Assassin's Game

by Ella Sheridan

  “Diesel,” Eli said, voice gravelly. He cleared it, then tried again. “This is Diesel.” He looked to where Brooke sat, trembling almost as much as the dog, with excitement rather than fear. “He’s kind of scared right now. Like you were when you first came to live with us, remember, Brooke? He needs a little time to get used to everybody.”

  I inched closer. “Where did you find him?” No way had Eli bought Diesel—the dog was obviously a mutt, his head and body resembling multiple types of dogs rather than one clear breed. He was also terrified and, if the gray on his muzzle was telling the truth, older than any breeder would sell.

  “Behind the bar.”

  Abe’s Place. It still amazed me that until I moved into the mansion with them seven months ago, Eli’s brothers hadn’t known he was part owner of a bar. They’d seen him as a boy—usually a playboy—when he didn’t have a weapon in his hand, but Eli had so much compassion inside him too. Hence the bar and, now, a dog.

  A dog in the Agozi mansion. A silly grin tugged at my lips.

  I held my hand out carefully, palm up, and scooted slightly closer. Diesel shifted his attention to me, a vee of concern appearing between his gray eyes. Eli continued to murmur to the dog, reassuring him until Diesel eased forward the slightest bit to sniff my fingers.

  I didn’t try to touch him. He needed to be coaxed, to relax before he could endure us that close. “It must have taken you weeks to get him to come to you,” I said, eyes on Diesel.

  “He’s worth it,” Eli told me. “Brooke, come sit by Abby, nice and slow. Let him get used to your scent.”

  Leah helped her daughter down. I could sense the little girl’s excitement, the quivering need to get closer, but she held herself back, merely extending her fingers for Diesel to sniff just as I had.

  “Maybe you could help me feed him?” Eli asked.

  Wide eyes searched out her mother’s permission. When Leah nodded, so did Brooke. “I want to help.”

  “Start here.” Eli fished a treat from his pocket and placed it in Brooke’s hand. “These are his favorite.”

  We all held our breath, I think, as Brooke offered the little brown square to Diesel. The moment was broken just as he licked up the treat, by hard footsteps heading toward the kitchen.

  My stomach fluttered, this time in a good way. I stood, grateful the nausea—and the smell of raw meat—had dissipated. “Levi.”

  He turned his head as he entered, his gaze landing on me, his body following in a beeline that never failed to make me feel special. Only this time that path was obstructed by a kneeling brother, a six-year-old, and a skittish dog. One glimpse of Levi and Diesel pulled at Eli, backing away from the room’s new occupant.

  Eli shot his brother a dirty look. “I need a sit-down with you. Both of you,” he told Remi.

  “It’ll have to wait,” Levi said, turning his back on Eli and the dog.

  Diesel barked, the first aggressive move I’d seen from him since he’d come in. When Levi jerked around, glaring at the animal, Diesel tore away from Eli and darted out of the room.

  “Fuck it,” Eli muttered. “Do whatever you want.” He ran after his new pet.

  “You’ve got some people—and dogs—riled up, it seems, brother,” Remi observed.

  Levi grunted, narrowed eyes on the door, and I swear I saw a hint of guilt pass behind the irritation evident there. Then his expression cleared and his steps continued until he gathered me against his side. The warmth of him soaked into me, easing the tension and fear that had filled me for three weeks.

  “You were asleep. Everything okay?”

  I opened my mouth to tell him...something. Yes, no, I don’t know? I wasn’t sure, but before I could get a syllable out, Levi’s phone pinged with an incoming text. At the same time, Remi’s phone echoed the sound.

  The brothers looked at each other, then their phones. Levi’s grip on me loosened. Remi set down the knife he was using to cut the vegetables. While Levi stared at his screen, unmoving, Remi read from his, “‘Don’t care if you’ve got a stick up your—’” He glanced at Brooke’s avid eyes and skipped a word or two. “‘Come downstairs now or I’ll shove it—’ Hmm. Not sure that’s physically possible.”

  “What’s fizzally possible?” Brooke asked.

