Assassin's Game

by Ella Sheridan

  “What is that?” I rumbled.

  Her head tilted slightly. “He never targets the innocent.”

  “It wouldn’t help if they realized it,” Remi told her. “They’re never innocent, any one of them. They only become enemies if they’re guilty.”

  “We protect, Mikaela.” That’s why the news from Leah this morning had been such a blow. We spent our lives protecting each other and the innocent that we could, but now...

  “And now, for that, X is targeting your family as much as he is mine,” she said.

  We waited, Remi no doubt wondering what the outcome would be just like I was. Finally Mikaela spoke. “Your reputation precedes you, even overseas. And I admit I was ready to cut you loose, leave you to the sharks.”

  “If we didn’t take you out first,” Rhys warned. Remi snorted his opinion of that.

  “But Maris convinced me otherwise.” Mikaela rubbed long, slender fingers over her bicep. “She’s met your women; she’s looked into your past. And she’s convinced me we couldn’t have anyone tougher or with more integrity by our side. Don’t”—fire ignited in her eyes—“make her a liar.” Dropping her arms, she held out a hand. “Welcome to the team.”

  Remi and I looked at each other, and when he nodded, we rounded the couch. Remi took Mikaela’s hand. “Happy to be here. Now can we get the fuck to work?”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Nix —

  I couldn’t get the way Eli had looked when I walked into the kitchen out of my mind any more than I could erase the memory of his touch. And though we’d already decided as a team that the Agozi brothers were trustworthy, I had to admit, if only to myself, that the tears on Eli’s face had settled any lingering doubts I’d had.

  Cold-blooded killers, the kind who murdered indiscriminately, wouldn’t give a rat’s ass about a miscarriage. Children were just as much a target as a criminal, easier even. A pregnant woman? Take ’em out. We’d never taken a job targeting innocents, and though there was no way to track down every job the Assassin had been responsible for, that look on Eli’s face had told me what I needed to know.

  It had also made me want to take him in my arms, pull him close—and not for sex. Big mistake. We might get off on each other, but sex was not emotion. My ties were to my family, no one else. When this was over, we’d be gone, and Eli... Well, I’d likely never see him again. Having known him for mere days, the fact that a protest rose at the thought of leaving him behind was a huge warning sign.

  No attachments, Mikaela. None.

  My family was the only thing that mattered. That and defeating X.

  “We received an e-mail from X this morning,” Eli said.

  Remi looked surprised, but my guess, there had been more important things to discuss first thing this morning.

  “We did as well,” I confirmed. We’d expected this—no way would our blackmailer not notice anything and everything surrounding our target. X was moving ahead, obviously. I gestured to the couch again. “Let’s compare notes.”

  This time the brothers sat. I took one of the folding chairs Titus had found somewhere in the dusty warehouse, Monty and Titus stood, and Rhys took the chair on the opposite side of the couch. I had gotten the rundown on his condition this morning, or lack thereof—he was back to normal aside from some fatigue and a headache from hitting his head on the floor during the attack.

  In other words, raring to go. Typical soldier.

  I pulled the e-mail up on my phone. Another anonymous account, erased immediately after delivery of his message. Another contact with no way to track him. “The bastard’s careful, I’ll give him that.”

  “Did we expect anything else?” Remi asked. We hadn’t and he knew it, so I ignored the question and instead passed my phone to Monty to read.

  “‘Ms. Nixon—congratulations on a successful operation. Once your kill is verified, I will be in touch. X.’”

  Monty passed the phone back. “How long do you think that will take?”

  “Not long,” Eli pointed out. “Even with the body in the car. They know who the car belongs to because we left the driver alive, but there’ve been no announcements that a major Atlanta businessman is dead—they’re waiting on DNA. For someone like Sullivan? They’ll rush it.”

  I agreed and told Eli so with a nod. “What about you?”

  We hadn’t seen the previous e-mail to the Agozis, and I understood why when Eli began to read.

  “‘Assassin’”—Eli’s lips twisted on the title—“‘I see my previous understanding of your ability was inflated.’”

