“There’s no way you’re Brad Pitt,” Lucas repeated. “If this is Ocean’s Eleven, I’m Brad Pitt.”
Mischa rolled her eyes. “A vague resemblance to Brad Pitt before he started looking scruffy doesn’t make you Brad Pitt in this scenario. Don’t flatter yourself.”
Benny frowned. “Then am I Matt Damon? ‘Cause that’s still pretty cool.”
Leon smirked as he boosted himself up onto the counter in the kitchenette. “You’re the little Cirque du Soleil dude who could fold himself in half.”
Benny thought about it for a moment, then shrugged and said, “Yeah, I’ll take that.”
Lucas leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Then who am I?”
Harper rubbed her aching temples. Jesus, were they really having this conversation now?
“You’re Matt Damon,” Mischa said with a well duh tone.
He raised a brow at her. “Guess that makes you Julia Roberts.”
“Pfft, no way, man,” Benny said. “She’s way more Catherine Zeta-Jones than Julia Roberts. She’s all dark and mysterious and sexy as all…”
He trailed off when Hunter straightened and snarled at him, but offered a toothy grin and a little finger wave that made Mischa chuckle and Hunter back down.
Leon rolled his eyes. “She wasn’t in Ocean’s Eleven, loser. She was in Ocean’s Twelve.”
Benny ignored the comment and jerked a thumb in Leon’s direction. “Who’s this fucknut gonna be, Catherine Zeta-hotness?”
She considered it for a moment, before saying, “Andy Garcia.”
“No way!” Leon whined. “He was the bad guy. I’m not a bad guy! I’m here helping a friend, right, Harper?”
Harper let her head drop to the table. “Yes, Leon. We’re friends.”
He puffed up with pride and gave Mischa a satisfied smirk. “See? I’m not the bad guy.”
Benny rolled his eyes. “Fine. Whatever. If you don’t want to be Andy Garcia, who do you want to be?”
“Gandalf the Grey,” Leon said without hesitation.
“That’s fucked up,” Lucas muttered.
“No shit,” Benny agreed. “He wasn’t in Oceans’s Eleven. He was in that New Zealand midget and fairy movie.”
“I don’t care,” Leon said defiantly. “If she gets to be Catherine Zeta-Jones, I get to be Gandalf the Grey.”
Lucas stretched out and laced his fingers behind his head. “Fine. If that’s how we’re playing this, then I’m Batman.”
Benny’s eyes went wide. “Oooohhhh, cool. Then I’m Tony Stark.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Mischa began. “You can’t be—”
“Enough!” Harper shot to her feet, kicking her chair over in the process. “Everyone just shut the fuck up!”
They all blinked at her.
She pointed at Lucas. “You are totally Matt Damon, not Batman.” He frowned.
Turning on Leon, she said, “You are Casey Affleck.” His bottom lip stuck out in a pout.
She poked Mischa’s arm with her little finger. “You’re Julia Roberts, because I hated the second Zorro movie and Michael Douglas freaks me the fuck out.”
“You’re you, Hunter, because you’re far too mature to participate in this bullshit.”
He shrugged. “I had no idea what anyone was talking about anyway,” he muttered to Mischa. “The only Ocean’s Eleven I ever saw had Dean Martin in it.”
“Who am I, Harpy?”
She turned a severe stink-eye on Romeo, who was now lounging in the bedroom doorway, smirking at her. “You got us all into this fiasco, asshat, so you’re Gilligan.”
The cocky smirk dropped off his face.
Harper threw her hands up in a what-the-hell gesture. “Does that settle everything? Can we fucking go on now?”
Grumbles could be heard around the room, but everyone mercifully stopped talking enough for her to speak again.
“So,” Harper began, “I have a plan, but I need help working through all the details to make sure I’m not missing anything.”
Everyone’s nods of agreement were encouraging. Maybe now she had their full attention. She grabbed her pencil and notepad. “What are the barriers, as you see them, to getting Riddick, Romeo, and me out of the Arena tonight?”