  Leah choked back a laugh. “Never mind, baby.”

  “I’m not a baby, Mommy. Our baby’s in there.” She pointed at Leah’s stomach.

  “Too right, little one,” Remi said.

  I felt the hated tears that never seemed far away creep up behind my eyes but refused to let them fall. “So you’re headed downstairs, then,” I asked Levi’s chest.

  Levi grunted. Whether it sounded like agreement or not, whether he was pissed about Diesel or not, I knew he wouldn’t leave Eli hanging.

  “You’ll be home tonight, though.”

  I made it a statement, but when I glanced up, Levi’s eyes didn’t quite meet mine despite his nod. “Of course.” He leaned down for a quick kiss, but I didn’t need quick—I needed him. I gripped his head, let my fingers slide into his hair, and held him close until I sensed restless energy taking over his attention. I need you. Us. This.

  When I let go, he stared down at me a moment. “You sure you’re okay?”

  Had I ever said I was?

  My voice came out a mere whisper. “I... I need—”

  “Let’s go,” Remi called as he crossed to the foyer. Levi gave me another kiss, this one soft and lingering, then followed his brother out.

  Every ounce of energy in my body left with him. I sagged onto a chair, eyes on the door he’d walked through. I need to tell you I’m pregnant.

  Chapter Nine

  Nix —

  I slammed through the thick steel door of the warehouse Rhys had found to serve as our base of operations for the time being, my suit jacket coming off with the first step inside. The cool air brushing over my bare arms and cleavage did little to cool the anger churning inside me—at myself or the situation or both, I refused to decide. I only knew we needed—I needed—to get a handle on it all, now. Immediately.

  Monty and Titus had other priorities. I shot them a glare as they followed me in. “Stop your damn whining!”

  “We’re fucked, Nix,” Titus said. “Admit it.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Monty grumbled.

  Rhys stalked in, bringing up the rear and shutting the steel door behind him. “Let’s not talk about your sex lives, boys.”

  “Who’s talking sex?” Titus glared right back at me. “I’m talking about tacos.”

  Maris entered the room from a back doorway leading to the kitchen area, mop in hand. Guilt added to the emotions eating me up, sharpening my tone. “I told you to wait on that.” There were five of us staying here; five of us could clean up the damn place.

  Maris shrugged. “Needed something to do while I waited on you all.”

  I kicked off one shoe, then the other as Monty and Titus continued to gripe behind me. This was the problem with not having formal command structure backed by the might of the US military—these idiots could get away with anything. I did my best to tune them out while I stripped the thigh-highs from my legs and dropped them onto the pile I was making. When that didn’t work, I jerked around, glaring the two men down.

  “Get your asses over to that computer and get that fucking camera hooked up.” I jerked my chin toward the computer area in the corner of the room that had been set up this morning.

  With one last resentful look, Titus slunk cross the room. The man had been stationed at the door of the restaurant, and as such had been given a small pocket camera and strict instructions to photograph every man, woman, and child going through those doors. The little black box he was pulling from his pocket could be the key to finding out who Suit Guy was.

  Monty headed the opposite direction, carrying brown paper sacks full of food toward the card table we’d set up for eating. “I told you not to remind her about the camera until after we’d eaten,” he threw over
his shoulder toward Titus.

  I scoffed. “I didn’t need a reminder, dickhead. I need to see those pictures.”

  Monty ignored me and my bitchy tone and began doling out the food on paper plates for him, Maris, and Titus. The paper-wrapped tacos held very little appeal after the cheesy chicken parmigiana I’d indulged in at the restaurant. Italian was a particular weakness of mine; that and McDonald’s. Yes, my taste buds were bipolar.

  The men had shed jackets and ties and uncomfortably formal shoes as quickly as I had, leaving piles around the room. Maris headed for the pile closest to the table, Rhys’s pile, and made a move to gather up the clothes there. I opened my mouth to stop her. She wasn’t our maid, for fuck’s sake, no matter what she thought.

  “Leave it,” Rhys snapped.

