The Carrero Solution (Carrero Book 3)
Chapter 74

I leave Sylvana’s, not realizing how late in the evening it is, and let myself into the house, the entrance hall is in complete darkness, so I clap my hands to switch on the lights.

Jake and his gadgets.

It’s eerily quiet and peaceful in here now I can see my hall minus a lot of tools and mess and protective sheeting. I blink around appreciatively, place my bag on the uncovered side unit, and sigh with annoyance when I notice that damn crowbar. From here, you can spot it between the rails. The workman who left it on the stairs in the first place obviously hadn’t realized that Jake had moved it, so here it is still in my house, hanging halfway up my banister where Jake left it.

Every other tool in the place is gone, just not that. Given the color of the vertical dark metal railings, it’s easy to miss a crowbar hanging dejectedly beside them; similar in color, it would be easy to slip from eyesight at every other angle in the house but this one.

I head for the stairs to save my beautiful wooden handrail from the ugly metal bar, but my phone ringing distracts me, drawing me back to the entranceway. Jake has kept in contact a few times today, and I spoke to him on my cell at his mamma’s before I came home, so it’s probably him making sure I managed to walk the fifty yards back home without injury or getting lost. I walk to my bag and fish it out, seeing Mathew’s name flash up on the screen. It’s strange for Mathews to ring me, so I instantly inhale like something’s wrong, internally tensing.

“Hello?” I ask in a friendly tone.

“Miss. Anderson, good evening. I’m just calling to inform you that I’m on my way back.”

Oh, of course.

He’s been out collecting some things I ordered from a nearby home décor boutique. Sylvana sent him to get them earlier since I was at her house for the day, and he was hanging around waiting for something to do. Since Sylvana has security at her home, it seemed a waste not to let Mathews out for a few hours. He’s probably only been gone an hour at most, anyway.

“Okay, that’s me home now, so I’ll probably go upstairs and take a bath. You can retire for the night.” I smile as I say it, so he’ll get warmth in my tone. Mathews has a fatherly quality that is growing on me; he makes me feel safe in the same way Jake does, and I’m starting to wonder if that’s why Jake has entrusted me into Mathew’s care because he knows that I feel this way about Mathews. So, in a way, it’s like Jake is watching over me even in his absence.

“Very good, Miss. Anderson. I’ll check the house and lock it up before I go to my quarters. Have a good night.” His friendly yet efficient tone is as close to unprofessional as I’ll ever get with him; the man is all business.

“Good night,” I breathe softly and hang up, remembering suddenly that we never got the keys back. The workmen must’ve forgotten to bring them to Sylvana’s or taken them home ready to bring in tomorrow. These contract workers are so incompetent. Their inability to follow instructions and keep a clear workspace irritates me. I call Mathews back immediately.

“Miss. Anderson, is there something else?” He sounds very business-like and professional again instantly, never missing a beat.

“Yes, Mathews. The workers have finished here but didn’t leave the keys as instructed.” I sigh heavily, irritation creasing at my forehead, and I look around, overwhelmed at the high-tech door locks and fan-dangled things that I don’t know how to operate. Those keys do everything.

“I’ll deal with it, ma’am. I’ll collect them before I return; may I suggest, in the meantime, you can arm the house with the code 101? It’s a temporary alarm that can only be bypassed with a code that only Mr. Carrero and I have.” He is smooth and efficient, and his no hint of worry instantly makes me feel better.

“Thank you, yes. I shall do.” I smile, knowing how safety-conscious Mathews is and the thought of that little bit of extra security makes me feel better; at least I won’t have to mess with the crazy-looking boxes on the door I assume are locks.

I wander to the digital panel on the inner wall of the entrance and arm the alarm, ensuring the doors and windows down here are shut securely first, then grab my bag and head upstairs in a much more relaxed mood.

I can’t stop yawning lately, good old pregnancy fatigue has been my worst enemy, and I can’t even imagine trying to work like this. All I do is sit around, eat, sleep, or have sex. It isn’t very good when I think about the person I used to be. I know people often talk of baby brain, but I didn’t think it affected someone this early. Jake has ruined me for the real world; returning to it will be hell. It’s strange, I never imagined I would ever submit to being some pampered billionaire’s girlfriend … fiancée, but Jake is the king of pampering. He does treat me like his queen.

God, I love that man.

I know it’s temporary, though. Once this little bundle comes and gets a little older, I intend to pursue a new dream, a new career. I have no reason to live life this way indefinitely. There is still a huge part of me that wants my own achievements, my own worth proven to myself by myself. I want to leave some worthwhile mark on the world and a legacy for our children. I want to be more than just a billionaire’s wife. I think I owe it to myself.

I get upstairs and pad toward our bedroom, clapping for the lights, but they don’t come on. I’m standing in complete darkness with little light coming through into the hallway of doors, the moonlight peeking through the bedroom windows of one open door, splashing little slivers of light through but not enough to see much. I kick my shoes off by the top of the stairs and leave them lying there to feel my feet along the ground, trying to replace my way while my eyes adjust. I clap louder, trying to remember where the sensors are in case I’m not close enough.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” I snap and clap again, but nothing happens. I don’t know where the manual switches are up here. I’m standing in the hall between various rooms’ doors, with no windows in the hall in front of me. It’s too dark up here to try running my hands around the walls, and I’m internally cursing these God-forsaken workmen. It’s just my luck to finally have the house done and empty for a stupid fault like this to show up. Jake will have to call them back tomorrow to fix the damn things, and I’ll have to endure another day of them invading my space.

Carefully treading my way across the carpet, my palm runs along the smooth walls slowly until I reach the handle of my door and slide my palm around it to grip it. I know there are switches by the door and at least four lamps in the room. Plus, the huge picture window will allow the moon to cast some light, and I’m sure it’ll be much better than standing in a dark hall.

“Don’t fucking breathe.” A harsh, heavy growl lashes into my ear, hot breath assaults my face, and the metallic smell makes me gag as I freeze like a stone-cold statue; an arm comes around my throat at lightning speed, and my mouth is covered cruelly, blocking out my ability to squeal. Everything inside me thuds with a sickening terror, and my blood turns to ice in my veins.

A rough hand crushes my face, bruising my lips against my teeth. I’m pushed forward against the door with force, my body pinned hard and heavy with a thud so that I don’t have any time to react. The solid weight of a big man crushing against me cruelly and restricting my breathing brings sheer fear and consuming panic through my foggy brain. I’m imprisoned with dead weight and can’t move a single muscle. My feet, planted on the floor, are pushed far apart with a kick, and a man’s disgusting wide body and legs are forced right against me from toe to head. His erection forced up against my ass, making me still and complaint with sheer faint fear. I can sense the aggressive violence pulsing in the air around me, crackling like stars in my vision.

I can’t breathe, see, or move, but I can smell, all my other senses in utter chaos. My heart thuds hard as my hands claw at the wood in front of me, instinctively looking for anything to grab. But my sense of smell invokes a memory that has my knees trembling and bile lifting from my toes, a cold sweeping wave of panic and realization hitting me hard.

I smell him.

I know him.

I choke on my own terrified tears as it creeps through me.

Ray Vanquis is here with me all alone.