Do or Die (Fight or Flight #4) Read online

  Do

  Or

  Die

  JamieCanosa

  Do or Die

  Jamie Canosa

  ©Jamie Canosa 2017

  Cover Design: Emily Wittig

  Cover ©Jamie Canosa

  All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Exceptions are reviewers who may quote short excerpts for review.

  ISBN-13: 978-1544626307

  ISBN-10: 1544626304

  All Rights Reserved

  USA

  Other books by Jamie Canosa:

  Fight or Flight

  Sink or Swim

  Now or Never

  Falling to Pieces

  Angel

  Pieces of my Heart

  Rock Bottom

  Sins of the Father

  Dissidence

  Vengeance

  Resisting Atlant

  Chapter One

  Ashlyn

  Girls dressed in long, shimmering gowns floated and spun around the room on the arms of dashing men in fitted tuxes. Soft music floated on the air care of the string quartet perched on the stage in the corner. Laughter rang like the tinkling of bells.

  It was the stuff nightmares were made of.

  Ashlyn sat back in her seat at the banquet table, trying hard not to let on that this was her own personal brand of hell. If she was going to have to live a freaking Disney movie couldn’t there at least be a fire-breathing dragon? Maybe an eight-legged sea witch?

  “Smile, Ashlyn. They can see you.”

  Straightening, Ash cast a glance at the woman in the midnight blue gown seated beside her. Golden hair curled and pinned in an elegant up-do. The magical eraser called makeup—expensive makeup, expertly applied— easily removing ten years from her face, highlighting her high cheek bones, slim nose, narrow chin. The fairest of them all.

  “It’s bad enough that your father couldn’t make it this evening.” AKA Minion Numero Uno was off doing her bidding elsewhere tonight. Probably pressing the flesh—and why did that sound disturbingly awkward?—or schmoozing those who liked to grease campaign funds. “At least my daughter could pretend to be happy for me.”

  Long, dark lashes accentuated her stormy gray eyes. Eyes that could make you feel like the most important person in the room. Eyes that have been known to make grown men cower. Eyes that currently crackled with warning.

  “Sorry, Mom. I’m just tired, I guess.”

  “Well, maybe if you stopped sitting there like a lump on a log and actually mingled a bit, you’d find some more energy.”

  Despite her wording, it wasn’t a suggestion. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Round tables draped in crisp white linens surrounded the dance floor, the remnants of the three course dinner all but evaporated into thin air thanks to the magic of the catering staff. Her mother would be pleased with the venue, The Old Governor’s Mansion. It was likely they’d use it again in the future.

  Slowly, Ashlyn edged along the wall. Familiar faces filled the room. Judges, politicians, elected officials . . . The high-and-mighty of the community rubbing elbows with the up-and-comers. The same people always attended these events. She knew them all—their families, their hobbies, their schedules—and yet Ashlyn felt utterly alone at every single one. The odd man out.

  Fingering the ruby necklace her mother had supplied, which matched her red dress to a tee and added just the right amount of ‘pizazz’, she reminded herself how lucky she was. A lot of people would give anything to be in her shoes—painful as they may be—but she couldn’t help feel as through the jewels around her neck were little more than a fancy collar. Something to which her mother could attach the invisible leash she held and use to parade her around like the show pet she was.

  “Ah, Ashlyn, lovely to see you this evening.” An older gentleman with silver hair approached from the throng and offered her his hand.

  “Congressman Harding. It’s nice to see you.” She ran through the mental notes she’d successfully filed away on each big name in attendance. “How’s your wife, Nancy?”

  “Oh dear, she has a bit of a cold this week, I’m afraid. Couldn’t make it tonight.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Wish her well for me and my mother, would you?”

  “Of course. Of course. But I couldn’t let my second ticket go to waste, now could I? I’d like you to meet my grandson.”

  Ah, hell. Ashlyn bit her tongue and forced a perfectly gracious smile.

