Brought to His Knees-Tough Guys Laid Low By Love Read online

  Brought to His Knees

  Tough Guys Laid Low By Love

  BOXED SET

  Copyright 2014

  The Alpha male. Strong. In control. Letting no one and nothing rule him…until he meets the one, and all bets are off. The world tilts, the bed rocks, and suddenly that tough guy finds himself Brought to His Knees–in more ways than one.

  This collection of ten hot to erotic novellas and one short erotic novel will take you on journeys of lust, love, and adventure, leave you breathless and quite possibly in need of a cold shower.

  Featuring in Order of Appearance

  A.M. Griffin, Amy Ruttan, Anya Richards

  Cynthia D’Alba, Danica Avet, Felice Fox,

  Jennifer Kacey, Lynne Silver, Sabrina York

  Sayde Grace & Tina Donahue

  Editing by Grammar Goggles

  Formatting by Scruffle Muffin

  Publisher Three Twenty–One LLC

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication use of these trademarks is not authorized associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. This e–book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e–book may not be re–sold or given away to other people. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Dark Wolf Enterprises

  A.M. Griffin

  Text Copyright A.M. Griffin 2014

  All Rights Reserved

  Discover more titles by A.M. Griffin

  at: www.amgriffinbooks.com

  Dedication

  For all the kick–ass authors in the Brought To His Knees box–set. It’s been a hoot working with you all.

  Blurb:

  The big break Trudy Hollander’s small accounting firm needs has finally arrived, but unfortunately it comes with murder, mayhem and Kristof Farkas, a man she just can’t seem to resist. Even worse, Kristof is the CFO of Dark Wolf Enterprises–the one person who can pull the plug on the job that will take her company to the next level.

  And then there are the assassins who can jump from three stories up and still be able to run away…

  Kristof has no intention of giving in to his inner wolf and claiming Trudy. She’s human. Too fragile to withstand being a shifter’s mate. But the need to protect her is stronger than his resolve, and his desire is more powerful yet. He’ll fight with everything he has to keep her safe, both from those who would hurt her, and from himself.

  Chapter One

  Gertrude crouched underneath her desk. With each scream that punched through the door to her office, she cowered further into the back corner.

  The evening had started off perfectly normal. At five o’clock she could hear the exchanges of “good bye” and “good night”. Some of her employees had stopped by her office, the only one in the small suite that she rented in an office building on the outskirts of downtown Jacksonville, Florida. There had been small talk about plans for the night, while for her it was continuing her work on a project for a new client. She hadn’t minded the long hours and weekends she’d given up to complete it. Getting the job done fast and right was her main priority. It also meant the possibility of more work from Dark Wolf Enterprises, a multi–million dollar investment firm, to be shifted her way.

  After the lights had dimmed, she’d gotten up for only a second to close her door so she wouldn’t be disturbed when the cleaning crew came in after work hours. Two hours later is when everything had gone to hell on a rocket.

  What caught her attention first was an exchange of voices. The noise coming from the rows of cubicles on the other side of the door hadn’t started out as blood–curdling screams. No. First there had been talking loud enough that she could hear the voices but couldn’t make out what was being said. She was used to some of her employees staying late to finish assignments, but she’d assumed everyone had gone home. Only a few of her seven employees would stay to work this long after quitting time. She’d recognized one of the voices as Mark Taylor.

  Mark was one of the accountants she’d hired a year ago when business really began to pick up. Normally he was a quiet man. He came to work every day in a formal shirt with matching tie, dress slacks and dress shoes even though her dress code policy was pretty casual. He had a wife, Alice, and a special needs kid, Ernie, at home. If Trudy needed someone to do overtime on any projects, she knew he was the man. The hospital and specialist bills racked up for Ernie, and he and Alice needed all the extra income they could get.

  While the lateness of his working hours wasn’t unusual for him, the yelling and arguing definitely was. When she’d first heard Mark’s voice booming through the office, questions began to arise in her mind. Who was he yelling at? Was he arguing with another employee? She didn’t think so. Everyone here got along great and, plus, she really couldn’t recognize the other voices, which held distinctive foreign accents. What were Russians doing here? She didn’t have any Russian employees or clients.

  Realizing she would have to stop working on the accounting records for Dark Wolf Enterprises and investigate, she got up with the intent of kicking Mark and his rowdy guests out. With her hand on the door, ready to turn the knob, she had frozen in place at the sound of a scream.

  It wasn’t a normal “I fell and I need help” scream. No, it had been more like an “I’m being killed” scream. At that point, she’d done what any good, law–abiding coward would do. She ran and hid.

  “Don’t kill me! I swear I’ll get it for you!” Mark’s pleas snapped her attention back to the present.

