“I have no fucking clothes, you bastard.”
I’m out of the shower like a bullet, pushing her back into the door. “Call me what you fucking like, but never call me a bastard.”
She whimpers, and for a second I feel something odd. Guilt. Then it hits me as I breathe down on her, staring into her deep blue eyes. She’s not whimpering in fright. Her nipples pierce my chest, and it registers. We’re both naked.
Breaths.
Deep, restraining breaths. “Be ready in ten minutes.” I yank myself away, resisting the pull of her magnetic body, and grab my black dress shirt down off the back of the bathroom door. “Wear this.”
She catches it when I throw it at her. “And nothing else?”
I look down at those long legs, inwardly groaning. Those fucking legs. What do I care if they’re on full display? Grabbing a towel and wrapping it around my waist, I stalk through to the suite and find Ringo. “Call the concierge. Have them send up some women’s jeans from one of the stores. Size two.”
He’s on it quickly, and I pace back to the room, finding her still in the bathroom, though now her top half is covered with my black shirt. It’s a minor consolation. “Some jeans are on the way.”
“My hero,” she mutters.
I glare at her. I could strangle her. Quite easily. And then she smirks. It’s sexy as fuck.
Shit.
I grab her arm and manhandle her out of the bathroom, away from me, slamming the door behind her.
Fuck.
My forehead meets the wood.
* * *
My mood hasn’t improved when I’m ready. And it takes a further nosedive when I find Rose waiting at the door with my men. Not because they’re looking at her. They’re not. But because in those skin-tight jeans, my black shirt, her silver strappy heels and matching purse from last night, she looks a perfect, beautiful mess. Her hair is in a haphazard ponytail. Her face free from makeup.
She spends only a brief moment sizing me up, taking in my more casual look of jeans and a T-shirt. Then she defiantly looks away.
I take her arm and push her toward the elevators. She doesn’t say a word the entire ride down, doesn’t even look at me. Neither does she wriggle in my viselike grip, which I’m pretty sure must be hurting her. Why the fuck isn’t she protesting, even if only to defy me?
When we exit, the men lead us to where the limo is waiting to take us to the private airfield. Ringo pulls the door open, and just as I’m about to thrust Rose into the back seat, I hear it.
A scream.
Then all fucking hell breaks loose.
“In the car!” Brad bellows to me, pulling his gun and firing immediately, no hesitation. I look across the roof of the limo, just as a man drops, his brain spraying the concrete. There’s a gun in his limp, dead grasp. Another shot, but this one isn’t Brad. I feel the bullet sail past my ear, and I turn to see one of my men jolt before grabbing his shoulder and cursing. The chaos gets worse, bystanders screaming, people running for cover as more shots fire around me. I catch Brad’s eye as he dives for cover. “Get in the fucking car!”
I reach out to grab—
Where the fuck is she?
I whirl around, searching the sea of heads for her. People are being carried by the charging crowds, some diving to the ground. I pull the car door close to shield my body as Brad bends down by the back wheel, a few feet away, reloading his gun. I flinch when the rear window shatters, raining down broken glass all over him. “Fuck,” he curses, smacking the bottom of his magazine and peeking up over the car. No sooner has he raised to half height, he dips back down, a bullet just missing him. “Motherfucker.”
I reach into the car and flip open the glove compartment, pulling out a Glock. I’m just in time to catch a man in the crowd aiming at Brad’s head. I fire, taking him down before he has a chance to engage his trigger finger. “Who the fuck are they?” I ask, taking another scan of the crowd.
“Fucked if I know,” Brad yells. “Get in the fucking car.”
“Where’s Rose?”
“I couldn’t give a fucking shit where your whore is, Danny. We’re being fucking shot at.”
I lose my shit, lunging forward and thrusting the barrel of my gun in my oldest friend’s face. “Call her a whore again, I’ll put a fucking bullet in your skull myself.”
His eyes say everything. “Got it.” He aims and fires without looking away from me, catching a man to the side of us with a tidy-looking Heckler in his grasp. “She’s in the car.”