Romeo leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, darlin’, I think it’s at least a little problematic that we don’t even know where the Arena is. I don’t know about you, but I can never see a fucking thing through those blindfolds, and I’m pretty sure they drive us to Utah, in circles, before we get there.”
Harper thought his sarcasm was uncalled-for, but wrote that down as number one on her list, which she’d titled, “how to fuck over the paranormal mafia and save the father of my future children.”
“Good,” she said. “Next?”
Benny raised his hand. Mischa rolled her eyes and said, “We’re not in homeroom, Benny. Go ahead and talk.”
He lowered his hand sheepishly. “Even if we knew where the Arena was, getting weapons in would be a problem since they have a butt-ton of guards and metal detectors.”
Number two on the list: butt-ton of armed guards.
Lucas spoke up with, “Even if Riddick wins, Archer doesn’t plan to let you out of there—which, if I’m not mistaken, will cause Riddick to lose his ever-lovin’ shit and tear the place apart, brick by brick.” He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “Can’t imagine that wouldn’t get him—and probably you—shot by one group or the other.”
Harper frowned and jotted that down as number three. Getting shot would definitely put a damper on the evening. And the mental picture Lucas had painted was disturbingly…plausible.
Mischa added, “Archer. He’s a problem all by himself. He wants you, and something tells me he’s used to getting what he wants. I’m thinking that even if you get away tonight, he won’t stop coming after you and Riddick.”
Number four: stupid, annoying, paranormal stalker.
Hunter shrugged. “I’ll just kill him. Problem solved.”
Leon snorted. “Mafia dudes are like cockroaches. Kill one and five more fight to take his place. If you kill him, someone else will have assumed his role in an hour. And whoever that is will expect to receive all of Archer’s assets—which in this case, includes Harper. Whoever takes over for Archer will definitely see the value of having his own psychic. Especially a hot one.”
All eyes shifted to him. Shit, Harper thought. I never would’ve thought of that.
He eyed the group nervously. “What?” he asked, chewing on his thumbnail. “I watch a lot of TV.”
Number five: paranormal cockroaches who think they have dibs on me.
She tapped her pencil on the notepad. “I’ve got this covered.”
Romeo snorted. “Do tell, George Clooney.”
“Danny Ocean,” Leon corrected.
“What the fuck ever, wizard boy.”
An eye roll flowed through the room like a group of football fans doing the wave at a big game.
“So,” Harper began, “Number one. Lucas, you’ll take care of this one. Pay our pretty little ring girl a visit at her day job and trail her to the Arena.”
Romeo shook his head. “She’s tricky, and wicked smart. She’s not going to let you follow her.”
Lucas raised a brow. “I don’t have to follow her. Once I have her scent, I can pick up a trail for everywhere she’s been in the past month.”
“Number two: Benny. This one’s all you. Once Lucas has the location, you shift into a rat and get inside. Open the doors up and let Lucas, Hunter, and Mischa in. You guys will wait until the guards arrive, then beat the crap out of them and take their uniforms. By the time everyone arrives, you guys will be in place and no one will even notice you’re not the usual guards. I’ve been in this place,” she said. “Trust me, no one is looking at the hired help.”
Benny saluted her. “Aye-aye, Captain.”
“What do we do about Archer?” Romeo as
ked. “Once the fight is over, he’ll make a grab for you.”
She smirked. “We’ll just have to make sure he’s too busy to notice me leaving. Hunter, when the Lykoi boss goes into his owner’s box, can you plant a suggestion with him that Archer is somehow planning to cheat or rig the fight?”
He nodded. “Shifters are generally fairly open to suggestion.”
“Hey,” Lucas snapped.
Hunter gave him a palms-up shrug. “Sorry. Sad but true.”
“That’s really smart,” Mischa murmured. “The Lykoi will confront Archer immediately after Riddick beats his fighter. Their people will join in. If we’re lucky, they’ll kill each other off, which will take care of numbers three and four on the list.”
“What if Riddick loses?”
All eyes shifted to Lucas, who held his hands up in supplication. “I’m just playing devil’s advocate here. It’s a possibility, you know.”
