He wasn’t about to tell Brie it had almost killed him when his best friend had fallen for someone else. Jase had been in love with Angie for years, but had been too afraid to let her know—worried she’d become a target or that she didn’t feel the same way about him. In the end, she’d lost her heart to Ian, and then their long friendship had been yanked out from under him to boot. She’d almost gotten killed because of him, along with Ian’s goddaughter, Jenn Mullins. The two women had been held hostage, and Jase had “died” during the rescue. It’d been the best way to guarantee his work as an agent, putting drug cartels and gangs in jail or a cemetery, didn’t come back to harm her ever again.
He sat back down on the chair, his gaze meeting hers. It was hard to figure out what she was thinking so he continued. “Angie and Ian’s goddaughter were in danger because of me. A crooked agent had found out about Angie and passed on the information to the cartel I was trying to bring down. They were taken hostage and, during the rescue, I was shot.” His hand went to the old wound under his left arm. “I’d already told Ian’s team that faking my death was a strong possibility. I couldn’t guarantee Angie’s safety if I was still ‘alive.’” He used his fingers to make quotation marks. “What she said was true. She thought I’d died of my wound, when in fact it didn’t hit anything vital. Ian had given me a few fake blood packets to make it look good if I got the opportunity, so between that and the real blood . . . well, as you already know, we convinced her. Then, with Carter and Ian’s contacts, I was able to get out of the States and settle in Caicos under another new identity—it was best not to be on one of the US territorial islands. We were never one hundred percent sure all the crooked agents in the DEA had been caught up in the sweep when indictments were handed down and the arrests were made. I couldn’t risk running into someone who knew me.”
His eyes filled with regret. “I didn’t lie to hurt you, I swear. For all intents and purposes, I am Jase Atwood. There’s nothing left of my old life except an empty casket in a grave next to my mother’s and sister’s. I’m still the guy who likes to keep you company when you’re bartending and going for rides with you on the back of my bike. And I’m still the guy who’s going to help you find your sister.” He was also still the guy who loved having her in his bed, but that announcement wouldn’t go over well right then.
“What’s going on with her sister?” Ian asked, looking at the others for the first time since they’d walked into the suite.
Brie frowned at him. “Please stop talking like I’m not here; it’s rude.”
The corners of the man’s mouth ticked upward. Pushing off the door frame, he took a seat on the couch. “You’re right; it’s very rude of me. I apologize. Now, what’s going on with your sister?”
Before she could answer, the door to the suite opened and Jordyn strolled in. When Ian raised his eyebrow in question, the woman replied, “She decided to take a nap—after she threw all your clothes on the couch, which you’ll probably be sleeping on tonight.”
“Fuck,” he spat with a roll of his eyes.
Carter gestured for Jordyn to take a seat between him and Ian, then looked at Brie. “Tell us about your sister.”
She spent the next several minutes filling them in about Nadine, with Jase interjecting some information at times. When she finished, he added, “We were just on our way to the strip club to see if anyone has a clue about where she may have gone. We also have to get Amy and Nadine’s passports back from the dickhead who owns the place. He apparently demands the girls hand them over so they can’t leave without a hassle.”
“What a prick.” Jordyn glanced at Carter. “Want to join them and have some fun? It’s been a few weeks since I’ve kicked some chauvinistic ass.”
Her boyfriend grinned. “Damn, I love you.”
“Right back at ya, babe.”
Jase shook his head. “You don’t need to tag along. I don’t want to interrupt your vacation―”
“Too fucking late for that,” Ian interrupted with a scowl.
“I’ve got it covered.”
Ian sighed heavily. “Even though Angie is pissed as hell at the moment, she’d kill me if anything happened to you now that she knows you’re alive. We’ve got your six. I take it you flew commercial.”
A confused expression came over Brie’s face. “Why is that a problem?”
At the same time, knowing exactly what the other man was referring to, Jase answered, “Yeah. I was going to call a few contacts to see if I could find a dealer on the island.” He then replied to Brie’s question. “He’s asking if I have any weapons on me, but I couldn’t bring them on the commuter flight.”
