by Nicole Snow
Why it'd been so easy to get roped in with him in my woozy state. There's no possible way there's a more gorgeous man anywhere on this Earth.
Then the most outrageous, wild thought yet this evening hits, and I lean against the door for support.
Oh, how I wish I’d been naked when I crawled out of his bed this morning.
4
Number Cruncher (Noah)
I rip my eyes open and stare at the ceiling, dispelling the demons that infiltrated my sleep.
Those fucks have no mercy. Same unwelcome intruders I've had for the better part of the past year.
They barrel in unannounced and rip apart remnants of happier times.
It’s a minute or two before my heart rate slows to a more normal pace and I kick aside the sheet so the air conditioning can evaporate the sweat coating me.
Sweet mercy. The curtains are drawn, but their stark whiteness doesn’t block much of the sunlight.
I glance at the clock. It’s after eight. Six hours of sleep is more than my usual in work-mode.
I should get up and see how my guest is faring, but truly, I don’t give a shit.
Michael Harkness should be glad I cuffed him to the marble post separating the kitchen from the living room last night. That way, he has a choice to sit comfortably on the tile or the carpet.
I’m not a complete asshole.
Not all the time.
Catching the bastard was easier than I’d imagined. I hooked him not long after leaving Lucky's place.
The hardest part was being at the casino without her, if I'm being sickeningly honest.
Fuck, she’s adorable. And hot. Rocking legs, curves in the right places, bombshell-brunette hair I want to bury my fist in while I find out how her sweet ass ripples under my thrusts.
Mindy's a distraction and a half – and, unfortunately, distractions are the last thing I need. Even sweet ones.
More than once yesterday, while sitting in that God-awful apartment Father Time forgot, I’d wanted to claim her lips. Damn near wanted to chase her tongue up and down with a sober head, and find out if she tastes like the sugar I remember.
Especially after seeing those pictures. Who ever thought a kiss could look equal parts tender and downright pornographic?
I still can’t remember much more and wish I could.
Those photos said we’d had a good time. A hell of a good time. And if the crap in those drinks hadn't zonked us out when it did, I'd have shaken her whole universe.
If I think hard enough, long enough, I come up with a few more little memory-bits. At least, I think they're memories, not just fantasies.
Mindy tumbling into the limo's back seat, her lush little ass grinding innocently against me.
Mindy laughing till she couldn't breathe over some stupid, crazy thing I said.
Mindy, losing me a bet I made years ago.
Jess swore I'd wind up a married man, whether I saw it coming or not.
Except, I'm fucking not married. Not truly.
None of this is real.
Only the fact that Jess is gone, and I've got one more huge problem on my plate, dragging another innocent woman into my mess.
Snarling, I force myself up, wiping my brow, then flop down again. I need another minute.
Okay, maybe she's part fantasy after all. But if that's what Mindy is, then it's what I need. Something I can focus on besides the tragedy that makes me want to gouge my eyes out.
That fucking prick she was engaged to doesn’t deserve her. Permission for extramarital affairs? How stupid was Charlie boy? I don't even know him, I don't want to, but I hate his frigging guts.
I roll my head, glancing toward the other pillow. The one she’d used.
Lucky was there in my dreams a short time ago, before the nightmares came like they always do.
In those flashes of paradise, she’d been here again.
In my bed. Willingly. Not drugged.
I release the air stalled in my lungs and turn back to stare at the ceiling.
Lucient was behind the marriage. Nothing else makes sense. That couple at the gaming tables was where the drugs came from. They'd tailed us to the bar after we'd shared a few victory rounds. Our guard was down, and we never saw the special delivery they plunked into our drinks, somehow or other, while our backs were turned.
Hard to say exactly what punched our tickets. There are so many mood-altering drugs out there, finding precisely what they’d used is impossible. The synthetic ones are getting more dangerous on a daily basis, and more available, too.
I roll over, pull open the drawer of my nightstand, and lift out a handful of pictures.
