by Sam Crescent
He couldn’t leave this girl here. Not having a choice, he scooped her up in his arms, lifting her slight weight easily, his years of weight training helping him even though he wasn’t the young sprightly fellow he’d once been.
Without looking left or right, he headed straight for the car. Francis opened the door for them, then went immediately to the wheel and started driving.
Lance held her in his lap, assuring himself she was still alive.
“Bloody hell, sir, what do you think is wrong with the poor lass?”
“Drugs. She isn’t responding. Get Charley up to my suite. I want this sorted. Call Bernard as well. I’ve a feeling something is about to kick off.” Lance used his button to wind the window up, giving the girl and him some privacy.
He stroked her hair back from her face and caressed a fingertip down her cheek. A layer of foundation came off on his finger. Lance had to fist his hand to try to contain the rage inside him.
Someone had struck this innocent girl. A bruise decorated her cheek. When he found the time, he’d finally kill all the rotten bastards with his bare hands. A coat lay on the seat beside him and he picked it up, covering her body, trying to warm her and protect her pride. Everything was turning to shit around him and he didn’t know how to stop it.
“Where are you, Sid?”
* * * *
Lance watched as Charley checked all of Catherine’s vitals.
“Is this one of Cyril’s girls?”
“I think so. She was in his hotel.”
“That hovel should be demolished. Poor girl, I hope she realises the lucky escape she had tonight.” She began putting away her equipment and he straightened the blanket to cover the woman.
“What’s wrong with her?”
“She’s unconscious. As much as I hate to think it, looks to me like Cyril gave her a special mix of the date rape drug. Keeps them conscious but pliable. Fucking hate that bastard. The stuff I see because of him… I’d like to kill him with my bare hands,” Charley growled.
The woman was fierce and Lance prided himself on being in her good books.
“Get in line, honey. There are a fair few of us wanting the pleasure.”
“You more than most.”
Lance moved away from the woman and nodded for Charley to follow him. He didn’t want Catherine to hear anything he was about to say. He closed the door quietly.
“Why do I get the feeling you’re about to tell me something I’m not going to like?”
“I think he killed Sid,” he said.
“The girl you were trying to convince to change sides?”
He nodded. It was the only explanation for Catherine being in that hotel room. Either Sid was dead or Cyril had seriously changed her views. In all fairness, Lance could see the temptation. Sid had been a looker, but Catherine shone brighter. Her pale complexion temptingly surrounded by her auburn curls was a sinful combination. She was a beautiful woman and if they’d met under different circumstances he would certainly have asked for her number. Now, though, she lay on the bed, seemingly out of her mind. Lance couldn’t take advantage of a woman.
“If that’s the case, then that girl in there is in one heap of trouble.”
Lance was all too aware of the danger the younger woman was in.
“Does she know who you are? What you tried to do for her sister?” Charley interrupted his troubled thoughts.
For so long he’d been a man on a mission, trying to conquer the man who’d destroyed his family forever. Sid had been his last chance to find a way to ruin Cyril and all of his businesses for good.
“No. Sid was adamant. She didn’t know.”
Charley glanced down at her watch. “Shit, I’ve got to get going. Look…just keep an eye on her and if she hasn’t come round in the next few hours give me a call. Be careful, Lance. This shit is going to turn ugly if Cyril has finally killed Sid.”
Lance saw her out and nodded to his guards to keep watch. He’d had to hire his own guards for protection. For too long he’d waited on the help of the police. They were supposed to be the protectors, the people they relied on, but when the police were taking bribes from the criminals there was no one for him to trust in or care about. Lance had at one time been the person who gave protection to other people. But that was no longer his business.
He moved away from the door to his office. His hotel suite was also his home when he stayed in England. Pouring himself a healthy glass full of whisky, he went and sat behind his desk, pulling out a folder from his private safe in the process.
Dates, times and photographs along with important documents were contained inside. Flipping through the pages, Lance couldn’t hold back his disgust as a picture of the chief of police taking a deal for drugs caught his attention.
There was nothing he could do, but he knew one person who could help him. The one man who had cared dearly for his sister and was against the corruption of the forces. His best friend and very distant business associate, Ben Rivers. Not really a business associate, though. He hadn’t seen Ben in years—only paid his monthly wages into an account. Ben held so many secrets—more secrets than even he could begin to imagine. Picking up the phone, he dialled a secure number.
“Rivers,” Ben answered on the first ring.
“Hey, buddy, it’s Lance.” Lance swirled the liquid in his glass, resisting the urge to drown his sorrows.
“I know who it is.”
“I need your help.”
“This about Cyril Woods?”
Lance dropped his glass on the counter, not bothering to clean up the spillage, and frowned. “How do you know about Cyril?”
“I knew your sister and was the one who held her in my arms as she died. You may not like hearing it, but I loved her, Lance. I’ve been working to bring the bastard down myself. I want blood and that bastard’s blood belongs to me.” The menace couldn’t be mistaken. If Lance had been the one Ben was directing his rage at, he’d be terrified.