Her mouth rounded into an “O” but she didn’t say anything more.
Ian stood. “We flew in on the company jet. I’ve got something back in my suite you can use. Let’s go see what we can find out about Nadine, then we’ll go from there. After that, I’ll start groveling to Angie—I’ll probably be doing it until my kid’s eighteen.”
Even though Ian employed Jase, they’d never be the best of friends—there was too much negative history between them. So Jase was under no illusion that the man was helping him out. Instead, he was doing it for Angie, and also for Brie. He hated seeing any woman in distress and would assist in locating Nadine in any way he could. It was the Dominant in him. When Jase had first met Ian, he’d already known the former Navy SEAL and his teammates were into BDSM and, like most people, he didn’t understand it. After he’d “died,” Carter had introduced him to the lifestyle and that was when he began to realize it wasn’t an excuse to abuse women. The more he learned about it, the more he appreciated the rules of “play.” He’d never be fully immersed in the lifestyle, but there were many aspects of it he did enjoy . . . especially with Brie. But one of the “rules” to gain the trust of a submissive was honesty, and he’d broken that. Originally, he’d thought she’d never find out, but since she had, he felt much guiltier than expected. Now, he just hoped she could forgive him, because the alternative hurt more than he was willing to admit, even to himself.
C
HAPTER 5
J ase followed Brie and Ian back into the latter’s suite. After noticing all of his vacation clothes had, indeed, been dumped on the couch along with a pillow and blanket, the former SEAL growled. He then gave Jase a nasty look that probably would have had most men shaking in their boots—but Jase wasn’t most men. He’d been on Ian’s shit list before and wasn’t really worried about being there again. As long as the man was in love with Angie, Jase was safe. But that didn’t stop Ian from stating, “I’m so going to kick your ass when this is over, fucktard.”
Without waiting for a response—one wasn’t needed or expected—Ian let out an exasperated breath and strode over to the closed master bedroom door. When he found the knob turned easily in his hand, his shoulders relaxed a bit. At least Angie hadn’t locked him out—not that it would have stopped him from gaining entry. As he disappeared into the darkened room, closing the door behind him, Brie strolled over to the sliding balcony doors, looking out over the beach. Jase took a few steps toward her, unsure what was going through her mind. She hadn’t said a word directly to him since she’d told him to explain who he really was.
“Brie? I really am sorry, but honestly, the only thing I deceived you about was my name. And, like I said, I’m not Athos any more—I haven’t been in a long time and I’ll never be again. Hell, that wasn’t even my given name to begin with.”
She didn’t look at him as she spoke. “What is your given name?”
When he didn’t immediately answer her, she glanced over her shoulder at him, and he closed the distance between them a little more, but not as much as he wanted. “It’s better for everyone, especially you, that I don’t tell you. If my past ever comes back to haunt me again, your knowing anything about who I used to be could put you in danger, and that’s the last thing I’d ever want to happen.”
Turning back to the window, she remained silent. Jase
opened his mouth to try to make her understand, but the door to the bedroom swung open, and Ian came back out. In his hands were a S&W .40 and an HK 9mm, both holstered. Glaring even more harshly than he had a few minutes ago, he handed the HK to Jase, before attaching the other gun to his belt, at his lower back. “Don’t lose it. It’s registered to me.”
Jase didn’t doubt the man had already hidden a KA-BAR knife somewhere on his body and probably another weapon or two. Flying into St. Lucia on the Trident Security private jet had made sneaking the weapons onto the island much easier than flying commercial. Ian was a big believer in the cliché, “It’s better to apologize after than ask permission before.” For the most part, Jase agreed with that philosophy.
“Let’s go, twatwaffle, so I can get back here and grovel until my wife stops giving me the silent treatment.”
