared my life with my friends. All of it. They already knew what I did. They had known it was a family business, but they didn’t know how deeply I was entrenched. They didn’t know that not only couldn’t I get out, but I could cost my family everything if I tried. And now they know it’s my destiny.

  Jacobi kicks back in his office chair and crosses an ankle over a knee. He’s sitting like a CEO, but he’s dressed in board shorts with a loose white T-shirt. “You’re in a room with two guys who thought they had no shot with the women they were obsessed with.” Yeah, I told them that part, too, and it burned in my throat as I announced my humiliation to the world. “Yet London and I are married, and Cannon and Penni might get married once Penni gets over the whole husband-taking-out-a-hit-on-her thing.”

  “I can’t push Holland’s dad off a cliff.” No matter what’s happened, she loves him.

  Cannon lifts a finger. “Penni did not push that asshole—he lost his balance when he was trying to attack her.”

  “I wasn’t saying she pushed him.” She would’ve been justified. “But Holland’s problems are a little more complex. Connor Gray is loaded, and the Masons have something on him.”

  “And you don’t know what?” Jacobi asks.

  I shake my head. “Her father’s a rich man building casinos in Vegas, and he’s been doing it for decades. I’m sure he’s got secrets. The Masons own property in Chicago, and with their other side hustle, there is as little information available on them as Holland’s dad.”

  “So find them, find what Mason has on him, then do what you do best.”

  We’ve had this form of conversation before. They’ve both offered to help, and I’ve put them off. But it’s been over a week. I haven’t heard from Holland. Neither have London and Penni, and Holland knows how they’d worry. She knows she can’t walk away from the career she loves, from the biggest show of her life and her friends, and not have anyone worry. She’s letting go of her life here, and it breaks my damn heart. “I need to find out who told Connor Gray about the hit.”

  Jacobi snorts. “London almost killed me when she learned about that. She barely accepted that you didn’t fucking tell us.”

  I point at each of them. “You both know what it’s like.”

  Cannon just shrugs. “Is this you finally giving us permission to help?”

  Was it? I’m not used to being so hindered. I’ve done as much as I can looking into Connor Gray and MacDonald Mason. I’ve hit roadblocks, seemingly innocuous flags that would ordinarily announce I was trying to get into a rich man’s records. He can afford stellar cybersecurity.

  I’m seasoned enough to know a red flag when I see it. I’ve tracked down rich folks before. I’ve hunted them and gotten into their homes. I’ve intimidated them and covered my tracks so they couldn’t hunt me in return.

  The walls Connor Gray erected were at once flimsy as hell and as secure as Area 51. Like a mirage that’s a real oasis. Fitting for a man making his living in Vegas.

  Then there’s Mac Mason. He’s Mafia, and that’s the real reason I’m hesitating. I can make things worse for Holland and put myself at risk trying to help her.

  In the end, someone tipped Connor Gray off. Unless Josef rose from his grave, found his phone, and repaired it, I don’t know who it could be other than the person who wants Holland dead. Maybe removing her from L.A. is enough. She’s gone. Could it be a competitor? We’d ruled them out, but that doesn’t mean we didn’t miss someone. I might never know, but if she’s no longer facing that danger, then maybe that’s enough. For Holland.

  It’ll never be enough for me. But I’m a man who’s learned to live without what I really want. “Yes, but be fucking careful. There’s something about this situation that’s putting me on edge.”

  “Maybe it’s not getting laid.” Cannon’s tone is a direct challenge. He’s not giving me shit for my fling with Holland—he wants to dig deeper. He knows I’m climbing the walls like I’m going to rip the mansion apart board by board because I fucking miss Holland. I care about her, dammit. More than I ever should’ve.

  It’s not me not getting laid that’s an issue. It’s her being forced to be with someone she doesn’t want. I put my fingers behind my head and interlace them as if I’m walking off a side stitch after a sprint. “It’s that Connor Gray has all the standard sites. All the social media pages for Gray Towers. CG Enterprises and Connor Gray have a good PR team. On the outside, it looks like you can find out everything about him—where he went to school, what he got his degree in, which casino he opened first, yada, yada, yada.”

  As I’m talking, Jacobi has spun to his computer and he’s clicking away. Connor Gray’s details are coming up on the screens attached to the wall. An image of his diploma from the University of Nevada. His wedding photo to a starry-eyed Gloria. Almost every picture of them after had an
increasingly despondent Gloria. It was a time line of their marriage dissolving.

  What if Holland slowly fades from the life she can’t escape? That beautiful sunny-yellow shirt she wore to my parents’ house wouldn’t light an empty shell.

  The screen on the desk in front of Jacobi flashes with code as he clicks away. Finally he stops. “I see what you’re seeing. It’s all been curated by a team. Her father’s hired the best to scour the internet. Nothing is visible that he doesn’t want people to see. With his businesses, there are all the standard safety measures with his employees. On the outside, it’s all run-of-the-mill encryption for payroll, employee records, financial records.”

  He got into those records that fast? Another thought occurs to me that makes more sense. I should’ve known better. “You’ve already checked on all of this?”

  There’s no guilt in his expression. “Of course.”

  Thank fuck. But if I can’t uncover any information, then I’m shit out of luck. “And you can’t get deeper?”

  Jacobi’s fingers fly over the keyboard, and I move next to him, dropping my hands from my head.

  The white of the screen flashes in his eyes and shows nothing but code. He opens another box—code. Another screen—code. He knows exactly where to go because he’s been waiting for me to open the door. This is why we’re friends.

