Edge of Betrayal

by Shannon K. Butcher

  She paused as if trying to remember.

  He went back into the kitchen and got the box of crackers he’d found. “Here. Eat some of these so the pills won’t upset your stomach.”

  “I’m really not that much of a wuss.”

  He set them beside her. “Fine. Just know that if you throw up, I’ll assume you have a concussion and move in here for at least a week, just to make sure you’re safe.”

  She opened the crackers and stuffed one in her mouth. “Happy?”

  “Deliriously.”

  He settled in a chair as far from her as possible. There was no getting rid of him tonight, and the last thing he wanted was to make his life difficult by putting her more on edge than she already was.

  Adam watched her eat, enjoying the shape of her mouth. Of course, he liked the way the rest of her was shaped, too. She was curvier than the other women at the Edge, and with the way she sat with her legs curled under her, her entire body was one intriguingly sinuous line.

  The lamp beside her made her dark hair shimmer with glossy highlights. She wore no makeup, or so little he couldn’t detect any trace of it. Even so, she always had a lovely pink tint to her cheeks and mouth that was more alluring than any blush or gloss could ever be.

  “Are you tired?” he asked.

  “No. But if you are, feel free to go home. If you want, I can text you every hour so you know I’m not dead.”

  Not good enough. Not even close. “I don’t sleep much.”

  She froze in the act of eating another cracker. “Neither do I. Is it the dreams, or what was done to you?”

  “I don’t dream, or if I do, I don’t remember them.”

  “Count yourself lucky.” She tried to stifle a shiver, but he saw it anyway.

  He crossed the room and reached past her for the throw on the back of the couch. It was printed with large blocks of Swiss cheese and made absolutely no sense to him as a decorative item.

  Mira flinched as his hand passed her shoulder.

  Another inconvenient burst of anger flew through his veins, forcing him to freeze with his fist around the fabric while the emotion faded. He didn’t dare move when he felt like that—not when she was so close. The last thing he wanted was for her to see his fury, rush out into the rain to escape him, slip, and hit her head again.

  When he was once again calm enough to control himself, he lifted the ridiculous blanket from the back of the couch and wrapped it around her shoulders.

  “You look cold,” he said, to ease her apparent worry over what he might do.

  He was close enough to her to smell the shampoo she used—something sweet and tart that made his mouth water. Beneath that was a hint of warm skin and a single note of fear.

  The need to bury his nose against her neck and breathe her in was nearly uncontrollable. He had no idea what it was about Mira that distracted him so deeply, but he needed to find a way to make it stop.

  She was the key to his future. Without her trust, no one at the Edge would every truly welcome him as one of their own. And he needed his brother to accept him. Desperately.

  After all the years he’d spent searching, for Eli to reject him now would be a mortal wound.

  Mira clutched the edges of the fleece blanket, gripping it tightly enough that her knuckles bleached. The urge to unclench her fingers and rub the tension away hit him hard.

  Instead, he arranged the fabric around her body, covering as much of her as possible. Maybe if he couldn’t see her curves, they wouldn’t distract him so completely.

  When he was done, he picked up the mug of tea and handed it to her. “This will help you warm up.”

  She blinked up at him. Her green eyes were lovely, even narrowed in skepticism the way they were now.

  “Why are you doing this?” she asked.

  “Doing what?”

  “Being nice to me.”

  “You’re my partner. It’s my job to make sure you’re safe.”

  “I’d be safer if you left.”

  Adam wasn’t entirely sure she was wrong. The things he felt for her were strange. Potent. She was a constant distraction in a job where such things could get a man killed. Or a woman.

  Still, Bella had entrusted Mira’s care to him, and he refused to let his new boss down, even if that meant coping with distraction.

  He lifted the mug of tea closer and waited to see if she’d take it.

  After what felt like far too long, she let go of the blanket and wrapped her fingers around the warm ceramic.

  The tip of her thumb grazed across his finger. Her skin was cold. Her hand trembled slightly. Even so, that simple, innocent touch streaked up his arm and all along his spine, tingling as it went.

  Before he could think twice about it, his hands covered hers, caging them against the hot mug.

  She froze like a startled rabbit. Her green eyes widened. Her pupils shrank. “What are you doing?”

  “Your hands are cold,” he said, hoping that would end any further questions.

  Her breathing sped, making her blanket slide from her shoulders to pool around her waist. From where he stood above her, he could easily see a shadow of cleavage that made his mouth go dry.

  Her voice was weak. “I didn’t say you could touch me.”

  “This is hardly touching, Mira.” Though it felt very much like the real thing.

  “It’s more than enough. You should let go.”

  He tried to. He issued the order to his hands to move, but they stayed curled around hers, enjoying the smooth feel of her skin inside his grasp.

  To cover his lack of discipline, he said, “Am I hurting you?”

  She swallowed hard enough that he could see her throat move. He swore her pupils flared, and if he didn’t know better, he’d think she was looking at him the same way she had the night of their one and only date—like a woman who was very much interested in the fact that he was a man.