Jess. Aunt Judy. Me, younger and happier.
Jess again. Sifting through the pictures, I can’t help but smile. Especially at the one of her sitting on the Harley I’d bought right after getting my motorcycle license.
That bike had been a beat up metal turd, which meant I’d gotten it for a song.
She’d helped me work on it that summer. Just this half-grown kid with braids and freckles and a better heart than mine. Later, in her teens, she’d ridden it.
With me, at first, but later, she learned how to drive it. I'd taught her. Those skinny arms trembled when she’d climb off, grinning so wide her braces lit up with sunlight.
By the time the war rolled around, I'd practically ridden the wheels off that thing. I gave it to her while I was deployed. First Baghdad, then Fallujah, then Tikrit. Mucking through the worst of the combat with my army brothers, Eli and Perez.
She’d been so damn proud it was still running after my discharge. Proud of the paint job she’d given it.
I’d laughed. Told her she’d given a ten dollar bike a five hundred-dollar paint job.
Then she’d started it up, and the engine purred better than I'd left it.
She’d had the entire bike rebuilt. Poured hours into that thing, making it her baby. Damn thing had run like a charm.
Fuck, Jess was a charm. My sister. Too good for this merciless world, ruled by the same vicious demons who won't leave me alone for a single dreamless night.
She may have been born my cousin, but at the end of the day, she was my sister. My little sister who I loved beyond belief. My only sibling.
She could've hated me, easy. I’d been ten when my old man walked out and never returned. My mother died years before. If it wasn't for Aunt Judy, I would've gone into the system.
I hadn’t been happy about the rules I had to follow, having had free rein before, but right from the start, Jess, only five at the time, made me feel welcome on good days and bad.
That’s how she lived. Loving others. Every time she walked out a door, or I did, she said the same words.
“Bye-bye, Noah. Love you.” Every time. Happy or sad.
And now she’s gone. Forever.
Listed as a missing person, technically, but I know in my heart she’s dead. There's no coming back from getting wrapped up in the wrong biz.
And I know why. Mr. Fuckface himself. Cesare Lucient.
He used her up. Right to the end.
Then the psycho kept using her as bait. And I let him, hoping he'll finally confirm the truth, give me more details, show me where the hell she's buried, so I can knock his brains out his skull.
That’s the reason I’m working for him. He claims he knows where Jess is, but I needed to do a few favors for him before he'll talk. Use my bounty hunting license to snag a few of the low-lifers that owe him money.
He also claims she's alive. I don't believe it, but fuck, if there's even a ghost of a chance that's true, then I need answers. I need to find her, dead or alive. And then I need to give my sister vengeance.
Besides, I don’t mind getting a few vile men off the streets. Lucient has deep connections in the Nevada crime scene. And after his target, Harkness, the vilest of all is going down hard.
Getting what he finally deserves.
As the anger inside me grows to a boil, a fury that makes my fingers pulse, I put the pictu
res away and climb out of bed. I pull on a pair of jeans and attempt to bury the melancholy that seizes control every time I think of Jess.
Maybe an inkling of fear lives inside me, too. Knowing my association with Lucient could put me in the same place. The fear isn’t for me – I faced death enough times overseas to look the Reaper in the eye – but for Aunt Judy.
She can't lose us both. Doesn’t deserve to lose her entire family to that evil fucking monster.
I'm still in a pissed off mode when I storm into the kitchen.
Harkness starts bitching the instant he sees me. “Finally!” he squawks.
His arms hurt. He has to use the bathroom. He’s thirsty.
I ignore his whining little voice. There’s no cure for stupidity.
Harkness is a poster child for that, another white-collar criminal who wants to play victim the instant his heist goes sour. Greed is what got him there. He was skimming more than his fair share off the top of Lucient’s dirty deals.
Guess accountants always think they're the only ones who know how to play with numbers.
Not in the underworld. Men like Lucient keep their brains on a tight leash, and always have stopgaps.