It took a little over twenty minutes for them to pull into the lot of the dilapidated mall where Sandy Bottoms was located. The simple, white sign above the entrance had black lettering and a silhouette of a woman dancing on a strip pole. On the way over, Ian had called the Trident Security war-room and had gotten Nathan Cook, his other company geek, on the phone, digging up whatever intel he could give them about their intended target—which wasn’t much. The owner was Laron Marks, a forty-eight-year-old male Caucasian, with several arrests for assault, promoting prostitution, gambling, and theft, with no convictions. If Jase had to guess, the guy had a few public and judicial officials in his back pocket. The floor plan of the single-story club were pretty basic with only a front and rear entrance and no windows. The only other information Cook had given them was that a quick check of the computer system hooked into the club’s cable TV line hadn’t revealed any live camera feeds. If there were any, it was probably an older system hooked up to a VCR or DVD recorder.
In the SUV they’d rented, Jordyn and Carter drove around to the back of the building, while Jase parked his as close to the front of the strip club as possible in case they needed to make a hasty exit—which was very probable. Before climbing out of the front passenger seat, Ian shifted so he could stare directly at Brie in the back seat. “Remember, sweetheart. You do everything Jase or I say. We say run, you get back to this vehicle and take off for the hotel. We’ll be behind you shortly.”
“I heard you the first dozen times you told me,” she spat, tugging on the door handle and getting out.
Ian glared at Jase and snorted. “Serves you right, finding a strong-willed brat to top.”
He knew the man was actually joking since Angie was a strong-willed brat more times than not—and Ian wouldn’t have it any other way.
Rolling his eyes, Jase climbed out of the driver’s seat, analyzing the surrounding area as he did. There were eleven vehicles on this side of the lot, in front of the club, which was on the far right side of the mall. The two stores to the left of it were completely empty, while a convenience store and hair salon at the far end had a few more cars and Jeeps parked in front. There was a decent amount of traffic on the road running past the mall, but it shouldn’t hinder their escape route. They had no idea what resistance to their visit they were going to experience inside, but it was best to be prepared for anything.
After handing Brie the keys to the SUV, Ian and Jase placed her between them as they proceeded to the entrance of the club. When Jase pulled the door open, they were immediately greeted by a large, dark-skinned man wearing all black except for the numerous gold chains around his neck. Jase swallowed his snort.
“Twenty dollars each, two drink minimum,” the bouncer stated while ogling Brie. “No charge for the pretty lady.”
She stared back defiantly as her two self-appointed bodyguards put themselves between her and the man drooling over her. Jase handed over the East Caribbean currency, then took Brie’s arm and moved her in line behind Ian as he stepped into the main part of the club. Loud, fast-paced music was pulsating, making any covert conversation difficult. Ian led them to a small, round table, in a corner close to the front entrance and quickly arranged the seats so each person could see the majority of the room. The men sat Brie between them without conscious thought. On the elevated, center stage, there was a tanned redhead, wearing only a white thong and five-inch, silver stilettos, doing her thing, trying to appear as sexy as possible to earn generous tips from the mostly male crowd. Her surgically enhanced tits were well beyond a normal handful and Jase wondered how the hell she wasn’t tipping forward on her high heels.
About fifteen patrons, a few already drunk despite it being only a little past noon, were scattered throughout the club, sitting at either the bar or one of the tables around the room. Two other large bouncers stood sentry on either side of the stage in case one of the patrons decided they wanted an up-close-and-personal view of the dancers. Meanwhile, two female waitresses and one male bartender appeared to make up the last of the employees in attendance. Over in another corner, two men were getting lap dances from scantily-dressed women, while the bouncer on that side of the stage kept a close watch. Jase checked the ceiling and anywhere else cameras might be set up, not finding any.
A petite, blonde woman, dressed in a black mini-skirt, which barely covered her ass cheeks, and a push-up, black and red bustier, approached the trio of newcomers, a serving tray in her hands. “Hi. What can I get ya?”
“Three beers,” Ian responded, his gaze meeting hers for only a second before returning to the rest of the room. “Whatever you’ve got on tap.” It didn’t matter since they weren’t going to be drinking them.