  “Preston, come here. I’d like to introduce you to someone.” The congressman waved over a young man around her age, maybe a year or two older. Golden blonde hair with more styling product than an entire season of America’s Next Top Model framed caramel-colored eyes and an equally fake smile. “This is Ashlyn Mills. Senator Mills’ daughter.”

  “Pleasure to meet you.”

  “And you.” Preston extended a manicured hand and Ashlyn placed hers in it, but when she tried to pull away he failed to release her. “Care for a dance?”

  “What a wonderful idea.” The congressman’s eyes lit up and Ashlyn choked back a groan.

  Preston led her out onto the dance floor and around it with no small amount of confidence.

  “Where’d you learn to dance?” Pain flared in her shins as she twirled. Dancing had never been something Ash enjoyed, but years of lessons at least ensured she was good at it.

  “Ballroom dancing. My grandfather insisted.” Preston grimaced and for the first time all evening, Ashlyn smiled.

  “I wasn’t a big fan, either.”

  “Well . . .” Preston twirled her one last time and when she came to a stop in front of him, it felt as though the room just kept on spinning. “If neither one of us wants to be out here, why don’t we go find something . . . more interesting to do?”

  “Like what?”

  “Come on, I’ve got an idea.” He all but hauled her off the dance floor and Ashlyn grinned. Finally she’d met someone like her at one of these stuffy events. Maybe the night wasn’t a complete waste after all.

  “Where are we going?” Leaving the ballroom hadn’t bothered her in the least, but sneaking up the main staircase—past the ‘No Guests’ sign in plain view—caused the ever-present knot in her gut to tighten.

  “Relax. I was up here earlier. No one’s around.”

  Ashlyn was no stranger to delinquent behavior. In high school she’d been a regular teenage rebel—cutting school, smoking pot, shop lifting, the whole nine-yards. She even had a sealed juvie record no one knew about to prove it, but that was before. For years she’d kept her head down and her nose clean.

  The staircase opened into a wide corridor with doors lining either side, all dark, all quiet. The stillness of abandonment permeated the entire floor. Eerie. The governor and his family didn’t actually live there anymore, but they used to, right up until they completed construction of the brand-spanking-new, state of the art mansion three years ago. Now all of these extravagant rooms just sat there empty, collecting dust. Tax dollars at work.

  At the far end stood a set of double doors. Preston’s eyes glinted with mischief as he pushed them open. Moonlight trickled in through a tall window, casting shadows over the otherwise darkened room. Ashlyn had to squint to make out an oversized desk and a fireplace, both empty. No pictures or papers, not even a stray pen. Nothing to give the room life. Goosebumps crept over her bare arms as Preston led her toward a series of indistinct blobs.

  “Check it out.” With all the flare of an amateur magician, he whipped the drop cloth off of an ornate sofa, clogging the air with a burst of dust that made Ashlyn cough. “Isn’t it neat? The governor’s personal office. And I hea
r the new one’s even better.” Flopping onto the stiff cushions, he kicked out his feet and folded his hands behind his head. “Someday it will all be mine.”

  Oh great, another politician in her life. Exactly what Ashlyn did not need. “You sound awfully sure of yourself.”

  “I am.” Grinning up at her, Preston grasped her wrist and tugged her down beside him before she could think to resist.

  “Well, you’re not governor yet, so what are we doing in here?”

  “I thought you could use a break.” His fingers drifted up her arm and if she hadn’t been so distracted by that, she might have noticed the way he was leaning in to her. “Thought you wanted to find something more . . . interesting to do.”

  “Interesting and reckless are not the same thing.”

  “They can be.” His fingers skated across the base of her neck, teasing the strap of her gown over the curve of her shoulder.

  “Neither is slutty.” She batted his hand away. “I just met you.”

  “Your mother’s been after my grandfather’s support for a long time.” He gripped her knee. Hard. “The old man listens to me. I could . . . be persuaded to swing a little favor in her direction.”