  “That’s not the point.”

  “No. The point is you’re not the kind of woman who likes to ask for help, which forces your partner to be the kind of man who gives it to you, whether or not you ask for it.”

  Anger forced a snarl on her lips a second before she shot to her feet. The mug tilted wildly, sending the hot tea all over his front.

  She’d doused him like this once before, only that time, he’d arranged for it to happen. She’d been extremely apologetic, too—something the look on her face told him was not going to happen this time.

  “Just stop it with the partner bullshit. Whatever game you’re playing, you won’t win. I won’t fall for you or your lies again.”

  Which meant she had fallen for him before.

  Strangely, the idea that he’d had her romantic attention and lost it was what upset him most. Not the drenched shirt or the burning skin. Not her current anger or her refusal to trust him. It was the idea that she could have loved him that he found most compelling.

  No one had ever loved him before—at least not that he could remember. His parents had birthed him and his brother as an experiment, just to see if their theories were correct. Even his baby brother had clung to him more out of fear than love.

  What would it be like for a woman as fierce and intelligent as Mira to love him?

  A tiny part of him grieved that he would never know.

  Mira stormed off, slamming her bedroom door behind her.

  Adam found a towel in the kitchen and dried off as much as possible. The damp fabric felt cool against the slight burn of his skin. He was sure it was all the comfort he would find tonight.

  Not that he needed comfort. That was for other men. Real men—not the product of human experimentation. Adam was designed to need very little to survive, and things like love and comfort were merely foreign concepts that gave him something to ponder as he made a slow security sweep of the house
.

  Tonight, Mira would be safe, and that was really all he needed.

  Chapter Five

  Riley Conlan barely heard the knock on his door over the sound of rain pounding on his roof.

  It was nearly midnight, and he’d been lying awake in bed, hoping for sleep to find him. His body was exhausted from the job he’d finished earlier tonight, but his mind was slow to process and had not yet let go of the details.

  The sheer magnitude of devastation the Threshold Project had caused was utterly staggering. So many lives ruined, all in the pursuit of power.

  He rolled out of bed and slid on the pair of sweats he’d shed earlier. His Glock was holstered on his nightstand, and he grabbed it more out of habit than worry.

  A glance through the peephole in his front door showed only the top of a drenched hoodie and a slender body hunched against the wind.

  With one hand on the weapon he’d tucked at the small of his back, he unlocked his door and pulled it open.

  The woman standing there looked up. He knew her instantly. Would have known her anywhere. She’d spent the worst night of her life with him and then disappeared, leaving him reeling.

  Riley’s heart stopped beating for a long moment as he struggled with his disbelief. “Sophie?”

  Sophie Devane stood there, shivering and drenched. She glanced behind her as if expecting Satan himself to be on her heels. Fear quavered in her voice. “Can I come in?”

  He nearly smacked himself for making her stand out there this long. Poor thing was freezing to death, and here he was, gawking like an idiot.

  He stepped back, giving her room to pass, then closed and locked the door behind him.

  There was no car in his driveway or parked on the street. No cab pulling away.

  Had she walked in this weather? And what the hell was she doing here?

  Riley turned to see her standing at the edge of his tile entryway. She was clearly trying not to drip on the carpet, even though every inch of her was soaked to the skin.

  She pulled the hood from her head, revealing a thick, strawberry blond braid. It was dark from the rain, dripping down one shoulder. Her skin was visibly pale, making every one of her freckles stand out in contrast. There was a faint bluish tint to her lips, and her fingers were an angry red color.

  She wasn’t wearing rain gear or a winter coat—just a lightweight hoodie that was clearly not meant for this time of year. Even in Texas.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, trying to wrap his head around her unexpected presence.

  She gave a shaky nod. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

  “How did you get here?”

  “I walked.” The way she said it, he was certain there was more to it than that, but he didn’t press for details. Yet.

  “You’re freezing.”

  “Yeah. I kinda am. I’m glad you were here, or I’d have been screwed.”

  She carried no bag. Not even a purse.

  A million questions bulged in his mind, but he kept them in check. First things first. “Come with me.” He led her to the bathroom and started a warm shower. “Take your time. I’ll set clothes outside the door. Then we’ll talk.”

  She nodded again. “Thanks, Riley. For letting me in. I don’t exactly deserve a warm welcome after the way I left things.”

  “We’ll talk about it later. Just get warm.”

  He found some sweats with a drawstring, the smallest, warmest shirt he could find, and some wool socks he never wore because they were too hot. He piled everything outside the door while he went into the kitchen and heated up some canned soup. By the time she was out of the shower, he had a stack of blankets on the couch waiting for her, and a steaming bowl of chicken noodle.

  His clothes swallowed her up, hiding all but her hands, feet, and head. Her hair was wrapped up in a towel, and a bit of color had returned to her cheeks.

  He waited until she was comfortably settled and had a few bites of soup before he let his curiosity free. “What the hell are you doing here? In the middle of the night? In the rain? With no coat or purse?”

