I Kidnapped My Ex On His Wedding Day

Chapter 2

CHARLIE

"I can't disclose any details right now. Think of it as three months of paid vacation."

That was all our superior had to say before dismissing us.

Apparently, the entire organization was being placed on a three-month paid leave while it underwent a complete restructuring.

Complete f*****g bullshit.

My name is Charlotte Sullivan, one of the field agents of G.I.A.—the Gemstone Intelligence Agency, a top-secret organization based in Chicago.

A vacation?

Seriously?

Where the hell was I supposed to go? And who the f**k even enjoyed vacations?

As my mind wandered, one memory quietly surfaced.

Dad.

His grave.

Five years had already passed since the last time I stood in front of it.

Which was exactly why I found myself on a bus bound for Blackwood—the town where I grew up... and the same town I'd sworn never to return to.

Simone, one of my fellow agents and my roommate, had practically begged to come with me, but I refused. She talked way too much. Every five minutes she'd find something new to complain about, and after years of nonstop missions, the last thing I wanted was someone talking my ears off during what was supposed to be my first real break.

If it weren't for Dad's grave, I would've stayed as far away from Blackwood as possible.

Unfortunately, I still had one unfinished piece of business waiting for me here.

Carina's Bar.

Dad opened it after retiring and named it after Mom. She passed away first. A cruel illness took her when I was still a little girl. Dad followed years later, not long after I graduated from college.

Before opening the bar, he'd spent years serving as the head of security for the influential Kingsley family. But after Mom died, he walked away from that life without hesitation. I was all he had left, and instead of risking his life protecting someone else's family, he chose to spend the rest of it raising me.

So he retired early and built a life of his own.

After he passed away, I planned to sell the bar immediately.

Then I found out who wanted to buy it.

My good-for-nothing ex.

That alone was enough to kill the deal.

Instead, I left the business under my cousin Josh's care. Now that I was finally back, I planned to transfer ownership to him for good. Business had never been my dream, and Blackwood was never going to become home again.

The bus finally rolled into town.

My first stop was the cemetery.

Dad's grave was spotless. Fresh flowers rested at its base, the marble gleamed, and not a single weed had dared grow around it. Josh had obviously been taking good care of the place.

Seeing that only strengthened my decision to leave the bar to him.

I laid the flowers down, bowed my head, and whispered a quiet prayer.

"I'm sorry, Dad."

Five years.

It had taken me five damn years to come back.

After leaving the cemetery, I walked straight to the bar.

"Cousin, is that you?" Josh called without looking up as he wiped down the bar counter.

I walked over and held out my hand.

"Is upstairs clean?"

Straight to the point.

He looked up, blinking.

"Uh... who are you? And why are you holding your hand out?"

Instead of giving me the key...

...the i***t slapped my palm like we were about to high-five.

Wrong move.

I'd spent hours on a bus. I was exhausted, and I wasn't in the mood for games.

The apartment above the bar had been my home with Dad. Before leaving Blackwood, I'd trusted Josh to look after it.

"Josh," I said flatly. "I'm tired. Give me the key. I'll get some rest first. We can talk later."

He laughed.

"Seriously... who are you again?"

What the f**k?

I just said I was tired.

Had my face really changed that much?

Before he could laugh again, I pulled the pistol from the back of my jeans and aimed it squarely between his eyes.

The entire bar seemed to freeze.

Every trace of amusement vanished from his face.

"C-Cousin! I was kidding!" he stammered. "Hold on! I'll get it!"

His hands shook so badly he nearly dropped the keys while searching for them.

I never took my eyes off him.

Not even once.

"H-Here..."

He carefully placed the key on the counter.

I simply held out my other hand.

He swallowed hard before placing it in my palm.

Only then did I lower the gun and tuck it back into my waistband.

"Don't ever do that again, Josh."

I held his gaze for another second.

"I'm not joking."

Leaving my pale-faced cousin behind, I grabbed my backpack and headed upstairs.

The key slid smoothly into the lock.

As soon as I pushed the door open, cool air greeted me, carrying the familiar scent of home.

No dust.

Good.

At least Josh had done his job.

For today.

I locked the door, slid the deadbolt into place, then fastened the security chain.

Old habits die hard.

The bedroom looked exactly as I'd left it.

The mattress was bare.

I tossed my backpack onto the floor, set my gun beside it, stripped off my travel clothes, and stepped into the shower.

The hot water washed away hours of travel—and some of the exhaustion clinging to my body.

Afterward, I slipped fresh sheets over the mattress, changed the pillowcase, and tucked my gun beneath the pillow before lying down.

I needed sleep.

Inside this soundproof room, the noise from downstairs couldn't touch me.

When I woke up, night had already fallen.

Even from upstairs, I could hear the muffled bass and the chatter of the crowd below.

The bar was alive.

I pulled on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved plaid shirt.

Before leaving the room, I tucked my gun into the back of my waistband.

Some habits weren't worth breaking.

The moment I stepped downstairs, the familiar atmosphere welcomed me.

Music, laughter, and the clinking of glasses filled the room.

Josh was back behind the counter, serving drinks as if nothing had happened.

Some things never changed.

Even the staff were still the same.

"Cousin!" Josh called when he spotted me. "Want a drink?"

"No."

I headed toward the counter.

"I'm gonna help tonight."

I'd barely taken another step when someone grabbed my shoulder from behind.

Instinct took over.

Before I even realized what I was doing, I'd twisted the person's arm behind their back and pinned them forward.

"Ahh—ouch, Charlie! It's me! Christopher!"

His voice cracked in pain.

Fuck.

I released him immediately and turned him around.

Christopher.

The scrawny kid who used to follow CJ around everywhere.

The last time I'd seen him, he barely reached my shoulder.

Now he stood in front of me as a full-grown man.

Christopher Kingsley.

Christian James's younger brother.

Somehow, Christopher had grown into the complete opposite of his older brother. While CJ had always been a pain in my ass, Christopher had always been the good kid.

"You're still sneaking up on people?" I scolded, shaking my head.

We used to be close back when I still hung out with his brother.

"I didn't sneak up on you!" he protested, rubbing his sore arm. "I just tapped your shoulder! And I'm nineteen now. I'm not a kid anymore."

"Whatever."

I brushed past him toward the counter.

"What do you want?"

He grabbed my arm again.

I slowly looked down at his hand.

Then back at him.

That was all it took.

He immediately let go and took a step back.

"Sorry, Charlie."

The smile disappeared from his face.

For the first time since I'd seen him again, he looked genuinely frightened.

"But this is important. I need to talk to you."

Something in his voice made me stop.

"Christopher..."

I turned to face him fully.

"What's wrong?"

"There is a problem."

His eyes locked onto mine.

Despite the crowded, noisy bar, it suddenly felt like we were the only two people in the room.

"And you're the only one who can help us."