“I’ve got more problems right now.”
“I know everything, so no need to spill the details. And yes, Sid—the girl you were trying to help—got killed for it. She didn’t know she was being watched and Cyril shot her through the head for the secrets she knew. The sister now holds all those pesky details. Sid told her sister everything. You’ve got her, haven’t you?”
“How do you know it was Sid? And I thought you knew everything?”
“I’m at the apartment they shared. Sid was a clever little bitch—nothing here to tell anyone about her or whom she worked for. The word through the grapevine is that Sidney Hart is dead.”
Lance rubbed his head. When he’d first decided to handle Cyril on his own, he’d figured it would just be as simple as breathing. All the movies built it up in your mind to seem as if it would be simple. He was the bad guy…you were good…and that was it. Bad guy loses, and everything is happy. For three years he’d tried to find a way to take Cyril out—from hit men to the police force. The man was made of fucking steel. Then he’d thought of trying to become like Cyril through business. He’d got the closest he’d ever been, then Sid had been sent his way.
Now he was in shit and Cyril, by now, probably knew the problem.
“I’m going to need some help to keep her safe.”
“Use all that money you’ve collected over the years. I work alone.”
Lance was about to argue, but a scream erupted from the bedroom where he’d left her. He put the phone down, knowing Ben wouldn’t be able to do any good, and moved to the sound of the screaming.
Opening the door, he found her banging on the window, her hair cascading down her back, jerking with each bang.
“Let me out, let me out!” she screamed.
He didn’t want her drawing attention. Lance moved by her side and tried to grab her hands. She squealed—the most hideous sound he’d ever heard—pivoted around and landed him a slap right across the face. Her fists pummelled his chest, tears poured out of her eyes, and, even through
the distress and anger, he saw the pain and fear.
He finally took her hands in his grasp and held her still, pushing her back until she was thrust against the wall and couldn’t move. Lance pinned her with his body.
“Let go of me, you bastard!” she screamed, the only ammunition left to her the use of her voice.
“Not a chance, you little hell cat. Now listen to me and listen good, otherwise I’ll tie you to the bed and make you listen. Do you understand?”
They were both breathing heavily and Lance cursed himself for being a man. Her lush breasts and womanly curves called to him. Shame leached out as his dick responded in kind. It had been too long since he’d been with a woman.
“Yes, I understand.” She sighed, her arms going lax beneath the pressure.
Slowly he released his hold on her. She rubbed her arms. He’d put it there, and he was disgusted with himself. How could he have done something so awful? “I’m sorry—”
“Who are you?” she abruptly stopped him to ask her own question.
“I’m Lance Clay and—” He didn’t get chance to finish what he was saying.
“Oh, my God, you’re the one.”
Lance could see her distress—she suddenly looked like a caged animal. Within seconds, the stress became too much for her and she passed out in his arms.
Chapter Three
Catherine had no clue where she was, no memory of how she’d got here. Opening her eyes, she gazed into his dark-brown ones, which seemed almost black.
Why couldn’t she remember?
“What happened?” she asked.
His arms were curled around her and she was snuggled against his chest.
“You fainted. I think you need some food and drink.”
He seated her by a bar. Glancing round, she realised she was in a kitchen.
“I never faint.” She spoke more to herself than to him. Running a hand through her hair, she tried to recall everything leading up to this point. She remembered being taken by Cyril after having seen her sister…
She couldn’t complete the thought as tears welled, threatening to spill over.
“I’ll make you a sandwich. Is peanut butter okay?”
Catherine nodded at the stranger but didn’t speak. She needed time to clear her head.
Lance Clay. Before she’d passed out, he’d said his name was Lance. He was the guy Cyril wanted her to complete the business deal with.
“Do you work for Cyril Woods?” There was no time like the present to deal with the current situation she was in.
It was too late to back out as she watched him stiffen at her question.
“What do you remember?” he asked.
“I’m not saying.” She was supposed to be intelligent, after all, and he might be as deadly as Cyril.
“Well, I know you’re dealing with Cyril. The shiner on your cheek shows you’ve been in his bad books. Also, he has a reputation of hitting women.”
At the mention of her bruise, Catherine touched the tender area. She remembered the confrontation with Cyril—it was the time after she didn’t recall.
“Seeing as we’re being frank, you’re Sidney’s sister, right?”
It seemed Lance knew far more than she did.
“What are you talking about?” she bluffed.
He placed the sandwich in front of her and her insides flip-flopped all over the place. She couldn’t stomach taking a bite.
“Let’s cut to the chase. You were in one of Cyril’s cheap, nasty slut hotels—ready to do the deal. What I want to know is why Sidney Hart’s little sister was there instead of her. Sid has information for me. Where is she?”
Catherine swallowed against the bile rising in her throat. That was why she was dressed as a tramp. Had the man drugged her?
“I don’t remember.”
“I’ve had a doctor come and check you over, and she said you’d been fed some kind of drug similar to the date rape drug. And don’t worry—unwilling, unconscious women do not appeal to me.”