  “Not without setting off serious alarms on his end and exposing myself,” he says, closing down the windows. “Cybersecurity is an ever-changing field, but I’d bet he has several people paid on books no one sees. This isn’t from some stand-up, organized company. I know them all. This is work that I’d do if I was hired personally for a job no one wanted to know was done. And I’d charge in the millions because it’s gotta be constantly updated.”

  “Do you think he tasked his people with finding out who hired Josef?”

  “It’s possible, but he’d also risk people wondering why there’s no digital trail of Josef and exposing Holland.”

  Shit. It’s a risk I wouldn’t take. I’ve done what I can to check into it, any more and it’s my parents on the line. Connor Gray is a big question mark, but I’d never put my friend and my parents at odds. “What about MacDonald Mason?”

  “He’s almost as hard to crack, but that’s because he’s old school and shuns technology.” Jacobi smirks. “He probably has a flip phone if he uses a cell phone at all. His son is a different story, and now that you’ve given me his name, I’ll know everything that’s online about Patrick Mason by the end of the day.”

  “I’ll pay you,” I say.

  “Nah, man. I consider this continuing education. I can’t be at the top if I’m not learning about what’s out there and how to get around it.”

  I prop my hands on my hips. This isn’t enough. I can’t sit back and wait for information. I want to do something. I need to act.

  As if Cannon hears my thoughts, he rolls his neck. “Tell me about these guards and what you know of the security at Gray Towers.”

  Cannon used to do contracted security and protection before he became the world’s most underestimated and unlicensed private detective. He’s not asking out of curiosity.

  “I can’t break into Gray Towers.” I’ve gotten into some impossible places, but Connor Gray’s penthouse might as well be Rapunzel’s tower.

  He rolls a shoulder. “Can’t or won’t?”

  “I can’t do a damn thing from jail.”

  He grins. “They can’t throw you behind bars if they don’t know you’re there.”

  Well . . . when he puts it that way.

  Holland

  Opulence surrounds me. Floor-to-ceiling windows, tinted to see out of but not in. We’re on the sixtieth floor, so it’s not like anyone’s peering inside. I crunch my toes into the plush rug in front of Father’s desk. This is new. How much did it cost and what country did Father have it shipped from?

  I’m standing in front of him like I’m facing a firing squad. My heart’s beating just the same. Father was never the type to bounce me on his knee as a kid. I don’t think he’s ever read a bedtime story in his life, and he’s only gotten more serious in the time we’ve been apart. More gray touches his temples, and the lines winging from his eyes have increased.

  “It doesn’t make sense. Why can’t I call my friends?” I fold my hands in front of me and force myself not to fidget. I’m wearing the clothing he’s provided for me, sans shoes. A dour suit that fits like a glove, doesn’t itch, and is more expensive than my house—the one he’s claimed to have cleaned out and put on the market.

  My house.

  I’m livid, but I’m not showing it. I’m not going to fidget, but I refuse to be nothing but a prisoner in a metal tower, even though I haven’t been outside in the Vegas heat since I arrived four days ago.

  Father finishes signing a document with his feather pen. Gloria, my mother, used to say he was born in the wrong decade. He would’ve opened Gray Towers and given Bugsy Siegel and Meyer Lansky’s Flamingo a run for their money. She said he also would’ve dominated the Mafia rings.

  But I disagree. Father’s too subtle. He’s a businessman at heart, a hit man out of necessity. He would’ve been the same in Boston or New York or Chicago. He’ll succeed at all costs. The price just happened to be becoming the thing that makes mafiosos quiver in bed, worrying the bogeyman’s going to find them.

  Father’s hired people like Kase’s parents, but he got his reputation by being the guy wielding the knife or gun or whatever and making problems disappear. His biggest talent was keeping his identity hidden. I wonder how worried he is about Lake Mead’s water level?

  Kase once said people like his parents don’t get a retirement. If they’re successful, they can quietly disappear like The Shadow instead of suddenly vanishing like many of those connected with the mob.

  No. Father doesn’t have skeletons in his closet. He has them all over this big city, and no one messes with him.

  He puts the pen in its holder. No mundane cap for him. “Do you think I’m stupid, Holland?”

  I chafe at his tone. It’s a quiet question, the exact volume and timbre he’d use on someone who wronged him. But I’m his daughter. I’m a Gray, and I’m going to start acting like it. “No, you know better. They’re my friends, and I think I should be able to tell them goodbye.”

  Thanks to what Jacobi did to London, they’ll understand marriage contracts. I won’t need to give them the details. I just want them to know it’s my choice as much as it isn’t.

  “That lover of yours is also in the friend group, little bee, is he not?” Of course, Father knows all about London and Penni and who their spouses are.

  “He is, but things were never serious between me and Kase.” More serious than I’d ever experienced, but we both knew the end was near. “He was helping me, and I’d appreciate it if you had more respect for me than to think I’ll call London and Penni and ask them to send some sort of message. If I wanted to get a message to Kase, I’d do it and I’d do it myself.”

  Father sits back, his chin lifted as if seeing me for the first time. It’s the only moment I’m grateful for the drab suit. If I was wearing the same clothes I wore to meet Kase’s parents, he wouldn’t take me seriously.

  Or maybe he would. Father was born and raised in Las Vegas. He’s been surrounded by showgirls and performers. He knows when to look beyond the costume.

  “What are you going to tell your friends?” He talks about them as if they’re still teenagers. As if Gloria and I are still frolicking in L.A. and I’m playing at some private school when I’m only destined to be someone’s wife. I’ve never dwelled on my circumstances for long. How could I when I grew up with everything? But it’s disgusting how my worth is determined by who I’m sold to.

  “As much of the truth as I can. But they’re people who care about me. People who know how much BommGirl meant to me—and will also know that I wouldn’t leave for no reason, not weeks before the biggest event of my life.”