I throw on a pot of coffee, and while it’s brewing, find fixings for omelets.
Harkness is still spouting off, but now he’s offering me a deal. Ten thousand dollars escalates to twenty, and then to thirty-five. Stupid. He's wasting his breath.
I'm in the middle of whipping the eggs when my phone goes off. It’s Lucient.
I walk into the bedroom. Harkness knows his hours are numbered, but there’s no need for me to drill it in or talk to the asshole who makes him go pale right in the open.
“Yeah?” I growl into the phone, closing the bedroom door behind me.
“Change of plans, my man,” Lucient says. “We can’t meet until tonight, I'm afraid. My apologies. Surely, you'll be available later?”
Yeah. Surely.
Because behind his businessman's demeanor is a ruthless prick who won't think twice about skinning anyone who crosses him alive. Literally.
I don’t say a word, even though a fresh bout of fury has my blood boiling. I want this over. The sound of his voice alone is enough to make me puke.
“Bernard?”
“I'm here,” I bite off.
“Wonderful. Since you still have work to do, you must be happy about having more time,” Lucient says. “Learn to count your blessings. Jessica always did.”
I'm leaning forward, leaning so far my forehead touches the wall. It's the only thing that prevents the lit fuse from igniting the explosion buried inside me, the one begging to hurl the phone on the ground until it shatters in a thousand pieces.
“What time?” I ask, not about to let on to the fact that I already have Harkness. The less this motherfucker knows, the better.
“Eight o'clock.”
I click the icon to end the call. Fuck.
That leaves me babysitting Harkness all day. Shoving the phone in my pocket, I walk back into the kitchen and fry up two omelets. He watches me behind those thick, owl-eyed glasses.
After giving him his plate and a cup of coffee, I take mine to the breakfast bar and click on the TV, scanning past the news and home remodeling shows.
“There’s nothing worth watching on anymore,” Harkness says. “When I was a kid, we only had six channels, but there was always something entertaining. Now, it’s all politics or reality shows, which are all just fantasy.”
I'd agree if anyone else had said that.
“I have money hidden away, you know,” Harkness says. “Millions. Offshore account. Easy access. I’ll share it with you. You're not the ransoming type, I can tell! Partners? Imagine what you could do with a few new toys, big guy. Heck, I bet –”
His chipper demeanor deflates the instant I shoot him the evil eye. “Enough. Eat your damn food. Don't make me look this way again,” I snarl.
It’s not worth wasting more breath on this bald little fool.
I don’t need money. Bounty hunting pays well, even before Lucient hired me.
This is my last gig though.
After this, I’m going back to private investigations. Finding cheating husbands and runaway teens sounds like heaven after the past couple of years.
Lucky flashes through my mind. She needed a P.I. to help confirm what she already knew about Charlie boy.
I’m proud of her for facing it head on. For standing her ground.
Sure, it might've taken her some time, but she’s on the right track. I’m certain she’ll make sure everything turns out right in the end.
She's got that fire in her belly, now that she's cut the dead weight. If I can just keep my baggage off her shoulders, she'll soar.
I wish I could've been a fly on the wall at the airport, when she gave Charlie boy the big news.
Who the fuck limits sex to Friday nights, anyway? With a woman like her?
Christ. If I was engaged –
Shit. I cut myself off, remembering it's worse than that: I went and married her. Without any of the privileges fuckboy Charlie took for granted.
I haven’t called Fred yet. I’ll do that after I take a shower. He’s a decent lawyer, and he'll know exactly what to do.
Yesterday, I did some searching. Looked high and low for that couple from the blackjack table, while waiting for Harkness to make his evening appearance at the casino.
The dealer remembered them. Said he’d seen them before but didn’t know them. Didn't think they were regulars. Saw them hanging around some chick wearing dark shades and purple lipstick, another ghost nobody remembers.
He remembered Lucky, too. And how well we were ‘getting along’ when we left the table.
I wish to Hades I remembered how well we were 'getting along' instead of just a vague, intense flash every now and again.
