Taker - A Single Dad's New Baby Romance (Criminal Passions Book 4) Read online

  Taker

  Contents

  Taker

  1. Abbie

  2. Tate

  3. Tate

  4. Abbie

  5. Tate

  6. Abbie

  7. Tate

  8. Abbie

  9. Abbie

  10. Tate

  11. Tate

  12. Abbie

  13. Abbie

  14. Tate

  15. Abbie

  16. Abbie

  17. Tate

  18. Abbie

  19. Tate

  20. Abbie

  21. Tate

  22. Abbie

  23. Tate

  24. Abbie

  Epilogue

  Breaker

  1. Sierra

  Want More?

  Also by Layla Valentine

  Copyright 2020 by Layla Valentine

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part by any means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the explicit written permission of the author.

  All characters depicted in this fictional work are consenting adults, of at least eighteen years of age. Any resemblance to persons living or deceased, particular businesses, events, or exact locations are entirely coincidental.

  Chapter 1

  Abbie

  I didn’t mean to spill the steak tartare—that was a total mistake. And I definitely didn’t mean to spill it on the lap of the businessman who’d pinched my ass when I came by to refill drinks.

  Total, honest mistake. Honestly.

  And the look on his face when the steak accidentally slid off the plate and onto his fancy slacks just happened to be a nice bonus for the slipup.

  “They’re pissed,” said Jamie, my good friend and coworker at the Chesterton, the upscale steakhouse where I waited tables. “Not just the guy with the stained slacks, but all of them.”

  “Well, if they didn’t want to deal with the consequences, they should’ve known that ‘free gropes’ didn’t come with the special.”

  She laughed. “Don’t get me wrong, you made the right call. But damn, look at Mark.”

  I peeked through the line window on the main floor toward the party room where the group I’d been waiting on was seated. Mark, our red-faced, big-bellied manager, was there, standing with a trio of men from the group and doing his best to cool the situation down.

  “I know his face normally is tomato-esque,” said Jamie. “But this is a new depth of red.”

  “You think he’s pissed?”

  “I know he is. But like I said, you did the right thing.”

  Mark broke from the party and came back to the kitchen, making his way through the bustle of servers zipping here and there and cooks calling out orders. The smell of steak was thick in the air, mixing with the clatter of plates.

  The moment he was in the kitchen, he locked his eyes onto me, raising his hand and doing the little “come here” finger curl toward me. That let me know, without a doubt, that I was in some serious trouble.

  “Office. Now.”

  “Time to go off to my official scolding,” I said to Jamie.

  “Good luck,” she said. “See you on the other side.”

  I followed Mark through the kitchen and toward the small, cramped manager’s office. Once inside, Mark plopped into the chair in front of the computer and reached forward to shut the door. The din from the kitchen quieted right away.

  He let out a sigh before shaking his head.

  “All right,” he began. “It took some drink comping and some apologies, but I think they’re finally calm.”

  “I hope they’re calm in more ways than one,” I said, leaning against the door. “You know what he did to me, right?”

  He nodded. “I heard, I heard. And don’t get me wrong—that kind of behavior is something we don’t tolerate here at the Chesterton.”

  “But we tolerate it enough not to boot them out when they do it.”

  Another sigh. “You know it’s not easy being a manager, right?”

  I bit my tongue, knowing he was about to go into the same spiel I’d heard time and time again.

  “And don’t give me that look,” he said, raising his finger. “That ‘here we go again’ look.”

  “But these guys,” I said, gesturing toward the dining room through the wall. “They think they can do whatever they want because they have money. It’s ridiculous.”

  “They’re men used to getting their way,” said Mark. “And when you cater to this kind of clientele, you have to, well, let them sometimes.”

  “Even when ‘their way’ involves grabbing the asses of the waitresses?”

  “I’m not saying it was okay. But spilling food on his lap isn’t the right reaction, and you know it.”

  “It was an accident!” I said, a fake tone of innocence to my voice. “My hand slipped. That’s all.”

  He shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Abbie, you’re the best server we’ve got here. If there’s one person who wouldn’t be dropping food like a newbie, it’s you.” Another sigh from Mark. “You want to run your own restaurant someday, right?”

  “It’s my dream.”

  “Then you’re going to have to learn to deal with conflicts like that without dropping hundred-dollar pieces of meat onto people.”

  “I would deal with them—by kicking their asses out onto the street the second it happened.”

  He opened his mouth to argue the point but closed it. Mark knew by now that I was stubborn, and once I put my foot down, there was no budging me.

  “And see how long you can keep a business running that way.” He waved his hand through the air, dismissing the subject. “But I’m not going to get into that. They don’t want you waiting on them, so I’m cutting you for the night.”

  My eyes widened. “Are you serious?”