Jase pulled out two more twenty dollar bills from his wallet and tossed them on the woman’s tray. A giant smile spread across her face, and she winked at him, then headed to the bar to get their drinks. When Ian tapped the table to get his attention, Jase zeroed in on where he was looking. A short man, with a pasty complexion and large beer belly, who’d been sitting at the bar smoking a cigar, stood and ambled toward a doorway that had a curtain blocking whatever was behind it. A larger man, who could be a twin of the bouncer at the front door, followed him. When the curtain was pushed to the side, Jase got a glimpse of a faintly lit hallway that probably led to the office, the dressing room, and the restrooms. Porky must be the boss, and that’s the man they wanted to have an unkind word or two with.
Following Ian’s lead, Jase got to his feet, but then leaned down so his mouth was next to Brie’s ear. “Stay right here. If trouble starts, run to the car and take off. We’ll meet you at the hotel.”
“That’s the fourteenth time one of you has said that,” she snarked, making Jase want to sit back down, haul her over his knees, and spank her pretty ass. But there’d be plenty of time for that later.
Shaking his head, he fell in step behind Ian, keeping an eye on all the bouncers. None appeared to be armed, but that was probably an illusion. Jase didn’t doubt the men had at least one handgun on their bodies. As they approached the curtain, Ian and Jase got lucky—some drunken asshole picked that exact moment to reach over and grab the dancer’s legs. He caused her to lose her balance on her stilettos and wind up on her ass in the middle of the stage with a thud that was heard over the music. The bouncers rushed forward and mild pandemonium ensued as the dancer started cursing up a storm and kicking out at her attacker.
Ian and Jase ducked behind the curtain after the latter glanced at Brie one last time to make sure she was okay. Wide-eyed, she watched the bouncers drag the now-unconscious and bleeding drunk out the front door by his legs. Jase hated leaving her there, but his only other option had been handcuffing her to the steering wheel in the SUV, which may have caused its own problems if a cop drove by.
Opening the first door on the right, Ian noted it was the dancers’ dressing room and shut it again. On their left were the men’s and women’s restrooms. The next two doors on their right were labeled “Storage” and “Exit,” respectively, so that meant the last closed door on the left had to be the office. Both drew their weapons from their holsters, and Ian glanced at Jase to make
sure he was good. When Jase nodded, the other man softly murmured, “Knock, knock,” reared back, and kicked in the office door—nothing like making a grand entrance.
The room was tiny, containing a desk, three chairs, a filing cabinet, and a small, stained couch. It also reeked of pot and cigarette smoke. Both men in the office startled at the sudden invasion, and the bodyguard reached behind him, but stopped short when Jase aimed his gun right between the guy’s eyes. “Don’t do it, asshole. Hands where I can see them or you’ll never even realize you hit the ground.” When the guy slowly raised his hands, his jaw clenched tightly in irritation, Jase ordered, “Turn around and get on your knees, cross your ankles and lace your hands behind your head.”
The guy didn’t move like a highly trained bodyguard, but it was stupid to take any chances, since he had a good four inches and fifty pounds on Jase. After his instructions were followed, he stepped forward and retrieved the hidden, silver 9mm from the holster at the man’s lower back. A quick pat-down resulted in two knives being found as well. Jase tucked both in his waistband.
Ian had his own weapon trained on Porky, who wisely kept both hands on the surface of the desk he was sitting behind. The man frowned, anger with a hint of fear flaring in his eyes. “Who the fuck are you?”
“That’s not important. What is important is that I’m pissed.” The former SEAL took two steps toward him. “You must be Laron Marks—one of the assholes who had to go and ruin my vacation. I’m not a happy man, Laron, so you better answer my questions without making me want to blow your kneecaps off. I promise you, it won’t take much for me to reach that point.”
Marks eyed them in disgust. “You’re fucking with the wrong man.”
“That’s my line, twatwaffle.” Apparently, that was Ian’s new favorite insult. “Now, let’s start off with an easy one . . . where’s Nadine Hanson?”
Salvaging His Soul Page 6
