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Unlikely Hero

Unlikely Hero

Brock has everything he needs -- he's at the top of his game and running a huge company, making lots of money. He's got everything a man could want, including a yacht, a penthouse suite and vacations to places like the Cayman Islands.

So what happens when Eric, his ex-lover, a man he hasn't seen or heard from in nine years, shows up in the lobby of his company's building asking for help because someone has kidnapped his young daughter?

You'll have to read Unlikely Hero to find out!

Buy it here.

Excerpt

Brock Vencenza glad-handed the board members, smiling and nodding, making all the right noises. He just had to wrap this up and then he was off to the Cayman Islands for some richly deserved R&R. Deep sea fishing, baby.

He saw the last concerned stock-holder out the door and headed for his desk, closing down his computer and tossing a few files into the in-box for Stephanie.

Speak of an angel; his intercom buzzed, Stephanie's voice coming next. "Brock, there's an Eric on the phone, says he has to talk to you. He won't even give me his last name, sir."

Brock frowned. Eric? Now there was a name he hadn't heard in awhile. Years. A lot of years. Enough years that it couldn't be the Eric his mind had automatically pulled up.

"It's probably just a salesman, Steph. Tell him I'm on vacation." His yacht was calling to him. Calling.

"I already did. Brock, he sounds too upset to be a salesman."

Brock growled. "Fine. Put him through." Steph was getting soft if she couldn't put off a nuisance call. He pressed the button for the outgoing line and barked out his name.

"Brock? Brock, it's me. Please, love. I need help." It was his Eric -- his silly, goofy, soft-hearted, ridiculously idealistic to the point of absolute fucking madness Eric -- with hysteria in his voice.

It might have been nine years and Eric might have dumped his ass hard, but Brock didn't even hesitate. "What do you need?"

"Help. Someone's kidnapped my daughter."

Brock stood up and grabbed his briefcase. "Where are you?"

"I'm downstairs. The security guard wouldn't let me in. Please, Brock. Josie's only not even three. She's got to be so scared."

"Don't move. I'm on my way." He hung up the phone and nodded to Steph as he passed her desk on the way to the elevators. "I'm off. You know the cell number if there's an emergency."

"Have fun, Brock."

He nodded to her as the elevator came.

Two minutes later he was in the lobby, scanning it for his ex. God, nine years. That was a lot of fucking water under bridges that were long ago burned.

Eric Wilson was standing there, looking completely out of place in the glass and steel modernity of the lobby, reminding him oddly of the scarecrow from Oz -- still as skinny as always, dressed in a button-down, a pair of khakis, a ball-cap. Jesus. The man had no fashion sense and was all arms and legs and nose and huge blue eyes and… Right. Zero fashion sense.

None.

And he looked like fucking shit.

"Eric."

"Brock." Eric ran over to him, face drawn, eyes shining. "Thank you. I'm sorry. I just... I didn't know where else to go."

He put an arm around Eric's lean shoulders and pulled him in for a quick, hard hug. "No problem, baby." He drew Eric into a quiet corner. "Have you called the cops?"

"No. No, the note said they'd kill her. I just... it's been almost two hours." Liquid baby blues stared at him, pupils huge.

"You have the note?"

"I do." Shaking fingers handed it over, the words already smeared with sweat.

We have your dotter, fag. We want $100,000 or she dies. We'll call at 7. Have $$ redy. Dont call the cops or she dies.

"Okay, you need a scotch." Or a Valium. Maybe both. "Come on." He grabbed Eric's arm and led him out to the parking lot where his Lexus waited.

"What-- what do I do? I don't..." Eric walked behind him, staying close. "God, if something happens to her, I'll never forgive myself."

He opened the passenger door for Eric and then went around and got into the driver's side. "We get you a drink. We pick up the money. We get my people on it." He opened his cell phone and dialed the number for the company that did his security. He was friends with the owner; Gordon was a good man.

Eric clicked his seat belt on, reaching for his wallet.

Brock looked at him. "What are you doing?" Before Eric could answer, a cool woman's voice said "Bidden Security, how may I direct your call?"

"Anita? This is Brock Vencenza. I need to speak to Gordon. It's an emergency."

"Of course, Mr. Vencenza. Right away."

The line went quiet, then Eric handed over a picture of a beautiful, laughing little Asian girl. "This is her, about a month ago."

He handed the picture back and squeezed Eric's hand. "It's going to be okay, baby. We're going to get her back."

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