Chief (Kings of Guardian Book 7) (The Kings of Guardian)

by Kris Michaels

  Her finger stopped her mindless wandering across his chest. It did feel like a trap for the Bravata. Virgin Mary, could it be? Was this man trying to lure the Bravata? Was he using the insane amount of money to blind them to his intentions? But he was American. Was he CIA? No… the staff, the house, the opulence… even the best-funded intelligence operations couldn't put up this smoke screen, and David Xavier was real. He was a billionaire, many times over.

  She leaned away from him and met his eyes. For a split second, she saw sadness and then his feelings shuttered. How could she ascertain the truth? Was there a way without compromising everything she'd worked so damn hard to acquire?

  "What has you so concerned, little one?" His words ghosted across her skin bringing the hair of her arms up in an instant reaction.

  She searched his face for any indication that her extrapolations could be true. It was the only thing that made sense. The only piece that fit into the puzzle David Xavier had presented her. She sat up, taking the sheet with her. Her hair flopped into her eyes. He lifted his hand and swept her curls aside. "Tell me." He lifted onto his elbow.

  She opened her mouth to speak and then stopped. She narrowed her eyes and thinned her lips before she blurted, "I think you're building a trap for the Bravata."

  He stared at her blankly for a few seconds before he rolled off the bed and walked into his massive closet. "I'm a businessman, not a police agency." His voice carried from behind the wall. He walked out with a robe in his hand, wearing only a pair of exercise pants.

  That wasn't a denial .

  He handed her the robe that she slid over her shoulders. The sleeves of the robe hung a good six to ten inches past her fingertips and the silk material pooled at her feet. The giggle that escaped merged with a deep chuckle from David. He made quick work of rolling up her sleeves. She hoisted the belt which draped around her ass to her actual waist where she tied it and folded the lower fabric over the top making a small balloon drape. It wasn't sexy, but it allowed her to walk without tripping.

  She trailed behind him as he opened the door to his rooms. She sighed. He was escorting her back to her room. When he kept walking past her door, she ran a few steps to catch up with his long strides. "Where are we going?"

  "To the kitchen. Our dinner is long past cold, and I've released the staff for the night."

  "Oh." Taty's feet were cold, but she kept up with him as he made his way through the twists and turns of the rambling mansion. They pushed through a door, and he flipped on the light. The fluorescent bulbs illuminated a massive commercial kitchen with four, eight-burner stoves. A wall with six ovens, three broiling stations, huge stainless steel sinks and countertops caught her attention. Copper pots and silver pans hung from the massive center island. David strode over to the wall-sized refrigeration and freezer units. He started opening random doors.

  "What are you doing?" She pulled some of the material out of the fold at her waist and stood on it. Her toes were going to freeze. The chalet needed better heating.

  "Looking for something quick and easy." He glanced over his bare shoulder and winked. "You made me work up an appetite."

  She shook her head and marched over to where he stood looking into the freezer. "Men. Go, find two baguettes." She shooed him toward the pantry before she marched over to the oven and turned it on. A quick wash of her hands and a two-minute search later, she had eggs, three types of cheese, chives and flat leaf parsley on one of the islands.

  David returned with two foot long loaves of French bread. She laughed and split one in half. "Here, dig out the center, but leave enough to form a boat." She peeled most of the soft interior of her half out and waited for him to finish. "Now on both sides put down slices of cheese. You do this one."

  He took the shredded cheese and watched her for a second before he scattered it carefully over the bread. Her fingers quickly layered the other cheeses on both boats as he finished. She nodded toward the open shelving. "Now we need a small bowl, a cutting board and a knife." Taty smiled at the soft whistling she heard as he gathered the needed supplies. When he returned, she had him break six eggs into the bowl while she minced the chives and parsley together. The herbs were sprinkled on top of the cheese.

  "Now we pour the eggs. Three in this half, three in that one." She grabbed a baking sheet and carefully placed the stuffed boats on the sheet and then into the oven under the broiler.