  “Do I look like I’m joking right now? Head home and think about whether or not you can be a team player going forward.”

  “But it’s Saturday night,” I said. “I can’t afford to not work a weekend.”

  “You should’ve thought about that before you did what you did. Now go.”

  I hated it, hated the way he talked to me like I was some dumb kid who’d gotten out of line. But he was the boss, and for now, there was nothing I could do about it.

  Moments later I was back in the kitchen, Jamie waiting for me with an expression on her face that suggested she was eager to hear what went down.

  “Well?”

  “He cut me for the night.”

  She sighed in frustration. “Figures he’d do that—appease the jerks, and who cares about the staff.”

  “Nothing to do about it.” I took out my phone and checked the time—a little after ten. “It’s getting late anyway. Might as well go home and get some rest for the breakfast shift.”

  “Yeah, cut your losses. You still down for lunch tomorrow?”

  “Sure am.” I shifted where I stood, trying to ignore the sting from losing out on the rest of the night’s earnings. “There anything you need me to do before I head out?”

  She shook her head, grinning. “Nah, I’ll take care of the side work. Someone’s got to reward you for your commendable behavior.”

  “Thanks, Jamie.” I gave her arm a squeeze.

  Her eyes flashed, as if she’d realized something. “Oh, and call a taxi. It’s too late to be walking home.”

  “You serious? It’s the perfect night
out for a walk.”

  “Not for a girl on her own.”

  I had to smile. Jamie was sweet, always a little motherly despite being the same age as me. I didn’t mind it, knowing it was just her looking out for me.

  “I’ll have my phone. And my mace. Don’t you worry about me.”

  “All right,” she said, with a look that made it clear she knew there was no point in talking me out of it. “But text me when you get home, okay?”

  “Will do.”

  After a quick hug, I hung up my apron and clocked out.

  Moments later I was outside, the air crisp and fresh and just the right amount of cool. The towers of downtown Denver rose around me, their lights like stars in the black above. The mountains rose in the distance, imposing and majestic—a perfect night in the Rockies.

  My place was just on the edge of downtown, a twenty-or-so-minute walk. But that night I felt keyed up, full of energy from the shifted I’d just stepped out of. Not to mention I was still steaming a bit from the whole butt-pinching and steak-dumping incident.

  So, I decided to take the long way home.

  I started walking, slipping my earbuds in and playing some mellow electronic music, letting my mind unspool. Seemed like all the BS I had to put up with was simply me paying my dues before I’d finally be able to open my own restaurant.

  But as much as I hated to admit it, that particular dream was still a ways off. I needed to save money, and the situation with my bank account was more than a little dire. My dream kept me motivated, but some nights, like that night, it seemed so far off, like it might never happen.

  I let myself dream anyway, imagining the place I’d own one day in the future. I liked to go through my mental collection of décor, of menu items, of uniforms, and the rest of it.

  All the details were yet to be decided. Would it be a fancy place? Something a little more casual? Maybe a diner, or a hip little coffee shop somewhere downtown, a place where people could relax with a latte and a pastry, sitting and watching the world pass them by.

  Speaking of which, I stopped mid-walk and looked around, realizing that I’d taken a wrong turn, or two, during my walk. I was in an unfamiliar part of downtown, the buildings around me worn down, windows broken here and there.

  “Shoot,” I hissed as I took out my phone and pulled up the map application.

  I typed in my address, and a path appeared on the screen, one that took me around the neighborhood I was in. But it also added about ten minutes onto my trip. As nice as the walk had been, I was ready to be home and in my pajamas, ready to wind down and get some sleep and be rested for yet another shift.

  So I decided to take a shortcut. I zoomed in on the map and saw that if I cut through the nearby alleyways, I’d be able to shave a good few minutes off the walk. I turned at the next alley and started off.

  The moment I was halfway down the alley, I regretted my decision. The area around me was dingy and dark, illuminated only by the faint glow from the streetlamps on the sidewalk. Still, I kept on, not wanting to spend too much time where I was. I cut from the alley to the next.

  When I reached the alley across the street, however, I saw something that caused me to stop in my tracks.

  Three somethings, in fact.

  I stopped walking the moment I laid eyes on the three figures, not wanting to attract attention.

  But the men didn’t notice me, seeming occupied with whatever they were doing. Two of them were facing the third.

  I quickly ducked behind a nearby dumpster, hoping they’d finish and leave before too long. I could’ve gone back, but I didn’t want to risk them seeing me.

  Not knowing what else to do, I listened in on the conversation.

  “I’m telling you,” said one of them, the man being faced by the other two. “Everything was there in the package when I sent it.”

  “That’s what you keep saying,” said the second man. “But then when we get it and open it up, the shit’s light.”