  Remi snorted. He and Eli shared an amused look.

  “‘Your target is no longer viable, and not by your hands. An outside team has scooped your prize. I admit, my disappointment is profound. If, on the off chance there’s an opportunity for you to redeem yourselves, I may be in touch later today, though that is unlikely. Enjoy your final day as a family.’”

  “He really doesn’t want to lose you.”

  Remi tapped his finger on the arm of the couch. “How do you figure that?”

  “A man like this, with these kinds of contacts and intel, should be detached from the people he’s targeting,” Rhys pointed out. “To admit he wants you enough to be disappointed is a slipup.”

  “Maybe he’s placing more than one team for...whatever this is?” Eli suggested.

  “Anything is possible given the fact we don’t know what this is,” I said.

  Eli planted his elbows on his knees, and my heart skipped at the intensity lighting his eyes. “So we’ve got another day to find him.”

  “We already knew that, Eli. Whether he targets you or us, we’re in this together,” I assured him.

  “I wish there was some way to make him realize that.”

  “So what options do we have?” Rhys asked, rubbing at the ginger stubble on his jaw. “Because we need to follow all of them, not just Sullivan.”

  Remi straightened. “He said he plans to verify the kill.”

  Titus, arms crossed over his chest, rocked back on his heels. “He would verify from the coroner’s report. He could hack the office, but the report won’t be complete for hours and likely won’t be online for days—and only then because of the rush to identify this particular victim.”

  “And that means he needs to physically confirm,” Monty added, “at the location that is making those determinations.”

  I pinned Titus and Monty with a look. “Get on it while we deal with Sullivan. Scout the location online and see if there’s a possibility of staking it out.” I turned to the brothers. “One of you want to join in?”

  Remi met Eli’s eyes, then mine. “Eli is better at torturing information out of prisoners, so I’ll help figure out where X will show his face.”

  “Why is he better?” Rhys asked, watching the two men quietly. He still had reservations, I knew, and I kept an open-door policy on questions. We weren’t military; my team could ask anything they wanted.

  Remi’s face hardened almost imperceptibly, but if I’d wondered how lethal the man could be, what I saw there erased any doubts. “He tends not to break them.”

  Okay then.

  “Rhys,” I said, standing, “grab Sullivan.”

  He acknowledged the command with a nod, his gaze sliding over the Agozis as he, too, stood. While he went to get our “prisoner,” Remi, Titus, and Monty headed for the computer area, leaving me far too close to Eli—and without the buffer I hadn’t realized I needed until they all walked away.

  “Mikaela, we need to—”

  No, we don’t. I stopped him with a hand. “Tell me the mansion is as secure as I think it is, Eli.”

  His name on my tongue strengthened the memories I was trying desperately to avoid—and the way his eyes darkened when I said it told me the same was happening to him. Then the moment passed and he seemed to push it away as hard as I did.

  “You didn’t really think you’d get inside without us knowing and taking you out.” The words were a statemen
t, not a question. “That’s why you came to the front gate. If Levi thought anyone could get inside, his woman wouldn’t be there. Neither would Leah or Brooke.”

  “There’s always a bomb.” I hated to mention it, but I’d never been one to close my eyes to danger. I had no doubt X had the resources behind him to deliver one.

  “What would be the fun in that?” Eli asked, that hint of inappropriate humor peeking out. He quickly sobered. “He blackmailed us with exposure, not death. A bomb would be overkill. Besides, you can run from a bomb. No matter where you go, exposure doesn’t disappear.”

  When I considered what that might mean for Abby, for Leah and her child, my stomach cramped.

  Rhys returned, his grip firm on a handcuffed Sullivan. I took a minute to examine the man up close. He had a strong face, a square jaw, but I was surprised to see he didn’t look as old as I’d thought from afar. Dark brown hair, thick and full, held no hint of gray, and equally dark eyes were intent on his surroundings, calculating in a way I wouldn’t have expected of a man who sat behind a desk all day. But then, he didn’t just sit behind any desk, did he?

