by Roze, Robyn
Unchained
Copyright © 2020 by Robyn Roze
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews. For permissions contact: [email protected]
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental.
Cover by Tugboat Design
Editing by Staci Frenes of Grammar Boss Editing
Formatting by Alt19Creative
ISBN: 978-0-9961445-5-1 (eBook)
ISBN: 978-0-9961445-6-8 (paperback)
For the fans of
Chain of Title
“Be careful when you fight the monsters,
lest you become one.”
Friedrich Nietzsche
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
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Chapter 1
Connections and cash greased the world’s gears. The right combination of those two things meant the sky was the limit for what a man could acquire, including ‘rental space’ on a freighter docked in the Port of Singapore. C-notes worked like magic with underpaid and overworked merchant marines, turning them blind to a man strong-armed onto their ship hours earlier.
With much of the crew indulging in shore leave at the casinos and the Orchard Towers’ infamous “Four Floors of Whores,” the bustling location of the world’s second-busiest cargo port offered ideal cover for the escalating situation. A man’s life hung in the balance. And Sean would soon tip the scale.
Mind focused, Sean followed a stocky crewman along the clanging passageways into the belly of a cargo ship to arrive outside a closed metal door. He jerked his head back, signaling the well-paid crew member to take a hike. He watched the man scramble down the corridor and disappear around the corner. Pressing the concealed mic at his collar, Sean spoke to one of his best men, Gunnar Reece. “I’m going in now to get a read on him. Be ready either way.”
Sean rolled his shoulders, stretched his neck, and organized his thoughts outside the closed, windowless door. With a tight set of his jaw, he yanked down the steel handle and pushed inside, ducking through the opening into a dim storage compartment near the ship’s clanking engine room. Taking a moment to allow his vision to adjust to the flicker of the choking fluorescents buzzing overhead, he scanned the area, noting the ship equipment stored at one end and the shackled detainee eyeing him at the other. Then he pushed the heavy metal door shut, sealing in the reek of bunker fuel, grease, and rising tension.
He zeroed in on the target and advanced toward the agent immobilized in the humid space. Squaring himself above the man, motes drifting in a grainy haze around them, Sean waited a few moments. He took his time scrutinizing the man, who, from below, had the balls to hold his executioner’s glare in some ridiculous challenge.
That could only mean one thing: the son-of-a-bitch was clueless.
“You don’t know who I am.”
The rattle and grind of machinery rumbling next door and vibrating underfoot were the only response.
While lounging in a cabana with Shayna yesterday on Sentosa Island, Sean had outed the disguised operative, poolside. That same man, minus the subterfuge, now stared up at him with angry determination. A fresh gash above one swollen eye, blood smeared across his face, and a red gush from his nose spilled over a busted lip. His body, bound tight to the chair, betrayed him with a slight uptick in breathing, the fresh sheen of sweat beaded at his brow, the flash of fear in his eyes.
“You’re good. But not good enough to get by me—Marcus Black.” Sean detected a trace of surprise. “Of course, I know who you are; your real name, not the Daniel Morgan you registered under at the hotel.” He circled around the man, sizing him up. Christ, he looked young for thirty-two. “I knew you were tracking me from the beginning. But you’re just a scout, not the hunter.”
He towered above the squirming agent and fine-tuned his strategies, calculating probabilities before making a decision. After some brooding silence, Sean aimed his eyes toward a murky corner in the space, then angled his head back in the exit’s direction. Two hulking figures emerged from the oily shadows, trudged through the dank area, then squeezed out the door.
Sean scraped a chair across the steel floor, flipped it around and straddled it, forearms folded across the top of the metal back, eye to eye with the tracker. “Your handler intentionally did a piss-poor job preparing you for me. I know why. Do you?”
The prisoner remained silent. Defiant.
“He wants you dead. You weren’t supposed to make it out of Spain alive last year—when he set you up the first time.”
Shock registered in Marcus’ widened eyes, although he tried to cover it.
“That’s right. I know all about Spain, too. You didn’t follow orders. You followed your gut; you survived. He wasn’t counting on that.” Sean paused, allowing time for the full weight of his words to sink in and take hold. “How do I know that? Because he tried to do the same shit to me. A long time ago.”
Marcus’ bravado faltered a bit. He tried to shift in his seat, test the bite of his bindings, ease the tingling in his limbs.
It was hopeless.
“Your handler, let’s call him—Simon,” recognition surfaced in the man’s slackened jaw, “doesn’t like it when his motives or tactics are challenged. I should know.”
Marcus, eyes narrowed and wary, assessed the dangerous mercenary within arm’s length from him. “How?” he asked, voice filled with suspicion.