“That won’t happen,” Harper said through gritted teeth.
“Which leaves number five,” Leon said quietly. “How do you plan to take care of that one?”
Harper grinned. “I know a guy who can help with that.”
They ran though possible scenarios for another hour or so. On paper, they had everything covered. Even though there were roughly a million moving parts, the gist of the plan was simple, and everyone understood what needed to be done.
And as they all sat there so earnestly listening to what they’d need to do, ready to risk their lives to save her and Riddick, she felt like the world’s biggest bitch for squashing what little bit of fun they’d had since their arrival in Vegas.
She cleared her throat. “Um, guys, I just want to say that I’m…really…thankful to all of you and…um, happy that you’re here, and that I, uh…”
Lucas blinked at her. “Shit, you’re not gonna cry, are you?”
Hunter shifted wide eyes in her direction. “Jesus, I hope nope.” Mischa elbowed him in the stomach.
Benny and Leon looked similarly horrified at the thought of Harper bursting into tears. Mischa shook her head. “What a bunch of pussies you all are,” she said. “Look, it’s time to shit or get off the pot. Are we ready, or what?”
And splat went the emotion.
When everyone else shuffled out of the room, Mischa shot her a sharp look. “Were you about to make a death speech?”
“A death speech?”
“Yeah, you know, a just-in-case-we-all-die-I-want-to-tell you-all-I-love-you speech?”
She scoffed. “No way.” She totally had been, though.
Mischa threw her hands up. “Are you trying to get us all killed? You know that’s the kiss of death. Don’t fucking foreshadow the entire plan!”
Harper blinked at her. “You’re way meaner than Catherine Zeta-Jones. Way meaner than someone who’s banging Hunter should be.”
She gave her a sharp nod of approval. “That’s more like it. Now let’s go kick some paranormal mafia ass.”
Harper couldn’t help but smile as she watched her fun-sized friend turn on her heel and strut out of the room with the confidence of a seasoned general.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Riddick didn’t bother taping his knuckles for tonight’s fight. Boxing probably wouldn’t be foremost on his father’s agenda. Something told him good old Ken would be all about taking him to the mat and snapping his spine. Or neck.
Riddick didn’t plan to give him the opportunity. He had way too much to live for.
Too bad it had taken him all fucking day to come to that simple conclusion.
He stepped into the Arena, ignoring the roar of the crowd, eyes scanning for the one person he actually gave a damn about.
Harper stood up when his eyes found hers. She looked exhausted and pissed off and relieved to see him all at the same time. God, she was beautiful.
That’s when he noticed her outfit. She was wearing her fighting clothes. The black tank top and dark-wash jeans were fitted, yet moved well with her body if she had to throw a punch or a side kick.
He’d bet his left nut she was wearing her ass-kicking boots, too. The very same silver-heeled boots that had knocked Candy Kane on her butt at Kitty Kat Palace a few short weeks ago.
She expected trouble tonight. And probably not just their usual kind of trouble. He could see it in her shadowed, worried eyes.
At that moment, he didn’t give a good goddamn what they were facing tonight. As long as they were together, they’d be fine.
Again, too fucking bad he hadn’t come that conclusion earlier in the damn day.
Ignoring the crowd and the two mafia families and pretty much everyone else in the world, he went to her.
Harper reached for him when he got to the wall separating the owner’s box from the Arena itself. He lifted her up and over the wall in one motion and she latched onto him tight, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist.
He breathed a sigh of relief when she buried her face in the crook of his neck. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered into her hair.
“It doesn’t matter.”
He pulled back, cupping the back of her head in his hand, looking her square in the eye. “No, it does matter. I was a dumbass for walking away today, and I was a dumbass for doubting us. I know I have issues to work out, but I don’t fucking care about any of it. My family, the damn paranormal mafia, Romeo Jones, the beast…none of it matters. As long as you’re willing to tolerate me, forever, then it’s all good.”
He paused and rested his forehead against hers. “You were right,” he added. “About everything.”