I yank the door open and find Rose sitting there calmly like there isn’t a fucking shoot-out happening. Then I get to her eyes. Wide eyes. She’s scared, and it’s a fucking relief. I was beginning to think she was a robot. “You okay?”
She swallows and nods, letting me pull her from the car.
“We’re clear,” I hear Ringo yell, and I slowly rise to full height, taking in the carnage. There are five of them, all dead. “Search them.” I glance around the space, looking for cameras. “And have the cameras wiped.” My men disperse, following my orders. One scoops up Rose’s silver purse and hands it to her, and she thanks him, her voice scratchy and broken.
I turn to Brad when he doesn’t acknowledge me, finding him staring forward, forcing me to pivot and check what has his attention.
I find a gun.
Being held to my forehead. What the fuck?
The feel of Rose’s hand constricting around mine forces me to return it, telling her we’re fine. Fine? I’m literally staring down the barrel of a 9mm. I tug her hand, silently ordering her to move behind me. I can hear her strained, panicked breathing. I can hear Brad cursing behind me.
“Shoot,” I order the man before me, curling my lip, pushing my forehead into the end of his gun. “Fucking shoot me.”
“No,” Rose screams, just before I jerk back, knocking her out of the way. I hear the shot fire and blink a few times, waiting for my body to hit the deck. It doesn’t. I’m still standing. But the man before me drops, and I turn to see Brad, his arms braced in front of him. “Any time,” he grunts, quickly turning to his left and pulling the trigger again. “Get out of here, Danny.”
This time, I listen. Maybe because I now have Rose with me. I grab her hand and yank her up, pulling her back into the hotel. I head for the lift, my men following, firing bullets all over the fucking place. “Get in,” I order, shoving her into the lift and backing in, all of us holding back the three men advancing on us. We don’t lower our weapons until the doors are closed, bullets bouncing off the metal beyond.
“In motherfucking daylight in the middle of fucking Vegas.” Brad falls against the wall and looks at me, his shock clear. “Who the fuck is that bold?”
I glance at Rose, wondering if she’s thinking what I’m thinking. “Black’s a dead man,” I murmur, getting no acknowledgment from my repeat of Perry Adams’s words. But would he risk Rose’s life? No, I don’t think he would. Which means whoever Adams is in bed with now knows for certain he was in bed with me first. And that makes them serious players. I’m fucking astounded by their boldness.
I say no more, pulling Rose from the elevator when it opens. The chopper blades whirl loudly, and she looks up at me, eyes wide. “I’m never spontaneous,” I remind her, jogging us to the door and lifting her in.
“You k-knew . . . you knew something would happen?” she asks as I belt her up and Brad gets comfortable up front.
I check that she’s secure before taking a seat next to her. I can feel her eyes on my profile as we take off. “I’m always prepared for something to happen.”
That’s a lie.
I wasn’t prepared for her to happen.
Chapter 10
ROSE
* * *
I could have run. Amid the chaos, I could have bolted, and Black would never have noticed until it was too late. Yet, I didn’t. I also should have wished the gunman aiming at Danny Black’s forehead had pulled the trigger before Brad got to him. But I didn’t. In that mo
ment I was truly terrified, and it’s utterly shocked me. Nox is in Vegas. Was that his attempt to get me back? Because if it was, it was a mega fail. That man doesn’t fail. Would he be so careless with my life?
I don’t know, but Danny Black winding up dead would surely be the best thing to happen. But in that moment, it felt like the worst thing that could happen. I heard him threatening to kill his man if he called me a whore again. The whole scene played out just beyond the car door where I’d found myself while men fired guns left and right. That’s why I didn’t run. Because I was stunned by the words he roared at his man. And then when he found me, and then found a gun aimed square between his eyes, he pulled me back, covering my body with his.
No one has ever protected me before. I don’t want to like it. Liking something makes it more painful when you no longer have it, and protection isn’t something I can keep.
The entire flight, I sat there playing the whole scene on repeat in my head, searching for another logical explanation for Danny’s behavior. Of course, there is one. Maybe I’m that valuable to him. Maybe he really does need me. But I keep coming back to the words he yelled at his friend.
Call her a whore again, I’ll put a fucking bullet in your skull myself.