“I know where his skeletons are buried,” Sean hesitated, the bloody hands of time rewinding, “including the real ones.” He gripped the top of his chair and pushed up, as though to step back and away from the clinging stink of his past. “I’m a hard man to kill. And he knows it. So we agreed to disagree. To stay out of each other’s way.”
“And you reneged.”
Sean’s back stiffened. Had he heard contempt?
He kicked Marcus over in his chair, smacking the agent’s head against the steel surface, and waited for the groaning and cursing to end before he shouted the callous truth. “I don’t give a fuck whether you live or die. Whether your mother IDs what’s left of you. Or whether you’re fed to the sharks—alive. But understand this: I’m your only chance of making it off this island to see your girl again—back in London.” The threatening barb missed its target, leaving Black unfazed.
No problem. There were always other angles to exploit.
Sean dropped to one knee, elbow pressed on the other, drawing closer to scan the prone operative’s beaten face. Squinting in recognition, Sean said in an ominous tone, “Her little
boy sure looks a lot like you…”
The color drained from his olive complexion with a swallow as Marcus seemed to turn to stone, the unthinkable sucking the muggy air from the cramped space between them.
Sean let him agonize over the dangerous implications before pulling the curtain all the way back. “What you need to understand is that the people coming for me,” he pushed a finger against Marcus’ forehead, “are also coming for you.”
That got his attention.
“You think you’re waiting for extraction orders? Your next assignment?” Sean’s head swung from side to side with the dire news. “You’re a sitting duck, motherfucker.”
In a swift move, Sean hauled the chair back onto all fours, punctuated with a grunt from Marcus. He resumed his spot on the metal chair across from Black’s battered face, contorted in confusion and doubt, then shifting to comprehension and fear.
Soul-cleansing fear.
The kind of fear that frees a man of all pre-conceived notions, and former allegiances, when he learns he was expendable all along.
“You have a choice to make, Marcus Black. One I don’t need to spell out for you.” He paused, sensing Marcus’ gears grinding, his loyalties wavering. “Our friend put you on my trail because he knew I’d spot you a mile away; kill you without hesitation. That’s what he expects me to do. Because you’re not supposed to make it out alive—this time.”
Sean ordered his thoughts. Made his final decision.
“But he’s always overestimated himself. And underestimated me.” He stretched closer toward Marcus, bitter memories burning in Sean’s brain, raw hatred marring both men’s faces. “What do you say we surprise him? Again.”
Chapter 2
Shayna felt the eyes of the attractive stranger roaming over her body as he stood behind her in the elevator at the Marina Bay Sands. He had given her a nod of approval, a carnal invitation with his steady, amorous stare when she entered the polished car. She shook her head at his reflection in the shiny golden doors, his lascivious gaze glued to her ass in the strappy, curve-hugging sundress Sean had picked out for her. Her husband had wonderful taste in clothing. He knew what he liked to see her in, and strip her out of.
With an abrupt turn, she caught the ogler off guard, her eyes skipping down to the ring finger on his left hand as it snaked into his pants pocket. His suit said he was in Singapore on business; his expression said he was off the clock and ready to play. She lifted her hand and wiggled her diamond encrusted wedding band at him. He looked unimpressed.
“Nice ring,” he said, with a mischievous grin. “The man who gave you that is a fool for letting you out of his sight.”
“The man who gave me this knows he can trust me.” Her head tilted in question. “Can your wife trust you?” The four-letter word dampened his spirits, and the ping of the elevator signaled her freedom. “Do not follow me out of this elevator. Or the man who gave me this ring will make you look like a fool.”
He raised his hands in surrender, then gestured toward the exit, a slight smile on his face.
Strolling along the hallway, vivid images played in her head of all the X-rated ways she wanted to thank her thoughtful husband for the unexpected day of pampering at the Banyan Tree, the award-winning spa in Tower 1 of the Marina Bay Sands resort. After a mani-pedi, soothing facial, heavenly aromatherapy, and relaxing full-body massage, she felt like a new woman, half her nearly fifty years. And oh-so-happy not to be.
They had spent their prior honeymoon months trekking across South America. It was grueling at times. They roughed it in the Amazon, rappelled waterfalls in Ecuador, and backpacked in Brazil. She had loved every minute of it; no two days alike. And she knew she had surprised Sean, earned his respect with her ability to keep up, and willingness to try new things.
After hiking, diving, and kayaking around the Galapagos, they had docked Sean’s boat, Tuscan Dream, in Singapore. They wanted to enjoy the luxury at Marina Bay Sands and decide which adventures to check off next from their lengthy bucket list.
She entered their lavish Straits suite in Tower 2 and relaxed her bare back against the cool surface of the closed door. The sight of the Singapore skyline etched in the distance curved her lips in appreciation. The other view was even better: the tall, lean muscled man stalking toward her with all the lustful intent she longed to see. Her flesh tingled with intimate memories and youthful-like anticipation.