She grinned. “If you could just assume that right up front, it would really save us a lot of time.”
He shifted his hand down to her ribs and tickled her, causing her to squeal and cling to him even tighter. “Smartass.”
“Well, this is so cute I could puke, but can we get on with the fight, son?” Ken asked.
Riddick ignored him. “So, am I to assume by this outfit—you look crazy hot, by the way—that you’re expecting some serious shit to go down?”
She nodded. “Yep. I have a plan.”
He smiled. “Of course you do.”
“Want to hear about it?”
“Nah. Surprise me.”
Her brows raised. “Don’t I always?”
“Every damn day. In the best possible ways.”
***
After a kiss that left her knees shaky and the audience hooting and hollering like a bunch of hormonal teenagers, Riddick handed Harper over to Romeo, who hauled her back over the wall into the owner’s box.
“The families didn’t care for that display,” Romeo said, gesturing toward Archer and the Lykoi boss, who sat at his right.
Must not have, she thought, noting their dour expressions. Most people would probably apologize or offer some kind of conciliatory gesture at this point.
Harper flipped them off.
Romeo dropped his forehead into his palm with a loud smack. “Jesus, girl, you really are crazy, aren’t you?”
She grinned at him. “Crazy is just a side effect of awesome.”
He rolled his eyes. “Then you are all kinds of awesome, Harper Hall.”
Whatever reply she was going to make was interrupted by Christy and her gong. Harper’s stomach immediately clenched into a knotted ball.
Here we go.
Riddick and Ken circled each other, eyes focused, each ready to strike at any given moment.
Ken looked tense, Harper noted, which was somewhat surprising, given his supreme arrogance, and the ease with which he’d pummeled his sparring partner. His jaw looked tight, and his knuckles were so clenched that veins bulged grotesquely all over the back of his hands and forearms.
Riddick, on the other hand, wore a completely relaxed, somewhat bored expression. Anyone who didn’t know him would assume he hadn’t a care in the world. But Harper did know him, and she was probably the only person in the room who could see that his ruthless calm masked his who
lehearted determination to win this fight at any cost. Quite simply, Ken Riddick didn’t stand a chance.
His son was going to destroy him.
Ken made the first move. He dove low, obviously meaning to sweep Riddick’s legs out from under him and take him to the ground. Riddick must have anticipated the move, because he jumped straight up and over Ken, who hit the ground face-first and slid about a foot before getting his bearings and scissoring back into a standing position.
Ken had blood in his eyes as he faced off against Riddick once more. Riddick smirked at him, which the crowd loved. Beside her, Romeo shook his head. “The boy’s good,” he said.
Riddick dodged the hard right hook Ken threw at him, but wasn’t quite fast enough to avoid the follow-up left that glanced off his temple. Harper sucked in a sharp breath, but Riddick just shook it off.
Riddick threw a kick at Ken’s head. Ken ducked, moving into a leg-sweep, knocking Riddick flat onto his back. Harper couldn’t hear anything over the cheers of the crowd, but could tell by the look on Riddick’s face that the air had been forced from his lungs. She held her own breath and clutched Romeo’s hand for support.
Ken moved in to kick Riddick while he was down, but Riddick rolled backwards and to his feet smoothly. Riddick covered the distance between them.
What followed was a flurry of thrown and blocked punches that moved so fast, Harper wasn’t sure she was even seeing all of it. They broke apart when Riddick landed a punch to the center of Ken’s chest.
A punch like that could’ve stopped a normal man’s heart, Harper knew. But Ken Riddick was no ordinary man. And true to his dhampyre status, he rushed Riddick, slamming into him with enough force to drive him back into the far wall of the Arena.
Riddick ducked, barely missing the heel of Ken’s hand, which, had it hit him in the face, could’ve sent bits of crushed bone up into his brain. He grinned savagely when the wall behind him took the full brunt of his father’s punch.
Ken clutched his hand—which had to be shattered, Harper realized with a kind of grim glee—for a moment before head- butting Riddick, then sweeping his legs out from under him.
Harper Hall Investigations Complete Series Page 40