“I didn’t say they did,” she pointed out.
“You don’t need to say the words—your face gives it all away. Take some really great advice—never play poker. You’d suck at it.”
They scowled at each other. “Well, where is Sid?”
Blinking against the wave of pain assailing her body, she answered, “Sid’s dead.”
“Are you sure?”
“Cyril Woods put a bullet through her skull. Yes, she’s dead,” she whispered, lost in her memories. Following Sid to the abandoned warehouse, then witnessing the fight and blood bath, the pleading of her sister as Cyril made her get to her knees, begging for her life and the life of her sister. His crazy laughter, the false forgiveness and then, when she turned to leave, the bullet sending Sid to the floor.
Catherine hadn’t been able to contain her scream and, when they’d seen her, she’d turned back around and ran. Now here she sat in a dangerous stranger’s kitchen.
“Cyril found you and sent you in her place.” He rubbed his hands on a towel then indicated for her to eat.
“I don’t know who you are. Why you would willingly help me?” She took a bite of the sandwich and her tummy began to rumble, the sound echoing round the room.
“If you don’t mind me saying, you don’t seem distraught over your sister’s death.”
His statement cut her deep. This man didn’t have the first clue how hurt she was. Catherine would give anything to see her sister’s smiling face and witness her loving nature once more. It still felt surreal, as if it was all a dream.
“I’m still hoping I’m going to wake up and find it’s nothing but a bad dream,” she admitted. The whole notion was childish and immature but on the big screen characters sometimes woke up…
“I understand that.” Lance was nodding. “The pain is too much to bear to begin with, but it does eventually get easier.”
“You sound like you know about losing someone.”
He swallowed and turned away. “I’m about to tell you my relationship with your sister. I want you to be clear on something—you’re in terrible danger and everything I’m about to say will make it more so. Sid was prepared to go through with it, but, if you can’t handle it, I’ll keep you someplace safe. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
He took the seat opposite her and, to her shame, Catherine admired the sexy perfection of him. Her life was in danger and she was eyeing up the man who could be just as bad as—or worse than—the man responsible for putting her here in the first place.
“I’m going to kill Cyril Woods, and you’re going to help me do it. He murdered my sister—used, drugged and raped her before he killed her the same way he did your sister. I want his head.”
Catherine pulled away after seeing the determination on his face. There was no doubt he wanted the man gone. “I’m sorry about your sister, but I can’t help you. I know nothing about him or what he does. I’m useless.”
“You know more than you think. Maybe I’m not being clear enough. He will find you and kill you whether you help me or not.”
“What were you to my sister? Another punter?” Catherine accused, not liking the idea of being threatened. Folding her arms over her breasts, she sat and glared at him.
“Wouldn’t dream of paying for it, love. Sid was a means to an end. Make no mistake—Cyril will die at my hand.”
Okay, she shouldn’t be turned on by his confession. He looked terrifying and deadly…and, God help her, her pussy was creaming. What the hell was wrong with her?
Lance was a handsome man, larger than most men she’d seen, even bigger than Cyril. Hard, chiselled jawline, straight nose and beautiful blue eyes. His hair flopped down over his eyebrows, enhancing his good looks. He was dressed in a suit, showcasing his broad shoulders and huge arms.
Being in university, she was used to boys, not men. His presence was dominating.
“I don’t care. I had Sid and now I have no one.” She pushed away from the tabl
e. “Where’s my coat?”
“Why? Planning on going out?”
“I’m going home.” She raised her chin to show her determination and defiance.
“Home? You’re not safe there. Your best bet is to stick with me.”
Their voices had risen and they stood staring at each other, enemies.
“I hate you,” she spat.
“You don’t even know me. I’m the good guy.” He pointed at his chest.
“You’re in deals with Cyril Woods, a criminal known throughout the whole of England. You’re nothing to me.” Not bothering with her coat or any coverings, she marched towards the doors.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” he growled.
She could hear him following her. Catherine wished she knew where her courage was coming from. Deep down, all she wanted to do was go running for the hills. To get away from it all. She touched the doorknob and he pressed her against the door, his body and the hard wood stopping her exit.
“Listen to me and listen closely. Your sister was helping me—she was trying to bring Cyril down, just like me. He’s expanding his businesses, not just drugs and women, but even more. Imagine every man and woman having easy access to drugs and guns. The police have already been bought by him—they turn a blind eye to what goes on. He would become king of the streets of England, have ultimate control.”
Their heavy breathing had filled the silence between his whispers.
Catherine had to fight against the pleasure of having him against her back. “Drugs and crap are on the streets now.”
“Yes, they are, but to some extent we’re protected. What happens when all the men who want them have them? Think of other women like yourself. Walking home alone at night and a man comes out, demands more from your luscious body than you’re prepared to give. With guns and power he’ll take it. I’m trying to stop him, Catherine, otherwise this is just the tip of the iceberg. It could all get worse, much worse.
“What do you mean?” Her voice shook.
“Children… Do you think he’ll stop at good old traditional crime? He’ll take everything. I need your help.”