  Sullivan did have an extensive gym in his home that he put to good use and a personal boxing coach that made regular visits, which explained the thick muscles I could see clearly now that the suit jacket he always wore was off. His button-down shirt was rolled up at the sleeves, revealing thick forearms.

  He didn’t look anything like the man I’d seen in the kinky photos we’d uncovered. Physically, maybe, but there was an aura of power about this man that I hadn’t detected before, even across the room from him in the restaurant.

  Was that deliberate? But what reason would a Fortune 100 CEO have for hiding anything about his personality?

  I narrowed my eyes on Eli and saw the same speculation in his expression as he stood beside me.

  “Mr. Sullivan.” I gestured him into the chair Rhys had recently occupied, its small arms and sunken seat encasing him—and inhibiting his movements somewhat more than my seat would. “First, let me assure you we aren’t here to harm you or ask for ransom. In fact, we’re attempting to keep you safe.”

  Sullivan grunted, his gaze roaming the room. “Forgive me if I don’t believe you.” He raised his locked wrists. “Would you like to change that?”

  I nodded to Rhys, who quickly unlocked the handcuffs. Pocketing them, he took up position at Sullivan’s shoulder just in case.

  Sullivan was eyeing me with a vee between his brows. “You were waiting in the back seat when I...” A flash of something—knowledge, maybe uncomfortable awareness, crossed his face. “In the car. You drugged me.” He glanced around again, even twisting to look behind him. “Where’s Gerald?”

  “Your driver?” Eli asked. Sullivan looked to him, nodded. “He’s safe. He didn’t accompany us.”

  Sullivan held himself rigid for a moment longer, then sank into the seat. “There’s no real reason to believe any of this, but...okay.”

  Yeah, that’s not what his expression said.

  Maybe he’d cooperate. I hoped to fuck he would. We might speculate about torture, but I doubted Remi and Eli wanted to use it on an innocent any more than we did.

  “Mr. Sullivan,” I said, keeping my voice low but firm, nonthreatening, “we have you here because intel we were given indicated that a man we know only as X has issued a hit order on you. Are you familiar with that name?”

  He was shaking his head by the time I finished my question. Too bad I’d seen the flash of knowledge in his eyes before he did it. Because of the name or the hit?

  “Do you know of any reason someone would want you dead?” Eli asked, seeming to slip into my thoughts.

  Sullivan’s laugh was strained. “You know who I am, right?”

  I raised my brows at him.

  “Then you know everything about my position is reason to have me killed. I’m head of the richest international bank on US soil. Of course I’m a target. But there’ve been no threats, nothing...”

  “If they’re serious, Sullivan,” I pointed out, “you won’t receive a threat beforehand.”

  “Like I had no idea you were targeting me?” he asked. “Right now you appear to be the only threat I need to worry about.” He stood, briskly straightening his sleeves. “I need to return home.”

  Rhys’s jerk on the man’s shoulder took him by surprise—or maybe it was the drugs still lingering in his system; either way, he stumbled back into his seat.

  “Right now we are all that stands between you and whoever intends to kill you,” I reminded him. “I’d suggest you cooperate so we can get to the bottom of this with no one getting hurt.”

  Sullivan narrowed his eyes on me. “Just how do you know about this contract?”

  I shot him a smile I didn’t think was all that reassuring given how white he turned. “X tried to hire us, of course. Good thing for you we refused.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Levi —

  Killing was easy. Death was hard.

  Abby’s breathing went deep, her body relaxing into the solace of the bed. Asleep. Maybe the bed could comfort her where I couldn’t. Every look she gave me, every time those hazel eyes fixed on me, reddened and full of pain, tears brimming, a knife pierced my chest. I was so full of holes I was surprised my intestines didn’t spill onto the floor when I stood up.

  But they didn’t. I wished they would.

  The quiet in the hall shouted accusations as I eased the door to our bedroom closed. Leah had gone to lie down. Brooke and Eli’s dog were with Maris, whose gaze had been sympathetic when she’d agreed to watch them for a bit. And I...