  Maris jerked her hand back from his suit coat. Hurt gathered in her eyes, quickly shuttered as she turned away. Not wanting to draw attention to her—and possibly hurt her more—I beelined toward Rhys and lowered my voice to a level that told him I was dead serious. “Don’t push your luck.”

  Hypocrite. As if I hadn’t already snapped at her since we got home. We were all wired after the fuckup at the restaurant.

  Rhys’s gaze dropped to the floor, conceding...for the moment. He was getting far too free with his disapproval lately. He needed to neuter that shit before I took care of it for him.

  From the computer I heard the beep signaling the camera’s download process. Knowing it would take a minute, I followed Maris into the kitchen. Shoulders slumped, she stood over the sink, the mop she’d held earlier under the running water. “Maris?”

  Immediately the shoulders straightened. “Did you need something?”

  My heart squeezed. Did my sister think her only value to me was as a servant?

  “No, I didn’t,” I said, moving closer. “I wanted to thank you for cleaning up while we were gone. You didn’t have to, but I appreciate it.”

  Green eyes met mine over her shoulder; then Maris turned back to the sink to wring out the mop. “It’s what I’m here for.”

  “No, it’s not.” Tugging on her shoulder, I forced Maris to face me and plopped a dry towel into her wet hands. “Your job is not to take care of us. I love that about you, don’t get me wrong. I love where your heart is. But it’s not required.”

  “I know.” She gave me a pathetic attempt at a smile. “I want to take care of things. It’s not like I’m any good at fighting.”

  Maris could hold her own in any dojo she walked into. Just because she was comparing herself to elite soldiers didn’t mean she wasn’t a good fighter.

  When I said as much, she shrugged. “I shouldn’t let it bother me.” Though it clearly did. Maris placed the towel over the edge of the sink, smoothed it down. “I’m just not like you; I don’t have the emotional armor you do.”

  I wanted to hug her, make the ache she was obviously feeling go away. “You don’t have to.”

  She gave a hiccupping laugh. “Don’t I?”

  When I started to respond, Maris held up a hand to stop me. “Let’s just drop it right now, okay?” She jerked her chin toward the other room. “There are more important things to focus on than my pity party.”

  Red flashed before my eyes, but before I could deny it, Maris was out the door.

  “Someone want to finally explain to me what happened?” she asked as she crossed to grab a plate from the table.

  “Our observations went to hell in a handbasket,” Monty muttered.

  “Your observations.” Titus pointed toward the camera. “Mine went just fine.”

  Rhys, ever the stickler, forestalled our trip down the comparing-dicks rabbit hole. “Our mark had an uneventful, vanilla lunch interrupted by an unexpected encounter with the enemy.”

  I trailed Maris across the room toward the computer. “We don’t know that he’s the enemy.”

  “For now he is,” Rhys said, and I swore I saw a flash of warning cross his face. My stomach knotted. He couldn’t know about me, about the whole damn reacting thing that had me confused and conflicted; that was impossible. I couldn’t bear for him to know, because if he did, if any of them did, they’d blame me for Suit Guy getting away. As their team lead, the person they expected to make snap decisions in a crisis and control the ins and outs of every mission, getting thrown off-balance because I wanted to jump a man’s bones was unacceptable, period.

  I wasn’t the kind of woman who let her hormones lead the way. Emotions, maybe—I wasn’t the emotionless robot Maris seemed to think I was—but not hormones. Ever.

  Finally a second beep announced the completion of the download. Titus rubbed his hands on a brown paper napkin, I swear with glee. “Let’s see what we’ve got here.”

  A grid of tiny thumbnail images covered the screen when I took up position behind Titus. Over his shoulder I scanned each line, but not fast enough. Titus double-clicked one about two-thirds of the way down the page before I could get there, and a larger version of the thumbnail popped up.

  Suit Guy.

  Frozen in midstride by Titus’s camera, the man looked just as big and sexy as he had in real life. A small, polite smile tugged at his lips. Dark sunglasses concealed his eyes, though I couldn’t forget their yellow-brown depths when he’d winked at me across the restaurant. Between the glasses and beard, his face was just concealed enough to make deciphering his features difficult.

