Gold Mine

by Warren, Skye

  I glare at him. “And you’re so much better than him.”

  He gives a short laugh. And then inclines his head as if conceding the point. “I agree that you haven’t seen me in exactly the best light.”

  “Kidnapping can do that.”

  “I came here tonight to help you.”

  “Well, you didn’t. I was about to pay off a man who’s been threatening my sister.”

  “Using stolen property.”

  “You mean the diamonds? Of course you mean the diamonds.” I have to admit, if only to myself, that I’m disappointed it was Adam who found me. Adam, the man who entangled me in this terrible business. Not Elijah, the man who saved me. “You want them.”

  “Yes. I want them. A lot of people want them.”

  Frustration feels like boiling water beneath my skin. “You could have them, you know. I don’t care about them. No, it’s worse than that. I hate them. I despise them. Why someone is making such a fuss over rocks, I have no idea.”

  “Why do I get the feeling you’re not about to hand them over?”

  “I need them. I need them for my sister.”

  “Your sister.”

  I stride across the room to the door, and the party blinds me anew with its color and light and sound. “She’s probably looking for me. Worried about me.”

  “Or she’s dancing with a stranger.”

  The words pierce my secret worry, that I’m not important after all, that I’m too insignificant, too strange to really care about. I’ve turned my life upside down to go on the run with her. Would she do the same for me? I shake my head. Of course she would. We’re sisters. This man is trying to divide us. For what purpose? To take the diamonds. Though I couldn’t say why he doesn’t kidnap me again. Instead he lets me walk into the ballroom, following a few feet behind. For a moment there’s only a wild kaleidoscope of color. Then it focuses, and I see my sister standing where I left her, her hands clenched together so tight her knuckles are white, her blue eyes frantic. She sees me a second later, and relief floods her. God, I’m such a fool for doubting her—even for a second. We’re sisters. A bond like that can never be broken.

  I rush toward her, and she toward me. We meet along the back of the room, near the black and gold foliage. In unspoken agreement we wait until we’re neatly tucked behind a heavy fern before speaking. “What happened?” she demands.

  “Were you in danger?” I have to know that first. “He said he had men watching you. He said—”

  “No.” Her gaze moves behind me, and I know Adam has followed us. “He found me first. He told me to keep dancing, to keep moving, that they wouldn’t touch me as long as I was with someone else.”

  Relief fills me. “Thank God for that.”

  “But then it took so long, and the men here are jacked on more than just alcohol, so it took so much effort to keep them from being grabby. Did you make the exchange?”

  I glance back at Adam. “No.”

  Something stops me from blaming him in front of my sister. Some niggling suspicion that maybe this needed to happen. That he really did save us tonight.

  “You’re thinking of Elijah North,” he says. “Wishing I were him.”

  “No,” I lie.

  “You shouldn’t trust him.”

  “God, you’ve said that to me already. But you know, he isn’t the one who put a black hood over my head. He isn’t the one who threw me into a white van.”

  “No. I did that.”

  There’s regret in his eyes. Or maybe that’s just a trick of the flickering candles. Either way I can’t believe it. I learned not to trust Elijah, but I also learned not to trust Adam. It’s a dark game they play. One I don’t want to be in the middle of.

  “Enough,” he says, his voice low. “They might come back. We need to be gone.”

  “Where are we going?”

  He gives me a small smile, almost bittersweet. “Oh, we’re not going anywhere. You’re going somewhere you’ll be safe. Only I won’t be joining you.”

  I don’t have time to ask what he means. He’s pushing through the crowd, creating a small river for us to follow him. I grab my sister by the wrist and take off after him.

  Maybe it’s insanity. Or a suicide wish. This man hurt me once, badly. In the worst way a man can a woman, but he feels like a lifeline here.

  In a sea of monsters, he’s the most dangerous.