  I was sneaking off. Typical Levi MO. But if I didn’t get out of here, the anger in my chest might slip my control and hit the wrong target.

  Better to choose the target ahead of time. No one deserved the anger but me.

  I punched the down button at the elevator and waited for the door to open, struggling to breathe. In. Out. In. Out. Closing my eyes only made my lungs tighter. There was no hard-rock band in the corridor where I waited, and yet every second beat like a damn drum in my head. Boom. Boom. Boom. The hall closed in behind me, the darkness creeping closer.

  Stealing my space, fucking with my mind.

  Every thought became a struggle. Every throb of my heart punched gaping holes through my ribs.

  A punishment. An accusation.

  My fault. My fault. My fault.

  The faint crack of the doors opening before me could have been a shot going off. My body jerked hard with the shock, threatening to rip my tense muscles apart. I surged forward into the elevator, swung around, and nearly jammed my thumb, I hit the button for the bat cave so hard.

  Get me out of here. Get me out now before I ruin anyone else.

  Before I hurt Abby any worse than I already had.

  Protecting her was my job, and yet, for the past two days, that gift had become a thousand-pound weight drowning me. My ability to keep her safe had dissolved into thin air. I’d sat by and watched, helpless, as the life in her eyes died with our baby.

  Our baby.

  I didn’t register that I’d thrown a punch until pain shot up my arm. A dent in the steel door of the elevator glared at me, proving I’d done it, but all I knew was the screaming in my knuckles and inside my head.

  Nothing else. No fear, no grief, no guilt. Just the physical agony.

  I needed more.

  The basement was pitch-black. I didn’t turn on the lights, just crossed by memory and intuition through the computer area, past the couch my brothers and I had spent hours gaming on, and into the workout space taking up one corner at the far end. Straight to the shelves, where the sparring gloves waited, the ones I’d worn for so long they fit every bump in my hands like a second skin. I picked them up, brought them to my face, and smelled the scent of sweat and memories. Considered for a moment: do I or don’t I?

  I replaced them on the shelf and turned to face the punching bag.

  The first slam
of my fist into the leather woke the pain in my knuckles, fingers, arm. A grim smile tugged at my lips even as I sucked back a gasp. The second punch wasn’t nearly as satisfying—no prior injury, not enough hurt. I grunted my displeasure even as I swung my leg out for a roundhouse kick. Power surged through every muscle, tendon, and bone, but it wasn’t what I wanted—I wanted more pain, and not finding it fueled a hunger for violence unlike anything I’d felt before.

  Abby upstairs.

  Abby in our bed, her fiery hair spread out on the pillow.

  The shattered look in her eyes...

  She’d have been better off if she never met me.

  “You kill everything you touch.” That’s what I’d told my uncle, Amos, when I came back to this house and murdered him for killing my parents. But he wasn’t the only member of our family who destroyed everything he came in contact with. There’d only been two things I cared about in my adult life: my brothers and having Abby in my life. Owning my heart. And now...

  You kill everything you touch.”

  The bag swung wildly as I landed a savage side kick. It wasn’t enough. Not. Fucking. Enough!

  With a quick twist I faced the shelves. Relief slammed into me when my fist struck the metal.

  Finally. Finally.

  Again.

  A backfist got my left hand screaming almost as much as the right. A front punch and ridge hand added to the ugly chorus rising in my brain.

  “It should have been me,” I whispered. Rasped. Another one-two combo dented the chest-high shelf as flames licked at my flesh.

  “Give her what she needs. Not me. Her.” My Abby. Uppercuts—one, two, three, four—forced the dent to invert. Something snapped in one of my fingers.

  “Bring back my child!” The words were yanked from my soul, each one punctuated by a hit. And then it wasn’t just my fingers breaking; it was something in my soul. Forget coordination. Forget the years of discipline I’d spent learning to fight against the best—a frenzy engulfed me. Black narrowed my already hampered sight as I attacked, the feel of bones smashing metal and skin slick with blood feeding the rage in every cell of my body. “Bring it back! I’ll go. Take me, but bring. It. Back!”