Unchained

by Roze, Robyn

  As for any accord? Never.

  As a man who never wasted time, Sean had called a pre-dawn meeting in his suite to update team leaders, adjust assignments where necessary, and to leave Mick and a couple men behind at the hotel with Shayna—to hedge his bets. He knew Senator Dixon got his rocks off by playing dirty, and Sean knew that Dix would see Shayna as his trump card. The exact card Sean had avoided holding his entire life until last year.

  And now here he was with only one chink in his armor: a wife.

  Shayna. He white knuckled the steering wheel, allowing himself a momentary distraction; her back arched, legs spread, his favorite sounds in the world spilling from her red lips. The steamy scene dissolved into a cold one. Last night had ended in a fucking nightmare—starting with her real one and then blowing up into their war of words. Things had boiled to the surface. He hated the look of disappointment on her face, as if he had betrayed her somehow.

  Like she had regrets. About him.

  Jaw tight with unease, he forced himself to switch mental gears.

  Glancing up to the mirror, he noted the traffic behind him had thinned and the tail no longer had the buffer of vehicles, only an empty, safe distance. The balmy wind whipped at his dark hair and white shirt. His eyes flicked to the speedometer, twenty over the limit. He had been distancing himself from the pack to flush these fuckers out and then take them out.

  After veering off the ECP onto exit 2A, he was now well into the tree-lined stretch along the Changi Coast Road. It would be the end of the road for the targets trailing in the silver sedan. If the plan worked, those goons would end up ass over end, sinking in the Straits of Johor.

  Shayna reclined on a lounger, appearing at ease while flipping magazine pages and sipping a blue drink with an umbrella in it. Mick surveilled her from a tactical location on the Skydeck, positioned under a table umbrella where he could observe the activity of the other hotel guests around her. She wanted to come to the pool, and he couldn’t blame her. This was a helluva lot better than hiding out in the room all day, no matter how swanky it was.

  He nodded in thanks to the server as she placed his drink on the table in front of him. Chuckling to himself, he replayed the unexpected eyeful he had gotten in the room earlier of Shayna in that flimsy getup that left little to a man’s imagination. He grunted in approval. Christ, no wonder his friend wanted to sail off into the sunset with her.

  She had been friendly enough this morning, ordering breakfast, making small talk. But he could tell she was uncomfortable. Not so much with him, just in general. She needed to leave; just one man’s opinion. It was the right opinion, though, from one man who knew what the hell he was talking about to another man who should damn well know it too. You need to get your head outta your ass, brother. Mick felt irritated that Sean had dismissed his concerns back on the boat. Shayna staying here with the situation heating up was not a smart choice, but his mule-headed friend didn’t want to piss off his new wife. Never thought you’d be that guy, Mick thought, shaking his head.

  His trained eyes gave Shayna, now stretched on her sun lounger, and the surrounding area a final sweep before returning his attention back to his phone’s screen. He tapped and swiped until the tracking app displayed Sean’s location and that of two of their men: one on a motorcycle, the other driving a lorry. They were both within a mile or two behind Sean, where they should be. So far, so good.

  He grabbed the sweating glass filled with ice water and brought it to his lips. He froze mid-gulp, his eyes darting across the buzzing landscape and the bobbing heads in the adults-only side of the infinity pool. Then his focus moved again to the empty lounger only sixty feet away. Where the hell was she? Slamming the glass down on the table, he pushed his aviators up out of the way, shooting a dirty look to the phone now clutched in his hand. He had only taken his eyes off her for a few minutes.

  He shot to his feet, toppling the lightweight chair in which he had been sitting, and ducked out from under the red table umbrella, cell at his ear, sunglasses back in place. “Gonzalez. You and Stutz. Top of the world. Now.” He disconnected and shoved the mobile in his pocket, his height and bulk parting the swarm of people in his way with ease. His well-honed instincts had him on high alert, the hair electrified on the back of his neck in a prickly warning. Something was wrong.