  We reach the outside, where the gondolas ferry people back and forth over the moat. Something has already gone wrong here. A single gondola floats aimlessly, empty, its oar a couple yards away. The men in white dress shirts manning the valet station have disappeared. Worry rises in my throat. How could I have made it out of here alive? My sister squeezes my hand, and I resolve that we’ll make it. It’s a pure force of will.

  A loud bang comes from around the side of the mansion, and we jump. Adam puts his body in front of mine, his hand on my arm, keeping me back. Keeping me safe.

  Shadows split apart. A man appears. It must be my imagination. He can’t really be here, after so many months of running. Then again, it feels inevitable. Every day I ran away from him, I was also running toward him.

  “Elijah,” I manage to say, relieved my voice doesn’t waver.

  “Did he hurt you?” he asks. Even in the moonlight his eyes glint a beautiful, brilliant green. He’s an otherworld creature, all the more powerful in the night.

  “No. He protected me, actually. He—”

  “Don’t touch her,” he says, his eyes flashing to the man in front of me. After a brief moment of tension, Adam steps aside. “He wasn’t protecting you.”

  “No, really. He—”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Adam murmurs to me. “I do have a way of bringing the two of you together, don’t I? Perhaps one of these days you’ll thank me for it.”

  “Don’t touch her,” Elijah says again. “Don’t talk to her.”

  “Then I’ll take myself someplace else.” A small bow. “North. Until we meet again.”

  A growl sound escapes Elijah, and I realize he isn’t dressed like Adam. He’s not wearing a tux. Not attired for the gala. Instead he’s wearing all black. A T-shirt and combat pants. Boots. He looks like he’s going into battle. “He’s only after the diamonds.”

  I roll my eyes. “You think I don’t know that? You think I’m confused, and that he came all the way to Italy to tell me my eyes are pretty?”

  “He said that to you?”

  “He was lying,” I say, my voice flat. “The same way you are.”

  “I’m lying to you,” he says, soft and dangerous. “I’ve barely even said anything.”

  “Even you being here is a lie. Pretending you care who touches me, who hurts me. The black SUV you drove was a lot nicer than the white van, but the result was the same.”

  “You were never my prisoner.”

  “Then you shouldn’t be upset that I left.”

  He makes that growl sound again, and my sister moves to stand in front of me. “You don’t want Adam to talk to her?” she says. “You don’t want him to touch her? That’s fine with me. Then you don’t get to touch her, either. Both of you are fucked up. Both of you are dangerous.”

  I tense, expecting Elijah to say something sharp.

  Or maybe even throw my sister bodily out of the way.

  He seems like something feral right now. A beast who’s been denied his meal for far too long. Except he blinks and takes a step back. His eyes turn to a muted, cool green. “Then get in the fucking boat. Don’t cause any trouble, and I won’t have to touch you.”

  It’s a sign of her self-preservation that she steps into the small gondola.

  I follow close behind.

  I have no doubt that Elijah would manhandle me into the boat if I refused. And for once, I’m not interested in fighting him. It was too terrifying being in a standoff between an international criminal and a dishonest Interpol agent. I need some peace, even if it comes in the form of Elijah North, with all his demons an
d his secrets.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Elijah

  A year ago I was given an assignment. Infiltrate a ring of arms dealers and intercept their payment in the form of diamonds. It was there that I found Holly Frank, a frightened hostage. My fellow cellmate. It was there that I broke into a thousand pieces.

  A year ago…

  My mission fell to shit, and the worst part is, I didn’t care.

  The only thing I wanted was to keep her safe. I threw away my career, my rank, my reputation, on this slip of a woman with messy hair and wide brown eyes.

  Then she left me, and I lost my goddamn mind.

  Three hundred and sixty-seven days of searching for her.

  Now she’s sitting in a boat that’s painted black and gold as I row us across the water. It isn’t a romantic moment. Her back is stiff. Her sister glares at me. Too fucking bad. She’s going to have to get used to me. They both are.

  We reach the dock, and I help both of them out. It’s a parody of chivalry. I’m no gentleman. Never have been, and the past few months have cut me too close to the bone.