Does he see . . . me?
When we were guided from the helicopter to a private jet, the questions circled as Danny gathered his men in the next galley, most splattered with blood, one sporting a bullet wound to the shoulder. It was carnage, but nothing like what they left behind. I didn’t recognize any of the men that laid dead, but that wouldn’t be unusual. Nox has men everywhere. I heard Brad ask who would do this. And I’m afraid I know exactly who. He saw me with Black in the restaurant last night. I know he watched the whole dinner act play out. Nox knows me well enough. I may have fooled Perry that I find Black abhorrent, but I would never have fooled Nox.
When we land, we’re whisked away in a limo back to a mansion on the outskirts of Miami. Hidden behind a ten-foot wall that has guards stationed regularly, the building is like nothing I’ve seen before. We’re greeted by a woman. Esther. She’s an attractive lady, but completely stoic, giving me nothing as she takes me away from Danny the moment he barks the order at her. She shows me to a huge suite, and the whole way through the colossal mansion I remain dazed, confused, and worried.
Sitting on the edge of the bed twiddling my thumbs, I glance around, taking in the space. I rise to my feet and wander to the wall of wardrobes, finding them empty. I step into the elaborate bathroom but none of his cosmetics are here. This isn’t his room.
I go to the curtains and pull them across, revealing enormous French doors that lead to a terrace. There’s a jacuzzi, a couch, and a fire pit. It all looks over the most well-primped garden. Topiary trees cut into all kinds of weird and wonderful shapes are precisely placed between the dense flower beds, pillar lights line the cobbled paths, a gazebo dripping in lavender, and an impressive infinity pool is to the right. It looks like you could swim right off the edge and tumble down the cliff side. It’s beyond paradise. It’s heaven. Nothing like the hell I feel I’m in.
I pull the doors open and step out onto the balcony, closing my eyes and relishing the warm sun on my skin, catching a rare and peaceful moment. I cast my eyes right and spy another terrace separated from this one by a glass pane. It’s for the next room. Another guest room? Is that what I’m in?
I’m a guest, not a prisoner.
“Were you worried about me?”
I swing around, finding Black on the threshold of the terrace wearing a pair of gray shorts hanging low on his hips. Why? Why does he always feel the need to present himself to me half-naked? “No,” I answer with grit.
He wanders across to one of the glass panels, leaning his elbows on the metal balustrade and looking out across the garden. His bare feet cross at the ankles, his tall body bent at the stomach, enhancing the stupidly defined muscles of his back. “Why didn’t you run?”
My brain spasms. I’ve been asking myself that question repeatedly, but I never anticipated him asking. “Shock, I suppose.”
He turns a smile onto me. It’s that genuine smile. The rare one. “You? Shocked? Pull the other one, Rose. You’re steel.”
Shit.
“Where would I go?”
“Back to your lover,” he suggests, casting his eyes out to the landscape again “Not that you’ll have one once I’ve blown his brain out.”
He’s wrong. I’ll still have a lover. It might not be Perry Adams, but I’ll have a lover. I just don’t know who yet, or why I’ll be in his bed.
Taking a packet of cigarettes from the pocket of his shorts, Danny offers me one. I’ve never smoked in my life. I’ve heard it’s a relaxant, and I could do with relaxing a bit. I scoot over and pull one from the pack, twisting it between my fingers as he slips another between his full lips. He lights it, illuminating his face. His gorgeous face. Then he holds the flame toward me. Nervously, I slip the cigarette between my lips and suck.
And cough.
Fucking hell, I’m choking. The sound of me hacking all over the place drenches the air. And beyond it, I hear him laugh.
It’s a rich sound, full of lost happiness. My choking to death makes him happy. “Come here.” He turns me away from him and proceeds to smack my back lightly until I’ve gathered myself. And then it’s quiet. And we’re close. His hands rest on my hips. The cigarette falls from between my fingers, and I pull in air, trying to be discreet. Impossible when he can see the rise of my shoulders. I turn to face him, his hands sliding across my midriff as I go. I find him shielded by a cloud of smoke, the cigarette resting lightly between his lips. His eyes shine. His scar glows.