  Dead wrong.

  Sean checked his rearview mirror again, the silver sedan gaining ground, suspicion deepening in his gut. Had he just seen the driver pump a headshot in the passenger a few moments ago? A dead man appeared crumpled against the door, brain matter sprayed on the window. The driver raced up behind him, headlights flicking on and off in a frenzy. Sean’s attention alternated between the roadway ahead and the car rushing up from behind in the mirror. His curiosity allowed the vehicle closer, so he could get a better look at the driver.

  What the fuck? It was Marcus Black.

  Decision made, he barked orders into the concealed mic at his collar. “Beck, I’m pulling over. I want Rivera to pen in the mark; you cover the rear.”

  Beck’s in-helmet response came back in the affirmative, and Sean waited until he had them both in his sights in the side mirror. With his men closing the gap, Sean pulled onto a grassy shoulder, and Marcus followed. Within seconds, the lorry provided cover, and Sean bolted from his car, weapon drawn and aimed at Marcus through the windshield, his hands empty and raised in capitulation. Beck was already off the motorcycle, helmet tossed on the ground, inspecting the car’s rear seat before making his way around to the driver’s side.

  “Get out!” Sean ordered.

  Marcus kept one hand up as he cautiously lowered the other to unlatch the door and maneuver out of the car. Beck knocked him to his knees at Sean’s feet, gun notched against the back of his head.

  Sean lowered his weapon. “What the hell kind of stunt is this?” He glanced toward the dead man slumped in the car.

  Defiance flashed in Marcus’ eyes. “I’m going against orders.”

  “Which were?”

  “To keep an eye on you.” His head jerked toward the car. “And his order—to kill me. You were right. Dix wants me dead.”

  It made sense. Marcus wanted to save his own ass.

  Sean raised his gun in line with the agent’s head. “Seems like Dix is using me to clean his house. I don’t see a reason not to oblige him.”

  Marcus shook his head. “I have information you want.”

  “You’re not far enough up the chain to have anything I want.”

  “You’re wrong. He’s going after your wife. Today. Now.”

  Sean gripped Marcus’ collar and yanked him up, slamming him against the car.

  The agent’s hands remained in the air. “You did exactly what he wanted you to do. You left her at the hotel.”

  Sean backed away, yanking out his cell phone, as Beck stepped closer to guard Marcus.

  After seconds that felt like hours, Mick answered.

  “Tell me you have eyes on my wife.”

  Ah, fuck. This day just kept getting better. Now his suspicions were confirmed. Sean had gotten intel that something bad was about to go down here. Mick continued to search the area for Shayna, in vain, phone pressed against his ear.

  “Mick!”

  He winced at the trace of fear he had never heard in Sean’s voice before today. He had never failed his friend, and there was no way in hell he would start now. Plowing through people, ignoring the angry looks and disgruntled comments, he was no longer concerned if he made a scene.

  “I’m not fucking around here, Mick. Answer me.”

  He was about to come clean when a familiar blonde popped out of a doorway, pushing hard into the foot traffic, hunting for him, and looking scared.

  Their eyes connected above the heads of moseying tourists.

  “I see her. She’s spooked.”

  “Get her out now. You know what to do.”

  “Done.”

  While pushing toward
Shayna, his eyes still pinned on her, his momentary relief tempered with the mounting danger, he called Gonzalez again. “Where’re you at?”

  Shayna continued slicing through the crowd toward him and raised two fingers for Mick’s eyes only. The signal had to mean two scumbags were close by. Good. She had her wits, despite the fear widening her eyes. Then she did something unexpected. She glanced over her shoulder and turned around, watching the access point she had exited. Two men surfaced, shoving through the hotel guests, eyes glued on their target.

  Holy shit. She appeared to be drawing them out for him.

