by Kym Roberts
“What does that do?”
“It allows air out, without allowing it to go in.” Megan turned to Khaos. “Tell them we’ll need the oxygen ready to go.”
“It’s already done.”
Téa backed away from the agents. Watching and being a part of emergency medical aide in an attempt to save Palmer’s life brought the whole day into focus. She’d brought this violence to them. Khaos and his team were in danger because of her.
Khaos spoke into his mic. “Is the car ready? We’re coming down now.”
Megan nodded, and Téa could tell something was being transmitted in their earpieces she wasn’t privy to.
Megan tossed her a role of medical tape. “Cut off some strips to help me tape this down. The adhesive may not stick because of the amount of blood around the wound.”
As they began to apply medical tape to the edges of the bandage, a loud crash sounded behind her. Téa jumped and looked back to see Khaos breaking the legs off the table. Magazines and the remote control scattered across the floor. Khaos broke off the last leg, and returned with only the tabletop in hand just as Megan finished. “Slide this underneath him as Megan and I lift Palmer.”
It was as if the two had done this dance before. Megan and Khaos were no strangers to violence, yet they acted as if they were just taking a passed out colleague to another room to sober up. How much trauma had they experience together? What had their lives been like while she’d hid from anything and everything, unable to move forward as she refused to go back?
Just as they loaded Palmer onto the table, two more agents arrived to help get him downstairs. A moment later, the four agents left the room as one unit, carrying their fallen comrade, while she watched on. A fifth agent appeared from the stairwell.
“McDaniels.” Khaos’s voice was brisk and orderly. “Don’t let anyone on this floor and don’t let anyone near my room.”
“Yes, sir.” The square-jawed agent, who was much broader than his counterparts, responded like a soldier in the Army.
“Ms. Bello, go back into the room and lock the door.” Khaos gave the order as if she were a stranger, not the woman he’d pleasured with his mouth less than an hour earlier. Everyone expected her to listen without further argument, because this team was about orderly actions of survival. They never gave up. Khaos and his crew would push forward with everything they had; beat every obstacle into submission and never surrender. They were fighters. Believers.
She was the only one who’d turned her back on the future. The moment she’d hung up on Khaos, while hiding and waiting for someone else to decide her fate, she’d broadcasted her lack of faith in him, and his people. And now, she couldn’t take it back…even if she wanted to.
Chapter Thirteen
The moment her phone went dead, the need to murder whoever was in the room with her nearly blinded him. He wanted to kill everyone in his path who wouldn’t get out of the fucking way. Including the elderly couple who had inadvertently blocked his path with their decrepit bodies and undying love. He hadn’t wanted to see them. It was as if they were flaunting what could’ve been.
This is what you could’ve had with Téa if you’d been smarter.
This is what you sacrificed when you’d stupidly believed you could save her and your sister at the same time.
Stupid motherfucker.
He was born to lose. Lose his parents. Lose his sister. And now he was going to lose the one woman he felt connected to, all because he’d been flying on cloud fucking nine, thinking life was finally turning in his direction.
Dipshit motherfucker.
He would pray for her and himself, if he thought it would do any good, but it wouldn’t. He’d been given a skill set to protect others…and he’d failed to used it. He’d failed to protect her despite knowing deep in his chest, he needed to stay alert. He knew this wasn’t going to be easy, and yet, he’d let the euphoria he’d felt when she’d melted under his touch, hinder his thought process.
Now his agent was paying the price for his fuck up and the worst part of the whole jacked up scenario was that he was glad it was Palmer in the back of the van and not Téa. He tried telling himself it was because Palmer had someone to fight for, a pregnant wife in Denver who’d only worn his ring for eleven months. His agent wouldn’t give up.
Palmer wanted to see his daughter born. He wanted to hold her, take her to ballet lessons even though his wife argued their daughter would be a baseball star, not a dancer. Palmer was madly in love with his wife. The devotion the couple shared was one of those beautiful relationships everyone envied, and Khaos had found himself jealous as hell on more than one occasion.