  Whimpering, she put her hand over her mouth. She’d been listening to him beg for his life for the past three minutes. Her hands shook as she held her cell phone in her sweaty grasp.

  “Ms. Hollander, are they still there?” the male on the other end of the line asked.

  After she’d cowered safely underneath her desk, her next action had been to grab her phone and call the police. Since then, the dispatcher had kept her on the line and sane while he promised the police were on their way.

  “Y–y–yes,” she whispered.

  “Hold tight, the police are downstairs. They’ll be there soon.”

  Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

  “She isn’t here,” Mark cried out. “She went home early.”

  Who is he talking about?

  “I promise I can get to the files without harming her,” Mark strained to say.

  “Not good enough,” A thick accented man replied, the same one who’d done most of the talking. “We need her dead. A message must be sent.”

  Who dead? What message?

  Mark screamed in agony again.

  She sniffed and ran an arm across her dampened forehead. Help was coming. Whoever was beating up Mark would be caught and jailed.

  “Ms. Hollander, are you still with me?”

&nb
sp; “I’m here,” she whispered. “They want to kill someone–a female.”

  “Don’t you concern yourself with that now,” the dispatcher said. “The police are right outside the door of your business. You’re going to hear a lot of loud noise, some yelling, and you might even hear some gunfire.”

  “Guns?” she asked shakily.

  Her desk was made out of thick wood, but it definitely wouldn’t stop a bullet. She pressed herself into the V of the back corner.

  “Try not to worry. The police know there are civilians in the office. The guns are a last resort.”

  “Okay.”

  “That’s my girl. Don’t worry, we’ll get the bad guys.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief. The cops were outside her business door and there was one good thing about having a small office. There was one way in and one way out. Whoever was in here was trapped. Her breath hitched. Or better yet, she was trapped. What if the bad guys wanted to take her and Mark as hostages?

  Shit.

  She eyed the window. Even if she wanted to use it as an escape, it was out of the question. Remembering it was three stories up with parking lot pavement below quickly changed her mind about its viability as an exit.

  A loud crash and the sound of glass shattering made her jump. She held her breath. This was it.

  “Police! Put your hands up!”

  They’re here. It’s safe.

  “There’s no way out. It’s over!”

  That’s it. Put your hands up and walk to the police. Let them handcuff you and take you to jail.

  The fast succession of what sounded like fire–crackers rang out. Shots.

  She used her free arm to shield her head. Another loud crash. The sounds that had been distant and muffled before were now loud and clear.

  Holy shit. They broke down my door.

  She heard the heavy breathing and their footsteps as they ran into her office.

  “Over there! Window!” She recognized the voice as the one who’d been arguing with Mark.

  Those are the bad guys.

  She held her breath as two males ran up to her window. There they tore down the venetian blinds with one tug, sending the mangled mess to the floor in front of her. Both hands flew to her mouth to suppress the scream that was just behind her lips.

  Now wouldn’t be the right time to tell the pair that the window wasn’t an option, especially since being three stories off the ground didn’t seem to matter to them. Without hesitating, they opened the sliding glass, tore out the screen and jumped over the ledge. One following the other.

  There was no urge to run to the window to make sure the men were alright. The thought of seeing two splattered bodies painting the parking lot red kept her rooted in her place.

  More heavy footsteps entered her office and ran to the window. Cops.

  “They jumped. Are they dead?” she whispered to the two police officers.

  The cops didn’t turn around to look at her. Their attention remained outside. “Where the hell did they go?”

  “Wait, look. Over there. Is that them?” the other asked in disbelief, pointing off into the distance.

  “How the hell did they survive the jump and run away?”

  “They’re not dead?” she asked again, louder.

  Noticing her for the first time, the police officers turned to look around the room.

  She waved her free hand in front of her face. “Down here,” she said, still not making any moves to leave her safe haven.

  One officer came toward her and crouched. “Ms. Gertrude Hollander?”

  Her lips quivered as she tried to smile. “Trudy,” she corrected him. She hated her full name, preferring instead to go with a shorter version.

  “Trudy, come out. It’s safe now.”

  Safe?

  Her hands still shook uncontrollably. She sure didn’t feel safe.

  “You’re in good hands, Ms. Hollander. I’m going to disconnect the call now,” the dispatcher on the other end of her cell phone said.

  She held the phone up to her ear, too afraid to give up her lifeline so easily.

  “Hang up? Should I stay on the line?” she asked the dispatcher.

  “Everything is fine. Hang up. You did a good job,” the dispatcher said.

  “Okay, then,” she said, even though she really didn’t want to disconnect.

  She lowered the phone from her ear and terminated the call.