  His brisk stride, phone still pressed to his ear, brought Mick within thirty feet of her. “Make a left. There’s two of ‘em. They’re dressed like secret service. You’ll be right behind—” Mick fell mute, watching as she pivoted and zigzagged around guests, then bounded down the nearest steps. She ditched her bag at the edge of the pool deck and walked straight into the water, gliding to the far side, with the illusion of hanging on the brink of the fifty-seven-story structure.

  Mick grinned at the smart move. Perfect. Fucking perfect.

  He gave the order on his cell. “We’re one big happy family, Gonzalez,” Mick said, knowing the soldier would know what to do next.

  Mick tucked his phone away and signaled Shayna to stay put. Then he zeroed in on the preoccupied operatives working out what to do with their target in the pool. Thanks to her, the buffoons had no idea they were about to be sandwiched.

  Arms wide in welcome, now within ten feet of the agents, Mick hollered in greeting, “Jimmy! Kevin! How the hell are you?”

  The sudden and inconspicuous press of guns at their backs changed the initial crease of irritation on their faces to icy understanding. Gonzalez and Stutz gripped the men’s shoulders like they were long-lost friends, their forced smiles not quite reaching the menace glinting in their veteran eyes.

  Chapter 8

  From an onlooker’s point of view, the men behaved like friends. However, Shayna could read the subtle cues even from her distant vantage point. The threat in their strained smiles, the forceful backslaps, the shoulders clenched in death grips. The body language of the five men, masked in the muted sunlight under the covered deck, was anything but friendly. Only someone with keen observation skills, or personal knowledge, could detect the ominous friction. As it was, the preoccupied vacationers loitering in the area were far too fixated on the famous infinity pool and the spectacular three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view to spot the amplifying danger, even as the suited men were strong armed through a corridor and out of sight.

  Her heart ticked away the frantic seconds in a wild rhythm that vibrated against her palm. Fixated on the archway, willing Mick to reappear, she tried to contain the riot of nerves revolting in her chest and stomach. Did Sean know what was happening? Was he already here? Would he be the one to emerge from the wide entryway now dominating her undivided attention?

  Breathe, Shayna.

  The day had gone haywire a short time ago when a hotel employee kneeled beside her lounger to inform her there had been a problem charging her beverage and snack to her suite. She had countered by pointing to the SkyPark wristband she received after her key card was scanned for admittance; there had been no problem then. Why a problem with room charges now? He had apologized and insisted that it sometimes happened, an easy glitch to fix if she would just follow him to SkyPark guest services.

  She had sensed unease from the attendant but had blamed the feeling on her own projected anxieties. After all, the intensifying accumulation of stress over the past week had fouled even simple interactions with unprovoked suspicion. Given that reasoning, she had pushed aside the initial hesitation and agreed to follow him, mindful that Mick would follow too.

  However, she had heeded the prickly warning in her gut by objecting to the route leading to an isolated area shaded by trees and bordered with high manicured hedges. That is when her skittish guide darted away and that’s when she noticed them: two men in dark suits concealed in a shadowed corner under the cover of palm trees, their malicious intent unmistakable.

  Instinct punched her motor into high gear, and she raced back the way she had come, expecting to run into Mick. When she didn’t, cold fear cleared her head, allowing her to think of nothing other than staying out of her pursuers’ reach. She didn’t look back, hadn’t needed to, because she had felt them on her heels.

  Not knowing Mick’s proximity among the mass of humanity stretched across the three-acre rooftop had made it almost impossible to keep her rising panic at bay. That same near panic had also sharpened her focus and provided a clear-cut solution, a temporary way to stay safe: the pool. She could hide in plain sight and wait for Mick.

  Her replay of the frantic events skidded to a halt when Mick appeared in her sights, leaving her awash in a shudder of acute relief, and a sliver of disappointment that it wasn’t Sean. She never took her focus off the mountain that was Mick Torres, watching him cut through the tourists like a warm knife through butter, his eyes locked onto hers amid the stream of people; their communication wordless, but understood. She crossed the pool, bumping into swimmers and picture takers, their grumbles ignored.