  There’s an entire goddamn army of men waiting for us.

  Thankfully, they’re on our side.

  I meet my brother Liam in a two-handed clasp.

  “All clear?” he asks.

  We expected some resistance. “We had company. Adam got there first.”

  Liam swears. “You shoot him?”

  “Not this time.” He protected Holly in there, and for that he got a pass. But I owe him a bullet in exactly the same place where he shot me a year ago. One day soon.

  Liam wanted to come with me into Castello del Esposito, but I didn’t let him. Bad enough that he’s risking his entire security company to help me get away. I wasn’t also going to let him get charged with a crime if things went sideways.

  “Take London,” I say, my voice low.

  My brother gives me a sharp look. We weren’t close growing up. He got the hell out of our abusive house as soon as he could enlist, and I never blamed him for that. We’re close now, though. Getting closer, especially when he can read my goddamn mind. “You have some things to discuss with Holland Frank?”

  “A few.”

  “Do I need to send someone to keep her safe?”

  I bare my teeth. Brother or not, no one’s getting between us. “You could try.”

  He studies my eyes, his own dark and thoughtful. What does he see? Our father was a violent bastard who killed our mother. He used to beat Liam until he was half-dead, claiming he was beating the devil out of him. Ironic, really. I was the only who grew up with the devil inside him. And I stared at my father in the same green eyes when I killed him.

  Should he leave Holly alone with me? No one should trust me with a goddamn flower pot, but it’s going to happen. I’ve been waiting too long for her.

  Whatever Liam sees, it makes him nod.

  Then he’s shepherding London Frank into the SUV ahead of us and closing the door behind them. Holly looks at me, her mask askew, the heavy weight of her upswept hair falling down around her shoulders. She looks like a princess whose carriage has turned into a pumpkin. This isn’t the story of how she’s found by a prince. This is the story of the highwayman who finds her on the side of the road and has his way with her.

  Despite the fervor of my blood, I find myself gentle as I take her by the waist and guide her to the black SUV in the back of the cavalcade.

  When I open the door, she looks up at me, her eyes deep wells of sadness and worry. “I’m not sorry I left,” she says, though it sounds like an apology.

  “I know,” I say, my voice soft.

  “Are you still very angry about it?”

  “Furious,” I say, my voice casual. “I plan to take it out on your pretty little body.”

  That gives her pause. She stills in my hold like an animal scenting the air, scenting danger. She should know that I’ll hurt her. It’s inevitable. As inevitable as finding her.

  She’s my prey, and I’m her monster.

  The tinny sound of a voice from the front signals the start of our journey, and the SUV rolls forward. I can feel the caution in the way the vehicle moves, sense the strategy in the path we take. We’re in good hands right now. Safe right now, which is the only reason I roll up the divider between the front.

  Holly looks at me, wariness in her sweet brown eyes.

  Good.

  I drag her onto my lap, ignoring her whimper of surprise. God, she’s so soft and perfect in my arms. A little slimmer from life on the run, but still plenty soft in the places I need. I long to press my palm against the weight of her breast, to nudge her ass with my hard cock.

  I could even make her want it. Call it gratitude, call it an adrenaline response. She could be warm and lush around my cock as we bump over roads hundreds of years old.

  That’s not what she needs, though.

  “I’m sorry,” she says, her voice trembling. “I don’t—know why—I’m doing this.”

  The same chemicals that would have made her pussy wet are making her do this.

  A normal response to being in a life-or-death situation. The only thing to do after is fight or fuck. Or if you’re a beautiful woman, both strong and fragile, you cry.

  The realization is like a gut punch. She’s going to cry. There’s nothing I can do to stop it.

  “Let it out,” I say, no softness in me whatsoever. There’s only iron in my arms as I hold her, ice in my heart as she fights those hot tears glistening in her eyes.

  “Why did you—”

  Why did I follow her? Because I can’t sleep or fuck or breathe when she’s not near me. I need her, and I resent that fact even as I acknowledge its finality.