Until Téa. Eight months ago she’d rocked his stoic world simply with her smile. She was everything he never thought he’d find, and for a brief moment in time, he’d been willing to sacrifice the world to keep her safe. He leaned over Palmer and in an attempt to knock down the fortress of his unconscious brain, he whispered, “Your wife and daughter are waiting for you. Don’t you dare give up on them.”
He was pretty sure easing his own guilt was all he’d accomplished, but maybe, just maybe his words had broken through to Palmer and reminded him to pull out all the stops—the man was going to need every ounce of willpower he could muster.
They loaded Palmer into the strike team’s van and he hopped into the back with his agent. Megan began to climb in as well, but he put a hand out to stop her, as one medic started an IV in Palmer’s arm and another gave him oxygen.
“I need you to move Téa. The hotel’s been compromised. Take her to hotel B.
Take McDaniels with you and expect another attempt.”
“You got it, Boss. Will you be following?”
Every fiber in his being wanted to say, “Yes.” To go to Téa and assure her they’d continue to keep her safe. No one was going to hurt her. No fucking one was going to hurt her.
But his agent was on the brink of making the ultimate sacrifice for him and Téa, and he couldn’t turn his back on Palmer now. He had to trust Megan to keep her safe, and he did. Megan was capable and competent; she also wasn’t blinded by Téa’s orgasms. He was the only one with that distinction, and he planned to keep it that way.
He was her first, her only and her last. Period. Fuck the Vanetti la Cosa Nostra and their fucked up idea of justice. He and Téa would show them exactly how justice was delivered in a court of law.
“Once I know Palmer is okay and I’ve spoken to his wife, I’ll be there, but it may be a while.”
Megan nodded and backed away from the van. She turned around and was running toward the hotel before the doors closed. Yeah, he’d made the right decision. As much as he wanted to go to Téa and hold her, and kiss her, and tell her everything he was feeling, he knew he’d made the right decision.
At all cost, Megan would keep her as safe as he could.
The door swung open with so much force, she nearly screamed. Like Téa, Megan had cleaned the blood off her hands. Unlike Téa, she hadn’t changed into new clothes. Yet somehow even with blood decorating the front of her white button-down shirt, Megan looked like it was just another day at the office. Megan didn’t say a word as the door closed behind her and she stared at Téa. The stillness that settled over the room was almost as unsettling as Megan’s gaze.
Téa squirmed under the scrutiny.
Megan unzipped a duffle bag in her hand and pulled out a shirt before flinging the bag at Téa’s chest. The gesture and lack of deadpan humor said more than any words could.
“Is he—”
“Going to make it? Going to see his new bride again? Going to witness the birth of his first-born baby girl? Who knows? It doesn’t really matter right now because we need to get you to a new location.”
Téa schooled the hurt slicing through her body. She understood the anger, the blame, and the mistrust in Megan’s eyes. She was not one of them, yet she was the cause of this screwed up mess. Whoever it was that came throu
gh that door, was looking for her. Not Palmer.
“There are tennis shoes and socks along with a coat in the bag. Put them on.”
Téa nodded and went toward the bathroom. She’d brought this upon these people. If she’d hidden better, Palmer wouldn’t be fighting for his life. He would be safe. He would chat to his wife on the phone and maybe hear the sounds of his baby’s heartbeat…
God. He had a pregnant wife…
She should’ve left earlier. She could leave now. There was a window in the bathroom. Surely there was a ledge she could climb onto and go into an adjacent room. If not the next one, then the second or third—
“Leave the door open.”
She swung around to stare at the female agent in disbelief. “Wh-what?”