  When she reached the steps, Mick had her bag clutched in one hand, the other outstretched toward her. As her hand disappeared inside his, he pulled her from the water and up into the clinging humidity, shielding her under his sizable shadow.

  “You know the drill.” He aimed a pointed look at her over the rim of his sunglasses.

  “Stick to you like white on rice.”

  The scar at one corner of his mouth twitched in a brief grin. “Let’s do it.”

  She shouldered the bag he handed off, slid into her sandals, followed him up the steps and matched his long strides across the deck to the bank of elevators where a towel-wrapped group waited for the next ride. Without apology or acknowledgment, Mick carved out a position for them in between the elevator doors and the people who had been waiting their turn in front of them.

  “Well, excuse you,” a woman huffed behind them.

  The sharp reproach disregarded, Mick and Shayna stared straight ahead at their own sober reflections outlined on the metal doors. Her eyes flicked up to his stern face set behind sunglasses and shadows, his strong jaw fixed in a tight expression she recognized. Mission mode.

  As soon as the car released its chatty riders, Mick nudged her forward into the elevator and positioned her behind him, while blocking the entrance to the other guests. “Get the next one.” His aggressive stance and harsh tone brokered no room for argument, only hushed criticism.

  Once the door sealed shut, he jammed a hand in his pocket, retrieved a key and inserted it into a slot on the control panel. Their descent turned into a slick, non-stop ride.

  His head motioned toward her body. “Cover up. We’re not going back to the room.”

  She nodded at her bikini-clad reflection in his mirrored lenses and pulled out a sundress from her bag to drape over her swimsuit. He had told her earlier to pack street clothes, to be prepared for anything. As her hemline settled around her knees, she also slipped on sunglasses and a wide-brimmed sunhat.

  “Good. Now give me your phone.”

  He held out his meaty hand, waiting, as she dug her cell out from the bottom of her tote. Once in hand, he removed the battery.

  “But—” The sharp tilt of his chin shutdown her retort. “Right. Right,” she repeated with a jagged breath, yielding to his expertise. She needed to listen, to trust him. Closing her eyes, she dragged in a deep breath, then released it slowly, trying to calm her jumbled nerves, and reorient herself in this new, terrifying world.

  “You’re doing great, Shayna. Sean would be proud of the way you’ve handled yourself; don’t stop now.”

  When he patted her shoulder, she looked up, surprised to see a navy ball cap obscuring his features. He must have had it crammed in his back pocket.

  “When these doors open, we’
ll act like any other happy couple on vacation. You’ll smile and laugh at all my jokes, even the bad ones—just like you do for that ugly cuss of a husband.”

  The sudden burst of nervous laughter that passed her lips felt inappropriate. Yet, she had needed the unexpected release from the mounting pressure.

  “Can you do that?”

  Her posture straightened. “Of course, I can. I won’t let you down.”

  “Never thought you would.”

  He extended his hand and waited for hers to slide into his, then clasped it with a reassuring squeeze.

  The ping of the elevator firmed her determination. The doors slid open to the cacophony of noise in the cavernous main floor lobby. Guests awaiting the couple’s exit announced their impatience with throat clearing and shuffling feet.

  Her lips curved into a serene smile aimed up at the man towering beside her. “Where to, darling?”

  Mick grinned down at her in response. “It’s a surprise, sweetheart.”

  Who would arrive to the accident scene first? The proper authorities? Or Dix’s cleanup crew?

  Sean and his men watched and waited, marking time a safe distance away to find out, concealed in a thick grove of trees and low growing brush. Flames speared through the air, batting clouds of black smoke higher above the torched car containing the charred remains of one Marcus Black sizzling inside.

  Or so officials would deduce, and journalists would report based on the planted personal effects.