  "What did we just make?" David grabbed her waist and sat her on top of the counter. The cold stainless steel brought an undignified squeal from her. He laughed and cupped her ass lifting her off the counter. She wrapped her arms around his neck and snuggled closer to his warmth. "That is a poor man's quick version of a khachapuri."

  He hoisted her higher, so their eyes met. His eyebrow lifted, and a smirk spread across his face. "And I repeat, what did we make?"

  She scrunched her nose at him making him laugh. "Basically, this is a cheese sandwich with egg. When I was growing up, my mother would make the bread and form them into little boats. The cheese was usually the last bits and pieces that she'd keep in a bag. Many different flavors. The egg, sometimes yes, sometimes no… but it is always good. Food for the heart."

  "Russian home cooking?"

  "No. Georgian. My mother would not be happy if I didn't correct you. She was proud of her heritage." The childhood memories of better times tugged at her heart. She dropped her head to his shoulder and melted into him as one arm rubbed her back and the other literally held all her weight. The sense of security his presence evoked pulled at her.

  "If you are trying to stop them, I may be able to help you." The momentary hesitation of his hand against her back was the only indication that he'd heard her.

  "Once again, I'm a businessman. I didn't say I was trying to stop them." His words rumbled through his chest under her ear.

  "You didn't deny it, either." She leaned back, and he lowered her to the floor. Without heels, he towered over a foot taller than her. His muscled frame stepped back allowing her to talk without straining her neck back to see him. She peered straight into his dark eyes and stated, "The people I work for should not be trifled with, David. You have no reason to associate with these men. This leverage you talk of? It is dzalian t'kheli. Too thin. You throw all this money at their greed. It blinds them." She leaned against the counter and watched him closely. He walked around the stainless steel island in what appeared to be an aimless meandering. The fluorescent lighting highlighted the darker scars on his shirtless back.

  "I'm just a businessman." He put his hands in his pockets and rocked onto the heels of his bare feet a couple of times

  "A businessman with a large bore rifle wound to his thigh?" She shook her head while keeping him pinned with her stare.

  "A hunting accident."

  "Someone shot you while you were hunting?"

  "While they were hunting."

  "I have a hard time believing that. You do what you must, but I've offered you good advice. Walk away."

  "Why would you want to cross the people who could cause harm to your aunt?"

  Taty caught a whiff of aroma from the oven. She walked across the expanse of the kitchen and glanced at the golden-brown crispy bread, melted cheese, and perfectly poached eggs under the broiler. "The woman isn't my aunt. She is part of the cover the Bravata gave me."

  She removed the baking sheet from the oven, and put the food on top of the burners to let it cool. His silence prompted her more directly than a question would have. His neutral expression hid the mental gymnastics her admission had to have caused. His reactions, or rather the lack thereof, tugged at her gut bringing her up short. Finally! His neutral expression and silence were the anomalies that confirmed he wasn't the typical buyer. Her instinct had been honed working with the Bravata. She was right. This man's motivation and desire made him different from every other client that had crossed
her path. If somehow she'd misread him and he told the Bravata of this conversation, she'd die.Chemu byt', togo ne minovat'. What will be, will be. She'd made peace with that possibility years ago. Exhaustion, frustration and lack of communication with her superiors had beaten her. Her mind made up, she turned, crossed her arms over her stomach, and waited.

  He walked to the cabinet and retrieved two plates before he asked, "Then why, if there is no threat to you or your family, are you working with the Bravata?"

  She examined the end of the silk belt in her hand before she lifted her shoulders and held her head high. She'd play this chess game. Somewhere between the lies and the deceit that lay thick between them was the reason someone as powerful as David Xavier was trying to enter the Bravata's world. She contemplated him for several long seconds before she spoke. "Vengeance."

  Chapter Thirteen

  "Vengeance?" He couldn't hide the disbelief in his question.Vengeance? Mike's thoughts swirled around the foreign concept. His shocked question should never have been uttered. His absolute incredulity shattered any trust building between them.