  The spoon stalled out halfway to her mouth. “I had a chance to run. I took it.”

  “Run from what?”

  She set the bowl aside. “Not what. Who.”

  “Okay, then. Who?”

  Her gaze strayed from his, and he could practically see her shrink. “My dad was a shitty man. Into a lot of bad stuff. He died a few months ago, and the inheritance he left wasn’t a good one.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  She pulled his sweatshirt sleeves over her hands and curled deeper into the pile of blankets. “He owed a lot of people a lot of money. Word got out that I was worth more than he owed if I was delivered to the right people.”

  “What?” It was more a bellow than a question.

  “I know. I thought I left all of that behind me when Soma was killed.”

  “Who are the right people?”

  “I have no clue. The men who found me wouldn’t say.”

  “Did you know the men?”

  She still hadn’t looked him in the eye yet, and he was starting to wish she would. He couldn’t tell if she was hiding something or ashamed. Maybe neither, but there was definitely something going on that made her avoid his gaze.

  Sophie nodded. “I’d seen them before. Years ago. Same guys who always came around to collect when Dad lost a big bet.”

  Bookies? Loan sharks? Enforcers? It hardly mattered. They were all bad news.

  “Start at the beginning,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm. “Tell me what happened, starting with the day you left the hospital without saying good-bye.”

  Her eyes lifted, and her pale green gaze met his.

  He felt like he’d been hit in the gut with a battering ram. There was so much beauty there. So much pain.

  He wanted to wash it all away, which made him the biggest sucker to ever walk the planet.

  Sophie had left him. After he’d rescued her. After he’d helped her through her miscarriage. After he’d brought her home and made sure she was safe. She’d just . . . left.

  She hadn’t even said good-bye.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she said.

  “Who says you did?” he asked, his tone chilly.

  She looked away again, and he suddenly missed the connection. Her voice became distant, as if reciting a history lesson. “I went back to Louisiana. Got a waitressing job. I wanted to make a fresh start.”

  “But?”

  “As soon as I called Dad to check on him, I found out that he’d died while I was held captive in Colombia. Guess Benny and his goons had been keeping his phone line paid up, hoping I would make contact. They used the number of the diner where I worked to find me.”

  “And they drove you all the way here?”

  “No. I saw them coming and ran. I didn’t know where else to go, so I headed here.”

  Toward him.

  Riley didn’t know if he should be more furious or flattered. He was the first person she’d thought of when she’d gotten in trouble, but she hadn’t bothered to pick up the phone and call him to tell him she was alive and well?

  After what they’d been through, that hurt.

  “They tracked you all the way to Dallas?” he asked.

  She nodded. “My car died about twenty miles south of here. I abandoned it and set out on foot. It was dark. I thought I’d lost them, but I was wrong.”

  “What happened?”

  The pile of blankets seemed to shrink as she curled up tighter beneath them. “I stopped for water at a gas station this afternoon. They grabbed me. Threw me in their car.”

  “How’d you get away?”

  “One of them made a call. There was a woman on the other line. I could hear her through the plastic. She was angry t
hat they’d taken so long to find me.”

  Riley couldn’t stay on the other side of the room any longer. The fear radiating from her was too much for him to ignore. He had to comfort her—if not for her, then for himself.

  He got up from his chair, took a seat on the cushion next to hers and put his hand on her shoulder. “Did you recognize the woman’s voice?”

  “No. But I could tell she wasn’t going to ask me to go for a pedicure with her. I swear she said something about an autopsy. That’s when I bolted.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The guy sitting in back to keep me in line had a pen in his pocket. I stabbed him in the thigh with it and dove out the car door.”

  She stabbed him? Guess little Sophie was more vicious than he thought. “Please tell me they were parked.”

  She shook her head. “They were only going about twenty. I landed well. Rolled. It hurt, but I’m fine. Wish I’d taken my purse with me, though. Or at least some cash.”

  He didn’t believe that she was fine. He followed her arm until he found her hand and pushed back the sleeve. Just as he’d thought, her palms were covered in a rash of scrapes and bruises. “Any other injuries?”

  “No. Like I said, I landed well.”

  “Tell that to your hands.”

  “They’ll heal. I’m more worried about staying alive.”

  “After you jumped, did they come after you?”

  “Oh yeah. It took me several hours to lose them before I came here. I didn’t want them to find you, so I was careful.”

  “How did you know where I lived?”

  A faint blush crept up her cheeks. “I checked you out as soon as I got home. I even called your mom once. She’s really sweet.”

  He was stunned silent for a second. Sophie had checked on him? Why hadn’t she just called him? “My mom told you where I lived?” If so, he was going to have to have a serious talk with her.

  “She thought I was selling life insurance and that you should have some. She thought I was going to mail you an information packet. Don’t be too hard on her. She really had no clue who I was.”

  Riley tabled his anger—at both women—to focus on the problem at hand. “Are these men the kind who give up easily?” He hoped.