“I said leave the door open if you’re going to use the bathroom. You won’t be escaping now. My recruit took a bullet for you and I’ll be damned if that’s going to be for nothing. You will go back to the States and you will tell your story, whatever the fuck that is, and only then, can you disappear.” The agent’s index finger was pointing at her and bobbing in the same manner Téa’s mom used to deliver a lecture. “But not until then. Do I make myself clear?” Gone was the friendly woman who’d teased Khaos. Megan McClary had read her emotions like she owned the map to Téa’s soul. It was eerie how well the woman had measured her makeup and her mindset. Téa had no doubt this woman would track her down throughout all of Europe if she had to. There was only one way this was going to go, and that was Megan McClary’s way.
“I won’t try to escape.”
“No, you won’t.”
Téa set the duffle bag on the bed and sat down next to it. Inside the bag she found tennis shoes and socks like Megan had said. The size was a bit large, but much better than going without.
“Who came after you?”
She answered as honestly as she could. “I don’t know. I didn’t see his face. I was hiding in the armoire. The man spoke to me, but…” Her voice trailed off as she thought about what he’d said. He’d cussed and said he knew she was there. His voice held the din of satisfaction vibrating in every word. “I’m pretty sure he was with the American branch of the Vanetti la Cosa Nostra. Even though he only spoke in Italian, the dialect was off for native Italians.” She paused for a moment, repeating his words over and over in her head. “The pleasure he was getting out of the hunt, made me think he’d been trying to find me for a while.” She nodded completely convinced. “He’s from the U.S. family.”
“Why somebody from the States? Why wouldn’t the Italian Vanetti family be working with them to find you?” Megan had changed her shirt, exchanging the bloody one for one that was identical in style and color, minus the stains.
“I can’t answer that. I can only say I just know he’s from the States.” She turned toward the agent. “You of all people should understand that.”
Megan eyed her suspiciously, then nodded. Yes, she understood.
“Those shoes will be too big, but they’re better than a men’s size fifteen.”
“Khaos wears a size fifteen shoe?” She should’ve known what size he wore. They’d been living together for almost a week.
“If you ask me if it translates to the other part of his anatomy, I won’t answer.”
Téa looked up to find the deadpan expression back on Megan’s face. Her sense of humor was back. “I guess I’ll have to find out for myself,” she quipped.
Megan’s eyebrow raised, but she didn’t say a word and Téa wondered if she’d read the woman wrong. “Put the coat on and pull the hood up.”
She did as instructed and buttoned the navy wool pea coat that had a very cute hood attached to it.
“I like that coat. Don’t get blood on it.”
Téa nodded. “I’ll do my best.”
“Your best isn’t good enough, try harder.”
Téa scurried to the door after Megan. “Stay between us and do as I say. If you deviate from my instructions, you’ll find yourself trussed up like a hog on a spit. Got it?”
“Hog on a spit. Got it.”
Megan looked out the peephole before opening the door and exiting. “Let’s go, McDaniels. The car’s waiting and you’ve got the rear.”
McDaniels immediately crowded Téa from behind. They headed down the hall, to where the elevator was standing open waiting for them. Megan stuck a key in the control panel to keep them from stopping on any other floor. When the doors reopened, they were on the ground floor where another agent met them and stepped up to her side.
A sense of panic began to build in her chest. How many agents did they have working and how many of them could she trust?
Memories of the hotel suite in Mexico City crashed to the forefront of her thoughts. An agent chose Sandra and another wearing a guayabera shirt approached her. She could tell immediately something about him was wrong. He was drunk, disconnected and violent.
He lacked the humanity she’d hoped to find. Instead of helping her, he’d grabbed her by the hair and pulled her roughly to his side. It was then that she’d learned what hid so well underneath the button-down shirt so prevalent in Latin America. His gun and holster painfully dug into her rib cage. His ice blue eyes stripped her bare and his hand twisted her breast before he took her into his bedroom.
Téa had cried out, but Sandra had been too preoccupied ingesting pills with the other agent to care. Sandra wasn’t a bad person. She’d seen too much, survived even more, and didn’t care to remember the rest. She always sought oblivion, and they’d been warned before being brought to the room, the men belonged to the Secret Service.