“Smoking’s bad for you,” he grunts, releasing me and taking a drag. “Get some sleep.” He flicks it off the terrace, turns, and leaves.
I stare at his back as he goes, a little . . . lost. I just saw another glimmer of softness. And then, as if he realized he was being nice and it’s forbidden, he switched. Or is he simply playing an asshole’s game?
I hardly slept a wink, my mind rolling with so many contradicting thoughts. He didn’t sleep with me. I don’t know why, but it bothered me. Almost as much as his swaying mood. He bounces from cold and aggressive, to showing small hints of a caring nature. I’m not sure which I dislike the most. The former, I know better how to handle. The latter instigates a whirl of emotions in me that aren’t familiar or welcome.
Lust being one of the most frustrating.
And even more frustrating . . . I feel that lust with whatever side of his personality I get. He might awaken unusual stirrings of desire within me, but mostly it’s . . . awe. He could have thrown me at the man with the gun to his head. He could have left me and ran into the hotel. You’re steel. It had sounded like admiration.
I stare at the bedroom door from where I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, naked. I can hear activity, the passing of people, the calling of names, the sounds of cell phones ringing. He hasn’t come to get me. Am I supposed to sit here until he does?
I’m contemplating the question for another half hour before I finally throw on his black shirt, pull the jeans up my legs, and pluck up the courage to venture from my room. I take the handle and turn, cautiously peeking down the hallway. I can still hear people, but I can’t see them. I wander down the wide corridor on my bare feet, taking in the art that hangs between every door, elaborate abstract prints in vivid colors hung on plain cream walls. There are a lot of doors. The one to my suite is double, wooden, and heavily engraved, as is the next door. That’s Danny’s suite. His scent is leaking through the wood. The room next to mine is his. The terrace next to mine is his.
The rest of the doors are single, all closed. I count a dozen on each side of the long corridor, until I break out onto a gallery landing. The marble steps sweep down to the right, the balustrades gold and sparkling, reflecting pretty twinkles of light from the crystal, low-hanging chandelier suspended from the high ceiling above. My warm sol
es hit the cold marble, my hand taking the railing, but quickly retracting, not wanting to smear the shiny metal with my sweaty palms. The front doors, towering and white, are at the bottom of the stairs, each side flanked by huge urns bursting with palms.
When I reach the bottom, I instinctively take a right, following the voices until I reach a pair of double doors that are wide open. The giant room seems small. Because it’s full of men, all standing. And sitting at a desk in front of a set of glass doors that lead into the garden, is The Brit. The Angel-faced Assassin. He looks like a king showing his army the battle plan, pointing to something on his desk, moving things around. I hover on the threshold, just watching him looking all kingly and listening to him as he talks, his voice that of a leader. And deep, and raspy and . . .
“They’ll come in from here.” He indicates whatever it is on his desk and the men move in closer. “We’ll have a boat here, keeping watch. Anyone drifts into the space, get rid of them, preferably without raising any alarms.”
“What about the Coast Guard?” Brad asks. “They have a habit of showing up when they’re not wanted.”
“If they do, they’ll be distracted. Ringo’s gonna be here.” He points to something else. “Both when we take delivery and when we do the exchange with the Russians. I have a feeling that dodgy engine in that shit-heap boat of his is finally going to fail.”
“I’ve been meaning to get it fixed.” A man, Ringo, I presume, shakes his head in feigned despair. He’s a beast of a man, tall and slim, and extremely scary looking. “Thought I’d get one more fishing trip in first.”
“Don’t get burned, will you?” Danny asks seriously, making a few of the men chuckle lowly. “Don’t want to ruin that pretty face of yours.”
More chuckles, and I have to force my own back. Ringo is probably one of the ugliest men I’ve ever laid eyes on, and I’ve seen some pig-ugly guys in my time. His pitted skin is like leather, his nose big enough to land a small jet on. I’ve not spent much time with him, but I’ve figured his personality isn’t exactly winning either. Poor guy hasn’t got much going for him. Except, maybe, the ability to kill from a mile range.
The Brit Page 10
