Savage

by Michelle St. James

  By the time he sent Leo away, the fury boiling his blood left no room for anything else. He’d downed two fingers of bourbon before stalking into Jenna’s room, throwing the manila envelope on her bed.

  Now she was looking at him with a combination of fear and regret. She sat up, her hair tumbling around her shoulders, and god help him if he didn’t still want her.

  She reached for the envelope, removed the pictures, flipped through them. When she was done, she put them back in the envelope and looked at her hands.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sorry? That’s all you have to say?” He drew in a ragged breath. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She met his gaze, and he was surprised to see anger flash in her eyes. “What would you have done?” she asked. “Quit the Syndicate? Send out your resume?”

  He stood abruptly, reached the bed in one long stride, and grabbed hold of her arms. She came up on her knees and stared defiantly at him.

  “That’s what I thought,” she said when he didn’t answer.

  He brought his face close to hers. “I would have taken care of you, Jenna. Of you both. I would have provided for you. Protected you.”

  “Lily shouldn’t need protection! Her safety should be a given.”

  “And it would have been,” he said coldly. “If you’d trusted me enough to be a father to her. Regardless of what you believed, I had a right to know. You deprived me of four years of my daughter’s life, Jenna. Four years of your life.”

  His final words seemed to make their way past her anger. Her posture softened, her arms going limp in his hands, her eyes full of anguish.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I was scared. I was alone.”

  “You weren’t alone,” he said coldly. “You only wanted to be.”

  He let go of her arms like they were burning his hands and made his way blindly from the room.

  “Farrell, wait!” she called after him.

  He grabbed his coat from the closet near the door of the suite and began shrugging it on. She ran into the room behind him.

  “I wanted what was best for Lily! I’ve done everything to make her safe.” He heard the tears in her voice. “Given up everything. I even gave up you.”

  He put his hand on the door, but her voice stopped him from opening it.

  “She’s so beautiful, Farrell.” She choked on a sob. “So, so beautiful.”

  The words tore through him like an earthquake. Opened the ground underneath him. Sent him tumbling into a crevasse to the center of the earth.

  He opened the door and let it slam shut behind him.

  He didn’t remember leaving the hotel. There was only concrete under his feet, the lights of the city, the rush of traffic. He walked and walked, his mind numb. There was a dim realization that something earth-shattering had happened. An awareness that this new knowledge had changed his world forever. But it was buried underneath layers and layers of cotton, muffled beneath his need to stay sane.

  He didn’t know how much time had passed when a light rain began to fall. He looked up, felt the cool drops on his face. It was like waking from a dream.

  He had a daughter. He and Jenna had a daughter.

  He walked through Retiro Park, past the lake and its monument to King Alfonso the XII. The massive colonnade stood on one side of the pond, King Alfonso surveying the whole thing from atop a horse of bronze and marble. It was dark now, and the lights from the monument cast a handful of diamonds over the water. He continued past it to the Palacio de la Vasquez, its gallery shuttered and dark, and the shimmering glass structure that was the Palacio de Cristal, lit like a beacon across another small lake.

  He exited the park on Calle de Alfonso, stepping into the throng of late night revelers entering and exiting the pubs, restaurants, and clubs that lined the street. He thought of all the nights Jenna had been in New York with Lily, walking streets like this one, living a life without him. Had they been happy? Had Jenna ever regretted leaving him behind? What had she told Lily — if anything — about her father? Or was that not yet a relevant question for a four-year-old child?

  He didn’t know much about being a father.

  It pained him to imagine them alone. To imagine Jenna doing everything alone. But he’d been right there, dammit. He’d been in London. She could have reached out to him at any time. Could have asked for his help.

  What would you have done? Quit the Syndicate? Sent out your resume?

  And yet, she was right. He wouldn’t have done either of those things. He would change for no one — not even his woman and their child, and not because he was selfish. He would change for no one because he knew the truth of a world they didn’t understand.

  People were selfish and ugly. They would do harm in the name of self-preservation. In the name of need and desire. The only recourse was to be willing to do the same.

  To look after your own.

  But Jenna was right about one thing; no child should live in fear because of their parent’s choices. No one knew that more than Jenna. This was his fault. His fault for not making her feel safe. For not making her understand the purpose of his chosen lifestyle. The logic.

  He looked up, surprised to find he was almost back at the hotel. His feet, his heart, had carried him back to her. He knew now that they always would. Whatever had happened between them, whatever secrets and lies, they belonged to each other. He would have to see that she understood the lengths he would go to keep her and Lily safe. That she understood anyone seeking to harm them would have to come through him.

  And coming through him would be no easy task where they were concerned.

  He’d almost reached the corner near the hotel when he noticed a group men congregating in the shadows at the side of the hotel.

  He stepped out of the light, flattened himself against the building, every cell in his body ringing a silent alarm. There were six of them, all dressed in back. He could tell from the bulk of their jackets that they wore tactical gear. Could tell from their posture that they were soldiers of some kind, probably armed. He scanned the street, his eyes coming to rest on a black van parked halfway down the street.