At the time Sandra hadn’t known what that meant, Téa had. Excitement at the opportunity to meet an American law enforcement agent, who could help her escape, had made Téa volunteer when she’d never done so before.
Téa’s error was blatantly obvious when they arrived. There was no rescue mission happening that night. The liquor on the agent’s breath, as he backed her against the bed, made her cringe with fear as the door slammed closed. That much alcohol could only mean trouble. A man who bought a whore and couldn’t perform was a violent man. He’d be pissed he didn’t get his money’s worth. He’d blame her for his inability to get hard and he’d beat her…if she was lucky.
He’d pushed her onto the bed and had fallen on top of her, nearly knocking all of the air from her lungs as he’d marked her neck and chest with his teeth. Panic had nearly taken over. If she didn’t please this man, she knew the beating would only get worse when Miguel came back for her in the morning.
“I-I need to freshen up.”
The man’s cold, bestial eyes and cruel lips rose from her chest. “They brought me a dirty whore?”
She immediately knew what he was implying. “No. No. I just need to use the bathroom.”
Searching her face with his inebriated gaze, he’d believed her and rolled off. Téa had climbed off the bed, wondering if she should run out of the hotel suite, or lock herself in the bathroom until he passed out.
“Hurry up,” he’d ordered and she’d chosen the bathroom, knowing he’d pursue her or possibly shoot her if she exited the room at that moment.
Once inside bathroom, she leaned against the door debating what to do next when the television turned on in the bedroom. The breathy sounds of a woman screaming, “Yes! Yes, Yeeeees!” told her exactly what type of program he was watching. Her john needed a boost, and was seeking the help of porn on pay-per-view to lift him up.
Yes, her mind had been made up. She had to sneak out. She pulled off her heels and turned off the light before slowly opening the door and slipping out of the bathroom. Her eyes never left the man who’d pulled his flaccid dick from his pants and attempted to stroke it to life.
She had to run. She peeked out into the living room, only to see Sandra against the door to the hall with the other agent fucking her with his pants around his ankles.
There was no escape.
She’d nearly sobbed, then covered her mouth to keep from making any noise. She scanned the room for another outlet and then she saw the closed door on the opposite side of the suite. It was her only chance. She wriggled through the door and closed it behind her. The tiny click of the latch sounded as if it was on steroids. She waited for Sandra to say something, but she urged her partner on as if she actually enjoyed it…or maybe the drugs had made her so needy she’d do anything for more.
Crouching low, Téa had quickly made her way across the carpet and snuck inside the darkened room only to find the bed occupied. There was another agent in the room! Dear God, there truly was no escape.
“Téa.” Strong fingers grasped her bicep and pulled her forward.
Panic filled her veins. She had to escape. “No!” She clawed at the hand pulling her harder.
“Téa.” A female hissed.
“Sandra?”
“Téa. You know my name is Megan. Get in the vehicle.”
The murky haze of the past cleared. Megan stood in front of her as two men in suits boxed her in between them and the open back seat of a blue Italian sedan. She wasn’t in Mexico City. She was here, in Rome where she’d been safe for years thanks to the sacrifices of Sister Mary. Megan was attempting to push her into a car with another man she didn’t know, an agent who could be like the agents in Mexico City.
She held her ground. “I can tell you who killed Sister Mary in Mexico City.”
“Now is not the time. We need to get you to a safe location.”
It was obvious Megan was aware of her momentary lapse into the past, and she probably thought Téa was still struggling with reality, but Téa wasn’t getting into that car without passing on the information she’d been too scared to tell anyone, including Khaos. She planted her feet and Megan rolled her eyes.
“Fine. Tell me, then get in the damn car.”
“Stefano Astrella killed Sister Mary for my uncle Marco Vanetti.”
Megan’s face showed more emotion than Téa thought possible. In a matter of nano seconds her expression changed from shocked, to disbelief, to a storm of pure rage.