  “I should have asked him his name,” she said, staring down at the home screen picture on her phone. It was a snapshot of Montego Bay, Jamaica. Blue skies and blue ocean with a glimpse of the mountains in the background. Oh, how she wished she was there now. “I should thank him for staying on the line with me. What does one do in situations like this? Gift basket? Flowers? Fruit basket?”

  “Come on out. Don’t worry about the dispatcher, it’s his job.”

  “I still…” She bit her lower lip.

  “Come on,” he said.

  With his coaxing, she crawled from underneath her desk, phone in hand. The officer helped her stand.

  “Are you okay? Did they harm you?”

  She shook her head. “No, no, I’m fine. How is Mark? It sounds like they were working him over pretty good. He may need an ambulance.”

  The officers exchanged quick glances.

  “They had him out there.” Trudy lifted a shaky hand to point to the main office. “If you didn’t see him, he’s probably hiding under something.”

  “Ma’am, why don’t you have a seat?” The officer who helped her from under her desk pulled up a chair. Even though she didn’t want to sit, she found her bottom planted firmly in the leather chair.

  “Can the paramedics come up now?” A voice crackled from the officer’s walkie–talkie.

  The other officer turned his back to her and said, “Send the coroner.”

  Coroner? Mark’s dead?

  She looked toward her broken down office door and panicked. “No, he was just alive. I heard him talking…screaming…begging…”

  Her stomach lurched and the chicken Greek salad she had for lunch came up with force. It must’ve been the warning look on her face, because the officer grabbed her small waste basket and held it under her chin just as vomit erupted from her throat.

  “Ugh.” Another forceful eruption was followed by another and yet another.

  By the time she was done, her stomach was knotted in pain and her throat burned. “No, please tell me this didn’t happen,” she cried. She clutched onto the waste basket for support.

  She vaguely heard the officer ask someone to hand him a napkin. He spoke to her in calming tones as he wiped her mouth and removed the basket from her clutches.

  By the time she gave her statement, she was a sniveling mess. One of her employees had been murdered, in her office, outside her door, while she listened. What was the protocol for this type of thing? Who would contact his wife? Oh God, his child.

  Trudy felt herself losing it again. She looked around her office wildly. She needed to get away from here.

  “Trudy, the paramedics are here. Do you need them to come and look you over?”

  She stared blankly at the officer. “No, I’m fine. I need to go home. M–my dog. I need to let her out,” she mumbled.

  “We can finish up the questions tomorrow. You’ve had a long night.”

  She nodded. A long night didn’t describe what she’d just gone through. She stood to leave.

  “I’ll lead you out. I think it’s best if you close your eyes while we exit the office.”

  “Why?” She closed her laptop and stuffed it into her bag as quickly as she could.

  “Um…”

  She froze and closed her eyes. She felt the room sway. “How bad is it?”

  She hadn’t even thought to ask about the crime scene before.

  “They, well, ah, they sliced him up pretty bad.”

  Her legs weakened underneath her. The officer’s hands gripped under her under her arms to stop her from
falling.

  “We can leave you the number for a good cleanup crew. They can come tomorrow and make it look like nothing ever happened. The doors will need to be fixed though and window too.”

  She shook her head. “Tomorrow… I, we’re open tomorrow.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Do you think that’s wise? It might take a day or two for the cleanup and repairs.

  “Um.” Her head felt muddled with confusion. Of course she would need to close. Tomorrow is Thursday, that would leave enough time to get everything cleaned and fixed by Monday.

  “You’re right.” She straightened and dropped her phone into her purse. “I’m ready to go now.”

  “Alright,” he said. “Close your eyes.”

  Chapter Two

  Trudy lay on her floor and willed her cell phone, which she’d left on the treadmill console, to stop ringing. She was too exhausted to get up to answer it. After sleeping only two hours, she’d gotten up and made all the necessary calls. She called all six of her employees, and then the manager of the office building to arrange for the repairs. The cleaning crew, her mother and father for strength, and the call that she dreaded was saved for last. She called Mark’s wife Alice to offer her condolences.

  Her morning officially sucked.

  The last ninety minutes had been spent running on the treadmill as fast as she could until, finally, she stumbled off and fell. When she hit the floor, exhaustion took over and she stayed where she was, lying next to the treadmill, listening to its motor run. Her elderly beagle Piper had plopped down next to her, wedging her fat body between Trudy and the treadmill.

  When the phone finally stopped ringing, Trudy rolled to her side, pulling Piper with her. The twenty–five pound dog didn’t object.

  After fifteen minutes of much needed snuggling, her phone rang again. It had been cute when Dallas, her ten–year–old cousin, had downloaded a ringtone of a voice that said, “Ring, ring. Ring, ring, ring.” And then screamed, “Ring! Ring! Ring!” which got progressively louder until the phone was answered. But now it was quite irritating. More irritating than the mating crickets he’d downloaded as her last ringtone.