  Fuck.

  He reached for the weapon holstered to his body, reassured by its presence, then watched as the men split up, two through the front doors, four to the side of the building.

  The side that held the suite’s balcony. That would give them access to Jenna.

  He turned around, headed for the rear of the hotel. There was no more time to think.

  27

  Jenna paced the living room of the suite, her stomach and heart in knots. She’d known she would have to tell Farrell about Lily. She just didn’t think he’d find out before she did.

  She should have known better.

  Farrell was not a man to leave things to chance. She was lucky the letter she’d left him had done its job. If he’d decided to dig into her life before now, he would have found out about Lily despite her attempts to keep their lives private.

  She’d been startled by the fury in his eyes after their last twelve hours together. She’d already gotten used to the Farrell she remembered, and his sudden coldness cut her to the bone. But she deserved it, which made what she saw underneath it even more painful.

  Hurt. Anguish. Loss.

  She’d done that to him. By trying to protect Lily, she’d hurt Farrell. And that was something she’d never wanted to do.

  Would he forgive her? She still didn’t know what the future held for them, if she could reconcile his lifestyle with her hopes for the future. But he was Lily’s father, and he deserved to be in her life if that’s what he wanted. Lily deserved him, too. To his enemies, he was a violent man, a dangerous man. But he loved just as fiercely as he fought, and she knew he would protect Lily with his life.

  She would have to find a way forward. Beg his forgiveness. Find a way to introduce him to Lily. To welcome him into their daughter’s life. Whether or not she could welcome him into her own remained
to be seen.

  She was debating texting him when the door opened, and he slipped into the room.

  “Thank god!” she started, rushing toward him. “I was so — ”

  He put a hand over her mouth, his eyes cold and calm. “Don’t say anything. Don’t ask questions. Just get your ID, your passport, and those papers from your father’s safe deposit box. And put on shoes.”

  He hurried to the coffee table where she’d put the envelope containing the pictures of Lily. Shoving them in his coat, he headed toward the bedroom, then turned to look at her.

  “What are you waiting for, Jenna? Do as I say.” He disappeared into the room that contained his things.

  She hurried into the other bedroom, digging out her wallet and keys and shoving both into the pockets of her jeans. She slipped on her shoes and picked up her father’s papers from the dresser. Then she zipped up her jacket and shoved the papers inside. She had no idea what was going on, but when Farrell said move, when he acted like there was something to fear, you listened.

  He took her arm as she emerged from the bedroom. When he spoke it was low and careful, and she knew instinctively that what he was about to say was important. “There are six men on their way up here. I don’t know what they want, but I’m guessing it has something to do with those papers. We’re going to — ”

  “You don’t know that,” Jenna interrupted, unwilling to believe that after all she’d done to protect Lily, it would be her who brought danger to their door. “In your business, it could be anybody.”

  He nodded tightly. “I don’t think so, but it’s possible. Either way, we’re in trouble. Four of those men are going to rappel their way up the side of the building. They’ll be over the balcony railing any minute. The other two are either in the elevator on their way up or in the stairwell. If you want to get out of here alive, you’ll do exactly as I say. Got it?”

  A new thought occurred to her, one that made it hard to breathe. “Lily…”

  His eyes turned fiery. “Don’t worry about Lily. No one will lay a hand on her. Now stay behind me.”

  He removed his gun from the holster at his side and crossed the room, put his ear against the door, then opened it a crack and peered into the hallway before waving her forward. She slipped out of the room behind him, hurrying down the hall at his back. He passed the elevators and headed for the stairwell. When they reached it, he listened at the door before turning to her.

  “Take off your shoes,” he ordered already taking his off. She took them off and held them in her left hand. “Follow me. And don’t make a sound.”

  They entered the stairwell, and Jenna immediately knew why he’d told her to take off her shoes; someone was making their way up from the bottom. They were still some distance below, but the sound of feet on the metal stairs was getting louder as they approached the sixth floor.

  Her heart hammered in her chest as she hurried down the stairs after Farrell, careful not to knock the metal banister or hit the treads too hard. When they reached the fifth floor landing, Farrell carefully opened the door leading to the hall and waved her through, pulling it shut quietly behind them. Then he waved her to the other side of the door and leaned against the wall, his finger on the trigger of his weapon.

  The sound of clattering metal sounded from inside the stairwell. Jenna held her breath as it got closer.

  Closer…

  Then it was right there on the other side of the door. She held her breath, half expecting whoever it was to burst into the hall. But a couple seconds later she heard the footsteps moving away, upward toward the sixth floor they’d just left.

  When it grew quiet, Farrell opened the door, cleared the space with his gun in hand, and waved her forward. They hurried down the steps, still being quiet even though it didn’t sound like anyone else was in the stairwell. They exited on the first floor and hurried to the back of the hotel. When they got to the doors of the kitchen, Farrell stopped, put on his shoes, and told her to do the same. She did it in a hurry, and then they were through the door and into the heat and noise of the hotel’s kitchen.