  Revulsion coursed through Ashlyn in the form of a swift shudder. “Get your hands off me.”

  She shoved at his chest, but he only leaned closer, bringing his lips within an inch of hers. “It doesn’t have to be this way.”

  “Don’t—” Before she could finish her plea, his lips were on hers. Hard and demanding, his tongue speared between her lips, forcing its way into her mouth and she bit down.

  A frustrated growl was her only warning before his big hand wrapped around the back of her knee and dragged her across the sofa. Before she knew it, she found herself on her back with Prince—mothereffing—Charming hovering over her.

  Her shouts were devoured one after the next by his greedy mouth. Her hands, clawing and shoving at his chest, were brushed aside as nothing more than a nuisance. This wasn’t happening.

  This was not happening

  Chapter Two

  Ashlyn

  Preston shifted to reach for the hem of her dress and the moment his weight lifted from her leg, Ash drew up her knee, hard and fast. She may not have taken the self-defense classes her mother recommended, but she knew where a man’s soft spot was. And she nailed it.

  “Bitch!” Howling, Preston curled into the fetal position, cupping his bruised balls with both hands. A swift kick sent him to the floor with a satisfying thud.

  “Piece of shit.” Smoothing out her dress with trembling fingers, Ashlyn got to her feet. “Touch me again and I will cut those off and shove them down your throat.”

  She felt like Cinderella, clutching her dress as she dashed down the stairs. Only Cinderella was a moron. Ashlyn’s theory on running was simple. It should only be done when someone is chasing you. Or when there’s a really great sale on shoes. Or purses. But that’s where she drew the line. What was Cinderella running from? Mr. Perfect? Boo-freaking-hoo. And there wasn’t a chance in hell she was about to leave one of those peep-toed stilettoes behind, even if they did make her want to hack off her feet at the ankles with a dull blade.

  These were the completely pointless thoughts cycling through her brain as she tripped over the last step and collided with a narrow, black jacket clad back. Both her and her unfortunate obstacle tumbled forward, but his reflexes were quick enough to keep them from landing in a heap on the floor.

  “Ashlyn.” Wide green eyes blinked at her. They darted from her to the staircase and back again, but he recovered quickly. Clearing his throat, he tugged his suit jacket back into position. “Looking beautiful as ever.”

  “Uh . . .” Heart beating like a hummingbird’s wings, she glanced back up the stairs, wondering how this was going to go. If he planned to question her about her excursion out of bounds. “Thanks, Roger.”

  Roger Harris, son of Daniel Harris, CEO of . . . of . . . She was drawing a blank. Some big media conglomerate that had more pull then it should have, but provided enough jobs to the community and enough tax money to the government to be worth it. She’d known him for years. As well as you could really know someone growing up together in the world of the ‘pretty people’ all hiding behind money, and agendas, and smiling masks. She knew his mother’s name was Iris and that she’d won the baking contest at the county fair three years in a row with her blueberry cobbler. She knew he studied business law—surprise, surprise—and played the clarinet. And she’d known for years that he had a major crush on her. Not that he’d ever had the guts to tell her himself.

  “Don’t worry.” A sly smile curved his thin lips. “Your secret’s safe with me. Anything interesting up there?” He tipped his head playfully toward the stairs.

  “Nothing.” Not a damn thing.

  Ashlyn moved toward the ballroom, hoping Roger would follow like the lost little puppy he always seemed to be around her. She needed to get him the hell out of there before Preston caught up. That would be a bitch to explain.

  He didn’t disappoint. “Care to dance?”

  “Um . . .” Since noting his interest in her, Ashlyn had done everything in her power not to lead the poor guy on. Roger was nice enough, but he wasn’t her type. The lean frame, thick glasses and mop of dark, floppy hair all lent to his boyish charm that she found endearing, but not in a dance-with-me-I-want-to-feel-your-hands-on-my-body sort of way. “Maybe not tonight. I’m not feeling very well.”

