Free Finding The Limits (The Limitless Trilogy Book 1) by Harper Cole

shift might be more amenable than the rejects that had been relegated to night duty.
    I was informed, with curt derision, that it was "not a priority" and the call was abruptly terminated.
    Not a priority? I had emphasized to them Jas was new to London; she was involved in large business deals; that she had clearly been targeted.
    Had the police been leant on?
    Who had that sort of power?
    Who had any sort of power , I thought. I knew one man who might be able to help me untangle all of this.
    But it would be a bitter pill to swallow to go and ask him for help.
    How much did I really want to help Jas? A lot, I had to concede. But enough to go and beg my father to help me? He could insist that the police gave us assistance. Hell, my father had enough contacts throughout government and the civil service to start his own investigation and find her.
    If I were to meet up with my father, it would make the old bastard very happy. He was behind those messages on my phone. He'd been ramping up the campaign since I'd returned to London. I knew he expected me to join him in business and politics and the fact that I'd spurned his carefully managed empire had disappointed him. But children had to make their own way in life - he just didn't seem to be proud that I was doing exactly that.
    Still, how long could we continue this rivalry? We were at an impasse. Maybe if I went to ask for his help and advice, it would start to build a bridge between us, and he would eventually come to understand that I needed to be independent of him. I could make my own way, without his influence.
    He would make me beg, I thought. I would have to eat a lot of humble pie. I'm a Dom, damn it! No one tells me what to do - not even him.
    But for Jas?
    My father was the only one I knew that had enough power to help me now.

Chapter Eleven - Jas
     
     
    I awoke in a luxurious bedroom, my legs tangled in fine cotton sheets. There was a soft light filtering through the drapes. I was naked, and alone.
    I sat up carefully and felt my face with my fingers. My cheek was tender to the touch, and my feet throbbed. There was red, broken skin on my wrists from the tape. I was hungry yet feeling nauseous, too. And my head pounded.
    On the table to my right was a pitcher of water and I was thirsty enough to chance it. So it might be poisoned or drugged? So what. Things could not get any worse, could they?
    Apart from the bed and the table, there was nothing else in the room. I pulled at the sheets, thinking I might create some kind of kimono or sarong from one of them. I was planning on smashing my way out through the window.
    I had just begun to wrap a sheet awkwardly around my body when the door opened and I froze.
    It was that man. Andrew's father. Leonard Walker-Wilkinson. Or, Jerkwad-Asshat as I was calling him in my head. Total Jerkwad-Asshat.
    I was still sitting in the bed, but at least I was covered up. I straightened. My instinct was to start hollering and demanding that he release me, but I bit my tongue.
    "Ms. Turner. I trust you slept well?"
    I glared, but did not speak.
    He paused but when it was obvious I was going to stay silent, he went on. "I shall have some clothing brought in for you. I should like you to join me in the drawing room and I shall explain my business proposal in greater depth. I shall also explain the - ahh, let us say - the penalties that might arise should you refuse my generous offer. Gemma will come in to attend to you momentarily."
    He whisked away and no sooner had the door closed than it opened again, and a bland, mousey sort of woman crept in. She had dull brown hair and no make-up, and she was carrying a pair of smart black slacks and a cream sweater. She laid it all out on the bed, along with some lingerie and a hairbrush, and then stepped back, folding her hands together in front of her.
    "So don't I get a little privacy to dress, then?" I said.
    She looked at the end of the bed, not at me, but she said, "No, you do not."
    Her flat