  Farrell grabbed her hand. “Don't let go.”

  He headed for the back, confidence in every step. She was surprised when no one stopped them, although some of the aproned employees stared. It was a product of Farrell’s presence, which had nothing to do with performance and everything to do with his total belief that he was entitled to do anything he pleased. They wove their way through metal prep tables, deep sinks, and steaming cooktops without being questioned once. Farrell had just opened the door marked Exit when the first shot rang out.

  She cringed instinctively, ducking as adrenaline shot through her bloodstream like water through a broken dam. Farrell shoved her behind him and returned fire. The shots echoed through the sprawling kitchen space, and the employees of the hotel hit the floor amid a chorus of screams and curse words.

  As soon as Farrell was done firing, he shoved her through the door. Cold and bracing, the night air was a shock to her system, and she sucked in a deep breath as Farrell grabbed her hand and pulled her along the building. His posture was low and stooped as he scanned the area, but he seemed in total command of the situation, completely unafraid. He was in his element, at home even as he was being hunted and shot at.

  She didn’t have time to think about what that meant.

  They rounded the corner of the hotel and hurried toward a parking lot. She was almost surprised not to hear shots ring out behind her, but so far their pursuers were still a few steps behind. When they got to the parking lot, Farrell stuck to the shadows, avoiding the pools of light cast by the street lamps spaced twenty feet apart. He looked at every car they passed, finally stopping at something black and low to the ground.

  “Come on.” He led her toward the driver’s side. “Turn around.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Just do it,” he ordered.

  She did, and a moment later she heard a dull thud and crunch, followed by the shrieking of the car’s alarm. When she turned around, the window on the driver’s side was cracked but still intact. Farrell used the butt of his gun to hit it again. It broke inward, the tempered glass sticking together even as it splintered. She looked behind them, expecting to see the men who’d been chasing them, the police, someone who had heard the alarm.

  The parking lot was still empty, and when she turned back to the car, Farrell was hitting it again. It took one more blow before a hole emerged that was big enough to put his hand through.

  “Get in,” he ordered, unlocking the doors and scooting under the steering wheel.

  She hurried to the other side and slid into the passenger seat. “What are you doing?” she asked, shutting the door.

  “Getting us out of here.” He pulled off the panel that covered the steering column and started tugging at wires.

  “What about the other car?” she asked. “The one you have keys to?”

  “Too risky,” he said, obviously distracted. “They might have someone watching it. Besides, I don’t know where the valet parked it.”

  Her eyes caught movement through the windshield just before she saw the flash of gunfire, heard it rip through the quiet night. One of the bullets sparked against the pavement, and she heard the ping of metal as another one hit the car somewhere near the front.

  “Motherfucker!” Farrell shouted.

  She raised her head in time to see a group of men moving swiftly toward them, all of them dressed in black and holding frighteningly big guns.

  “They’re coming,” she said. “Are you sure we shouldn’t — ”

  The car started with a rumble, and Farrell sat up and pulled the door closed.

  “Keep your head down,” he said, backing up in a screech of tires and pivoting to face the lot’s exit.

  She lowered her head as a volley of gunfire burst out in front of them. When she dared to look, she saw that one of the bullets had lodged in the corner of the windshield, a series of cracks rippling outward from
the impact. But that was the least of their problems.

  The men firing at them were blocking the exit.

  “Buckle your seat belt,” Farrell ordered.

  She barely had time to click it in place when another round of gunfire erupted in front of them. She ducked as Farrell made a hard left, barreling over the curb and onto the grass. She sat up as he flew off the curb and into traffic, narrowly missing a motorcycle preparing to make a turn at the light.

  She braced herself on the dash as he hit the gas, accelerating to a hundred and seventy kilometers an hour and weaving in and out of traffic.

  She glanced back. “Who was that?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, his eyes on the rearview mirror. “But it wasn’t a social call.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

  “Let’s just get out of here,” he said. “At the moment, I’m more concerned with preventing our assassination than trying to figure out who’s pulling the trigger.”

  He had a point. She sat back and tried to catch her breath. She was just beginning to believe they’d lost their pursuers when Farrell swore under his breath. She looked over to find him staring at the rearview mirror.

  “What is it?”

  “We’ve got company,” he said, making a hard right onto another boulevard. “We have to lose them before we go to the airport. We’ll be too exposed outside the city.”

  She scanned the dash. “Where’s the GPS?”

  “Doesn't have one,” he said. “Too old. It’s the only reason I was able to hot wire it.”

  “Great.” She looked in the side mirror and spotted a black van turning the corner at a high rate of speed. “They’re back.”

  He nodded, turning left into a short alley. He pulled his phone from his pocket as he made another left. She was disoriented, losing track of where they were, how far they’d traveled from the hotel.