“Hello, gorgeous.” Sean scooped her into his arms, kissed the bend of her neck and inhaled her scent. “You smell good enough to eat.” The tease of the smile on his lips skipped along her sensitive throat.
“Oh, I am. And I may let you have a taste. Later.” She peeled herself away from his snug embrace and strode out of the foyer, through the living room, and over to the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows.
“I’ve made dinner reservations, but,” his green eyes scanned her from head to toe as he followed, his intense gaze suggestive, “we could eat in tonight…” His widening pupils cast his vote.
Her body agreed, warmed at the thought, but her brain was in charge right now. “You should cancel the reservation.”
She positioned herself on the other side of the coffee table to thwart his approach, and he looked confused by the move. “I had a lovely day at the spa. I think you booked every service possible for me. Thank you for that. I felt like royalty.”
His stance turned cautious. “You deserve to feel that way.”
She caught a hint of wariness in his voice. Had he picked up on the nuanced inflection in her tone?
“Tell me about your day,” she asked. “What did you do to pass the time?”
He stayed silent for a few seconds, looking away, hands tucked in his front pockets. “I took care of some business.” His impassive eyes swung back to hers.
She held her breath, and his stare, for a few beats. “Right. You told me you had business matters to address.” She dropped her key card and bag on the coffee table. “What were they?”
His edges hardened, jaw clenched. “Why the questions, Shay?”
Her shoulders squared. “I’m wondering if your business had something to do with the man I noticed at the pool yesterday when we were on Sentosa.” She held up her hand to stop any incoming denial. “Keep in mind, I know that you know who I’m referring to; I saw what you did, Sean. He looked like he pissed himself when you took aim at him.” She flashed a warning smile, and then a dramatic replay of Sean’s poolside finger gun.
Her surprising replay caught him off guard. His cool expression faltered for a moment, a rare misstep for him, before the hard veneer of self-discipline returned.
She hadn’t let on about what she witnessed yesterday, because she had wanted Sean to tell her himself, without being coerced by her.
So much for that wish.
She shook her head with a disappointed sigh. “I’m a grown woman, Sean. I’m not some girl who’s easily manipulated or misdirected. Thankfully, I have time and experience on my side. I haven’t missed all the visits you’ve needed to make to the business center since we arrived here, even though we have an office in our suite.” One eyebrow angled in accusation.
“Who was the man at the pool? What does he want?” She lowered to the sofa, irritated with his lack of response. “Is he the reason you make calls in secret? The reason you kept me occupied here all day?” Her fingers tapped in annoyance on the back of the sofa as she waited. “I’m losing patience, Sean. I won’t ask a second time. I have a right to know.” She leaned forward. “You promised me no more secrets. You promised me you were done with these people and that life.” Frustration tinged her voice. “I thought we were past this.”
He let out a long, disgruntled breath and dropped into the armchair across from her.
Their suite was free of listening devices. He had already had it swept.
“I am done with that life—as long as it’s done with me. That’s how it works, Shay. A man like me is always on aler
t. I’ve made enemies; you know that. I will always walk into a room and do a head count, check for exits, escape routes, look for who fits and who doesn’t; it’s in my DNA. And having you in my life makes that even more important and necessary. I can’t afford to slip up, miss even the smallest thing.”
Alarm bells blared in her head. “Are we in danger?”
“Your safety is my top priority. I have this under control.” His demeanor and tone signaled the end of the discussion.
For him, maybe.
Shayna held his unwavering stare, knowing he expected her acquiescence, her blind faith. “Yes or no, Sean.”
The padded armrests dented under the force of his grip.
“I’m your wife, not an assignment. I asked a direct question. I want a direct answer.” His eyes bore into hers. She didn’t shrink. “That’s how it works in a marriage, in a real relationship. It’s what we both signed up for.” She paused on purpose to let him stew. “You still want that, right?”
The tight lines around his eyes softened as he searched her face, but his expression remained hard. “You know damn well I do. But one has nothing to do with the other, Shay. This is serious. You have to let me handle it, like it or not.”
“I don’t like it. And you don’t have to handle it alone. Let me help.”
His humorless laughter filled the room. “Let you help? With this?” He reclined back in his seat, his long muscular legs angled wide as he scrutinized her. Then he seemed to reconcile something important in his head. “What makes you think we’ve been alone?”
The disturbing implication in his blunt statement jarred her to the core. Had these past months only been a blissful fiction?
With the weight of a shifting reality, Shayna recalled their travels and the countless faces along the way, including the dedicated butler assigned to their suite. “You’ve had people following along the entire time.”
“Like I said, I can’t afford to slip up. The more eyes the better.” He watched her with the apprehension of a man bracing for a fight. “You’re going to visit Danielle for a while.”