  “Of course. Perhaps another—” A string of muttered obscenities cut Roger short and Ashlyn bit down on the curse working its way up her own throat.

  Apparently she hadn’t led him far enough away because a tip of the head through the double-wide doorframe and there it was: a crystal clear view of Preston stomping his way down stairs. Jacket slung over his shoulder, shirt untucked, hair sticking out every-which-way. His gaze collided with hers in a hard stare and Ashlyn tensed. If the douchebag wanted to go another round, she’d show him—

  The clearing of a throat drew her attention and her heart tripped over itself for a whole other reason. Roger stood beside her, slowly nodding. “I see.”

  “No, it’s not . . . I didn’t—”

  The wave of a hand and a hard grimace cut her off. “I understand.”

  He didn’t. He didn’t understand anything, but before she could explain it to him, Roger swept away and was engulfed by the crush of bodies on the dancefloor.

  Goddammit. It wasn’t that she thought he’d go blab to everyone what he’d seen, what he thought he knew, but it was bad enough that even one person believed it. Enough to make her want a second shot at the family jewels.

  She was so angry she was shaking. Anger. And adrenaline. And maybe a little something else, but she’d stick with the first two. They’d served her well for most of her life.

  Limp Dick strode past her without a word as she turned and headed for the nearest restroom, using every ounce of her self-control not to sprint. She wasn’t retreating, she was regrouping. Crouching down in front of the toilet, she did a quick scan for other feet. None. She was alone . . . for now. But at an event like this, with hundreds of women dressed to impress and hair and makeup to maintain, that wouldn’t last for long.

  She couldn’t keep doing this. It wasn’t healthy. It wasn’t normal. If anyone ever found out . . . If her mother ever found out . . . The thought alone made her head spin and she couldn’t help herself.

  Shoving two fingers down her throat triggered her gag reflex and up it came. All of her frustration, and anxiety, and self-loathing came pouring right out to be flushed down the drain. Panting with relief, she collapsed back against the door.

  That son of a bitch thought he could steal her control, but she’d shown him. No one controlled Ashlyn Mills. Nobody.

  ***

  Scowling at her reflection, Ashlyn touched up her smeared lipstick and popped a stick of gum in her mouth, pausing to make sure everything was perfect. If it wasn’t her mother
would be sure to let her know. Everything was about appearances with that woman. And if you didn’t do something perfectly, then it wasn’t worth doing at all.

  Ashlyn reclaimed her seat—looking every bit the plastic Barbie doll she was meant to—just in the nick of time, earning herself a sharp look.

  “And now, it is my honor to present Meredith Mills . . .”A hush fell over the room as the senator was introduced to a long list of accolades Ashlyn had heard time and time again. Her mother was a formidable woman, but no one knew that better than Ashlyn.

  The senator spoke, thanking people and making promises. As usual, the words went in one ear and right out the other. It didn’t matter if Ashlyn knew the first thing about her mother’s campaign. All that mattered was that she supported it.

  The skin on the her arms began to itch as the heat of Preston’s angry gaze burnt holes from where he was seated near the side of the room. A fine sheen of sweat broke out on her palms as he leaned in to whisper to Congressman Harding. What was he saying to his grandfather? She hadn’t even stopped to consider what her actions could mean for her mother’s career. Bile rose up the back of her throat, causing her to swallow convulsively.

  An echoing round of applause signaled the end of her mother’s speech and Ashlyn sagged. It had been a long night and her energy was beginning to lag. Now that the overtly public part of the evening was over, there was a chance the senator might allow her to duck out early.

  “Nice speech.”

  “Thank you.” Adjusting her bracelet, Ashlyn’s mother lowered with more grace than she could ever hope to achieve into her chair.

  “So, I . . . I have to work kind of early tomorrow. Would you mind if I—”

  “Really, Ashlyn, I don’t know why you insist on working at that awful place.”

  Why? “Because I need a job, Mom.”