  She sucks in another shaky breath. “Why did you take so long?”

  It’s a bullet in the brain. A killing blow, the knowledge that she must have been scared, that she must have been goddamn terrified to want me. Me. “I’m sorry,” I say roughly, meaning it. God, it’s one of the only honest things I’ve said. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”

  An eternity, and she spills out every second we were apart in saltwater. Tears leave glittering tracks down her cheeks. They land in fat drops on my arm. I squeeze her tight, as if I can apologize for the time with pressure, with pain.

  “I was so afraid,” she gasps, sobs wracking her body.

  “I know. The gun. That bastard Taggart.”

  “He said he had my sister.”

  She will tear herself apart trying to save her sister. “He had you.”

  “And then Adam showed up with a gun, and I thought…” Her voice breaks. “I kept thinking you would be too late, and that you’d feel guilty.”

  I’m not sure it’s possible for me to sink farther tonight. I’m lower than dirt, than clay, than molten tectonic plates. She will tear herself apart trying to save me. “You’re so damn worried about other people when a gun’s pointing right at you, sweetheart.”

  She cries for an hour, each tear drawing a line across my heart, my private penance for failing to be there a minute early, a month earlier. An eternity earlier.

  That’s me, though. My curse, always to be too late.

  Finally her tears quiet. She looks at me, curious. “Were you worried about me?”

  Was I worried? She must not be able to see the shadows under my eyes. The edge of frantic worry that kept me awake as I wondered where, where, where. “A little.”

  “How did you find me anyway?”

  I don’t really want to tell her. Partly because it gives away my edge. If she escapes again, she’ll hide the same way. And partly because it exposes too much about her. About me. “I read your book. The one about the tooth fairy.”

  “I told you that story.”

  “You told me about how she became fascinated with humans. How she went to visit one boy in his room, but he was sick. Terminal. And he died. You didn’t tell me the story ended there.”

  “It did,” she says on a sigh. “Reader
s were so angry, but it had to end that way.”

  Once upon a time we were trapped in a prison together. She told me about her work as an author. She didn’t tell me that she was world renowned, with photos of her in signings around the world, smiling teenage girls holding up their fan art.

  She didn’t tell me that reading her books would be a window into her soul.

  “I read the sequel.”

  She scrunches her nose. “You did?”

  “I did.”

  Twelve months after she disappeared from my apartment, another book was published. This one was sent digitally to her publisher from an anonymous device. A sequel to the tooth fairy book, titled After You Left.

  I used every contact, every resource, every goddamn method of finding someone, but she was untraceable. Disappeared. In my darker moments, I was afraid that she had died. That’s why I couldn’t find her. She was buried at the bottom of a lake somewhere, like my mother.

  Then the book came out, and I read about how the tooth fairy, expelled from her community of other fairies, heartbroken from losing her only human friend, wandered the world. She sold handmade trinkets for cash from tourists, acting always as the native, even though she never belonged. Never belonged anywhere, really. Cash. Trinkets are a cash business, and she paid for her purchases the same way. A coastal town. Some references to an Italian church.

  It had been enough for me to finally find her.

  The SUV bumps along at an incline, and I know we’re beginning the long climb up the Amalfi coast. There was enough time between reading the book and finding her for me to purchase a small house. A small fortress. It overlooks an expanse of blue—the ocean, the sky. Hardly any land. Sometimes I think she’ll like the lemon trees in the yard. Other times I imagine her beating herself against the confines of the cage, breaking her bones like a small, wild bird.

  “Are you taking me back to Paris?” she asks.

  I shake my head.

  “Then where?”

  She may not realize it, but there’s trust in her voice. Like pebbles at the bottom of a lake. I can fish them out, start building something strong again. I broke her trust once. After we escaped the prison I tried to hold her in again, to keep her as my own, very safe captive. I’ll be more careful this time around. More careful to make her believe she’s free.