Heir in Exile Read Online Free PDF Page A

restrooms, which were set up with entire lounge areas for women to recline, talk, fix make up or smoke in peace. She chose a divan in the corner and put her feet up, more than happy to have some down time. Fishing her phone from her purse, she pretended to have a text conversation while in reality, she perused wedding dresses.
    It never hurt to just...look.
    The wedding was probably years away, but this relaxed her and took her mind off everything else.
    Before she knew it, an hour had gone by. Gasping in surprise when she looked at the time, she shut her phone off, tucked it into her purse, and exited the restroom. Sander was probably thinking she'd gone slinking away with some man again.
    Out in the main room, she paused to get her bearings and find the group he'd been speaking with. The circle was no longer there.
    Fantastic. She threaded her way through the milling guests, on the hunt for Sander.
     
    . . .
     
    Chey started to worry when she didn't find him after fifteen minutes of searching. Maybe he'd needed to use the men's room as well and got caught up in unexpected conversation. If his security detail was here, Chey had a difficult time pinpointing them. There were others dressed in typical black and white suits, making it hard to differentiate who was who. If there hadn't been a hundred and fifty or so faces to scan, it would have made her task much easier.
    “Lost, little girl?” Sander said from behind, next to her ear.
    Startled, she twitched a look over her shoulder. “There you are. I was about to go into the men's room and see if you were there.”
    “I dare you,” he said, laughing.
    “I don't have to now. You're here.” She smiled and faced him. “Did you finish your talks?”
    “Yes, and I'm ready to blow this party if you are.” Sander offered her his elbow.
    Chey slid her fingers under the crook and let him lead her through the room. From nowhere, his security appeared out of the throng and took up flanking positions. So they had been somewhere in the room. Or at least two of them had.
    Sander passed off a few goodbyes on their way through the enormous arabesque arch. He led her along a hallway, then into another where the VIP elevator banks were located.
    Pressing the button, they waited until the doors slid open and he guided her inside. The security situated two in front, two in back.
    Chey slipped little glances aside at Sander as the carriage began to ascend. It was a smooth, quiet ride, with a light flickering above each number as they passed the floor. In no time, the final ding rang through the cabin and the elevator doors hissed open.
    With a sudden flurry of motion, dark clad figures rushed in. Although it was night time outside, each wore sunglasses that gave their faces a bug like appearance. Sander's security had no time to unsheathe their weapons or block the blows that landed a moment later. Silencers, several of them, swept the carriage while someone shouted for everyone to freeze.
    Sander shoved Chey behind him and batted at a silencer, grabbing the long muzzle with one hand while kicking at the first man's knee. Two other men swarmed in from the hall, grappling in the small space.
    Chey screamed and fought off an assailant that wrapped her by the throat with an arm. Bodies of guards dropped like flies to the floor of the elevator and were summarily dragged out into the corridor.
    Catching glimpses of Sander fighting for his life, Chey wrestled with the man who trapped her against his chest. He had the advantage in height, strength and experience. Bulling her forward, he guided her through the foyer of the suite and in through the already open doors.
    Someone had planned this well.
    She dropped her clutch on the floor when the man, rather harshly, forced her down into a chair.
    “Do not move,” he snarled, brandishing the gun to show her he meant business.
    She screamed, a high pitched, blood chilling sound that caused the assailant to backhand her hard across the cheek.