  Titus grunted, probably coming to the same conclusion I had. “Okay, let’s work some magic, shall we?”

  Maris moved up beside me, and a small sound of surprise left her lips. “I know him.”

  I jerked around to stare at her. “You do?”

  “You do?” Rhys growled at the same time.

  Maris shot him an irritated glance before focusing on me. “Yes. I saw him on the Atlanta Journal-Constitution website while I was catching up on local news.” Something we usually did when we landed in a new town, but I was certain none of the rest of us had taken the time to do it yet. We’d hit the ground running with this messed-up shit. “At least I think it was him. Hang on.”

  Titus turned his chair around, and the four of us watched Maris cross to pick up an iPad. She flicked it on and began to scroll on her way back. “There was an article about the founding of a group home for orphans. It caught my eye because it’s specifically designated for siblings, so they can stay together and not be separated into foster homes when they come into the system.” She clicked on something on her screen and nodded. “Here it is. That’s him.”

  She turned the iPad over to me. The screen showed an article with the title, LOCAL BUSINESS HELPS KIDS IN NEED. To one side were two images, one of a business complex and one of three men.

  And there was Suit Guy on the end.

  “No beard,” Titus pointed out.

  I nodded in agreement, scanning the image captions. “This”—I pointed to the buildings—“is Hacr Technologies.”

  Rhys whistled. “Talking serious players there. The company is famous for being on the cutting edge of tech research. I forgot they were headquartered here.”

  “With good reason,” I said. “These guys are the brothers who own the company.”

  Titus was already typing on the keyboard in front of him. “Levi, Remi, and Eli Agozi. They inherited the company a little over six months ago when the oldest brother turned thirty.” Titus clicked on links, following the trail of information faster than I could track. I focused on skimming the article in front of me. “Some kind of coup attempt at the time of the takeover ended in a shootout, according to what was leaked to the papers.”

  One eyebrow went up at that. “A shootout?” Physical altercations weren’t all that common in corporate America, at least not in the boardroom. Most of the backstabbing that occurred there involved intellectual knives, not real ones.

  “Yeah. The family lawyer was convicted after pleading guilty. He’s in prison.”

  “There are more images available of the oldest Agozi brother than the other two
,” Monty pointed out from his console farther down the table. “Seems to be involved in a lot of charity work.”

  I moved to look at his screen but couldn’t help rubbing at the vee between my eyes. “So what is younger brother doing chasing our mark?”

  “Or working for X,” Rhys ground out. His blue eyes fairly glowed as he stared down at the image of Eli Agozi.

  I bit back my denial, knowing it would simply put me in the crosshairs of that intensity, something I definitely didn’t need right now. None of this fit. Mercenaries like us didn’t get themselves in the paper, and they sure as hell didn’t associate with their high-profile siblings in conjunction with a high-profile company that must frequently come under the scrutiny of not only the government but any number of underground, unsavory elements.

  “What the heck is going on here?” Maris asked, voicing the confusion I didn’t dare put words to. I didn’t have any answers, either. But I did know what we needed to do next.

  “Start digging.” I turned from Monty’s screen to stare at my team. “Let’s find out what these guys are hiding and why they’ve popped up on our radar. If we’ve got two enemies and not just one, I want to know ASAP.”

  I headed for the staircase at one end of the warehouse that led to the rooms we’d designated as bedrooms. These dress clothes needed to come off; it was time to get to work.

  And forget that I’d ever looked into teasing amber eyes across a crowded restaurant and felt anything at all.

  Chapter Ten

  Eli —

  Diesel tucked himself behind my legs under the computer table when the elevator dinged. I scratched his ear, angry that my brother scared my dog. He’d been through enough out on the streets; he shouldn’t have to be scared in his new home.

  That anger was in my expression as Levi strode into the room. Levi ignored it, which only made it burn brighter. So did his first words.

  “If this is about the dog—”

  “What about the dog?” Remi interrupted, whether in genuine question or to forestall the argument he could sense brewing, I wasn’t sure. I was only relieved to have someone on my side.