  “You got an explanation for that?” asked the third man.

  “I…I don’t know,” said the first. “It passed through a few hands before it got to you. Maybe someone took a little off the top?”

  I tried to process their conversation. It wasn’t exactly a subject matter I was an expert in, but it seemed clear they were talking about something illegal. Very illegal.

  “Could be, could be,” said the third man. “But I’m a big fan of Occam’s razor. You know what that is?”

  “Yeah,” said the first man, anxiety in his voice. “That thing about, uh, the simplest answer being the right one.”

  “You got it, smart guy. And in this case, I’m thinking the most likely answer for what happened is you took a little from the package, sent it light.”

  “Right,” said the second. “And figured when you sent it no one would notice. Or if we did, you could blame it on someone else.”

  “But that’s not what happened,” said the first man. “I’m telling you.”

  “Funny thing about that,” said the second man, “is you’re not the only one sending packages through those channels. And wouldn’t you know, yours is the only one that comes up short, every time.”

  “So,” said the third man. “Either you’ve got some exceptionally bad fucking luck, or there’s some shady shit going down.”

  “There’s nothing shady happening,” said the first man. “I…I don’t know what to tell you.”

  “You don’t got to tell us nothing but the truth.”

  Even from my vantage point, I could sense that the first man was getting nervous.

  And I was, too. I was witnessing something I shouldn’t, and there wasn’t a doubt in my mind I’d be in some serious trouble if they were to realize I was there.

  So I stayed perfectly still.

  “That’s the truth!” the first man exclaimed. “I’m telling you!”

  The two other men regarded one another, the third nodding to the second as if they’d wordlessly agreed upon something.

  The first man seemed to realize what was happening, and however panicked he was before, this pushed him over the edge.

  “Please!” he shouted. “Let me talk to him. Let me talk to Marshall.”

  “No need,” said the second. “We already did. And we’re here on his orders.”

  My heart stopped at what happened next. The second man reached into the back of his jeans and withdrew a small black gun.

  “No!” the first man cried, terror in his voice. “Please. Let me talk to him. I’ll call him right now. You don’t have to do this!”

  But the other two men weren’t persuaded.

  “You should’ve thought about that, Tom,” said the third.

  “Yeah,” said the second. “But now it’s too late.”

  “No! Ple—”

  He didn’t get a chance to finish. The second man raised the gun, put it to Tom’s forehead, and pulled the trigger. A quick, sharp “pop” sounded out, the light briefly illuminating the dark alley. Blood spattered on the brick behind the first man, and he dropped to the ground like a plug had been pulled out of him.

  My hands shot to cover my mouth as I let out a scream.

  “What the hell was that?” said the second man.

  “Fuck. Someone’s here.”

  “Go look.”

  My heart pounded in my chest as the second man, gun still in his hand, started down the alley.

  I was more scared than I’d ever been in my life. But even through the fear, I knew I had to run.

  I stood up and turned and broke out into a sprint.

  “Hey!” shouted one of the men. “Stop!”

  Not a chance. I pumped my legs as hard as I could, tears in my eyes as I reached the road.

  “Get her!”

  Over on the corner of the street, a cab pulled up and came to a stop. I ran over it as quickly as I could, only glancing back to see the men in hot pursuit.

  I pulled the door open, jumped inside, and pulled out all the cas
h I’d made from my shift.

  “Here!” I said, tossing it onto the passenger seat. “Drive!”

  The driver didn’t ask questions. He pulled through the red light, putting distance between the men and us. I poked up from the seat and saw them watching us, anger in their eyes as we vanished down the road.

  I curled up into a small, tight ball, my heart beating so hard I felt like it might explode.

  And through it all, I knew I was in big trouble.

  Chapter 2

  Tate

  Before I’d come to Denver, I’d had a certain image of the place in mind. Majestic mountains, snow-capped peaks, and, most importantly, cool, mild weather.

  The first two were there for sure. But the third? Not a chance.

  It was the middle of summer and it sure as hell felt like it. The sun beat down on me and the rest of the construction crew, my brow covered in sweat and my white T-shirt clinging to my muscles. Every now and then I had to stop and wipe my forehead with the back of my hand, clearing the perspiration just so I could see.

  It came with the territory. Construction was hard work, and I’d been in the business for over ten years, on and off. It was more than enough time to get used to it. And I was, for the most part. But that didn’t mean ninety-degree days were easy.

  By the time the foreman called out for lunch, I was so ready for a break it wasn’t even funny. I met up with the guys, opened up my simple lunch of a ham-and-Swiss sandwich, along with some sliced apple and chips, and went to town.

  I ate fast, eager to relax for the rest of lunch and sit in the shade, readying myself for the rest of the shift.