I know one thing – if Lucky had been in my bed, willingly, we’d still be there.
She’s put an unruly ache in my dick like none other.
Not needing to focus on that right now, I pick up my plate and carry it to the sink, then pick up Harkness’. Once they’re rinsed and in the dishwasher, I pour another cup of coffee and head for the bedroom. Harkness starts up begging again, and his pitiful words follow me till I drown them out by shutting the door.
Fuck. It’s going to be a long day.
After a workout, shower, and trim, in that order, I’m just pulling on a fresh pair of jeans when the doorbell chimes.
It takes me a few seconds to realize what it is. I’ve never heard it before.
Mainly because no one knows where I live. That's on purpose. I’d moved every couple months lately, namely to keep Lucient from finding my residence. I change vehicles just as often. Two more reasons I’ll be very glad when all this shit is over.
Instantly leery of who might be at the door, I tuck my gun in my waistband and grab a denim shirt before leaving the bedroom.
I throw on the shirt, but don’t bother buttoning, as I walk down the hall. Then I shoot a glare at Harkness as I pass through the living room. “Mutter one word and you’re dead.”
There’s fear in his eyes as he nods. He thinks it’s Lucient, or one of his minions, coming to collect.
For once, we're on the same page. It better not be.
The exchange we've agreed to needs to happen at the deserted ranch I’ve already secured. That's the place where I have a plan.
My heart slams against my ribcage as I glance through the peephole.
“Unbelievable,” I snarl to myself. It should be a relief, but it isn't.
Lucky's hand rises up to push the doorbell again. Too slow. I wrench open the door before she touches it.
“What're you doing here?” I fill the doorway, one question heavy on my lips.
“I know you said you’d call,” Lucky says, cheeks red. “But...since I hadn’t heard anything since yesterday, I just –”
“It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours,” I say quietly beca
use I know Harkness is all ears. “This isn't a good time.”
She blinks, a suspicious glint in her eye. “Oh?”
I shake my head, driving it home.
“Well, I'll make it quick, what did your lawyer have to say about our divorce?”
Damn, she’s a knock-out. I can't help staring like a fool.
The waves in her hair frame her face, and her green tank top is the same shade as her eyes, showing a teasing amount of cleavage. Her white shorts contrast how tan her legs look, and those sandals look a hell of a lot better on her feet than they did lost on my floor.
“Have you called him yet?”
I give my head another shake, trying to process her question.
“You haven’t, huh? Why? Noah, what's going on?” She holds up a hand. “None of my business, I know. It’s just...I wanted to talk to you. You said we’d been hoodwinked and drunk, but I think it’s more than that. I think we were drugged. I know this sounds crazy, but I've been Googling –”
Fuck! The door across the hall is opening.
I grab Lucky’s hand and power-yank her inside. I can't have her talking like this in the open. Not after I'd passed off our screwed up state as drunkenness. Didn't have the heart to tell her my worst suspicions, and bleed more fear into her life.
She stumbles into me. My body responds instantly. I’ve never encountered an electric eel, but this has to be what it feels like. Jolts of energy invading every nerve.
Too bad no eel's energy ever felt this good.
Those jade-green eyes, startled and staring up at me, don’t dampen the chaos inside me. Neither do her lips. Plush, slightly open in their shock, and so fucking inviting.
Mesmerizing, really. That’s what they are. What she is, from head-to-toe.
I push the door shut and keep my arm there, stretching it over her shoulder. All I have to do is lean down, just a couple more inches and our lips will meet.
I can already taste her again. Sweet as honey sucked right out of the comb.
I can’t take my eyes off them. This wild, forbidden, animalistic thing grabs me by the balls, wrecks my senses, and won't let go.
What the hell is wrong with me?
There are no answers. My cock just pulses as she stretches on her toes, bringing those lips closer to mine, her eyes darting back and forth. The poor girl must be wondering if I'm having some kind of seizure.