  "Yes, I want to stop selling people. I told you they tricked me into this." Tatyana's voice echoed around the vast kitchen area. Her face flushed red and a vein in her neck pulsed. The emotion appeared real, but he sure as hell wasn't going to be drawn into any of her half-truths. There was too much at stake.

  "Unfortunately, what you want and what I need are at opposite ends of the spectrum. You'll place my order tomorrow. I'll give you a verbal list of my requirements in the morning. You'll memorize it. I will escort you out of my residence at the prearranged time so your superiors can make contact."

  He watched her closely. Her eyes roamed the room, and she pulled her hand through her curls. The silk robe slipped down baring her shoulder. With a frustrated tug, she righted the fabric. She paced back and forth on the other side of the stainless steel counter. "You don't understand them. You will never have leverage on these men you fill the orders for. The Bravata will have leverage on you! They will expose you if you do not do their bidding." She stopped and braced both hands on her hips. "They will ownyou."

  "No," Chief spoke with certainty. He had faith the operation he currently worked was the best Guardian could provide.

  "No? Just No? You have a problem with your ears, yes?" Tatyana stared at him, her eyes wide and her chest heaving. Her accent became more pronounced the madder the conniving, frustrating, manipulative woman grew.

  "No, I heard every word you said. Are the sandwiches done?" He glanced over her shoulder, purposefully shifting the conversation. He needed the distance of time to evaluate this version of Tatyana. The layers of lies she'd told solidified his belief he would never be able to trust a word that came out of her mouth. She still lied. He'd bet a sizeable amount of David Xavier's fortune on that fact. The question was—what was her end game?

  "Sandwiches?" Her eyes narrowed, and her voice rose an octave. "You want to eat when I'm telling you this is a disaster waiting to happen?"

  Mike picked up the plates and walked to the stove where the food sat cooling. "I do. Sex makes me hungry." He winced when he said the words. It wasn't his nature to purposefully toy with a woman, but he needed to resume control of this situation. She was siding with him now. That is what he wanted and what he'd work to strengthen. He'd never trust her. She was Bravata. Period. He considered her tangent about wanting vengeance another carefully constructed lie. He would use her to help end the human trafficking ring and then go back to South Dakota while she rotted in a prison cell.

  He plated both of the sandwiches and grabbed forks and knives on the way to a small break room for the kitchen staff, off the main work area. He deposited the food and headed back out to the kitchen to grab a couple of beers. She trailed him to the table and sat down. She didn't eat, but he did. He wasn't lying. He was hungry, and the woman's Khachapuri thingy was damn good. The yolk was soft enough to run over the crisp bread, and the melted cheese made the entire thing fantastic. He demolished his half of the sandwich while she stewed on the other side of the table.

  "You are not facing facts." She pushed her plate away.

  "Are you going to eat that?" Mike pointed his knife toward her food.

  "No."

  He moved her plate toward him and cut into the bread. "I ignore very little, Tatyana. I have business to transact. You are the broker I need to work with to achieve my goal. Your desire for vengeance does not necessitate action on my part." He took a bite of the bread, egg and cheese mixture. What he wanted to say was 'you fucking made your bed, lady. Now lie in it'.

  "I'm a pawn in your game." Her soft voice floated across the table to him. He had no idea what realization hit her, but he could tell she'd come to some conclusion.

  "I never play games. You are a beautiful woman, Tatyana. I enjoy our intimate time together. You are not in my confidence. I don't trust you. I don't trust the Bravata. I have faith in my abilities, alone. I'm sorry if you thought I'd assist you in some epic scheme to avenge past wrongs." He finished her meal in silence, and wiped his mouth and leaned back in his chair.

  "I'm more pragmatic than you give me credit for, David. I will have my vengeance. If not with your assistance, then so be it." She lifted her beer bottle to her lips and drank the entire thing in one go. If there was bravado involved in her statement, he couldn't detect it.

  "Good to know." He stood leaving the dishes and empty beer bottles. "Shall we?" She rose from the table and walked with him through the cool corridors toward his wing of the mansion. He stopped outside her suite of rooms and opened her door.

  She glanced inside and then at him. "I take it my services are no longer required?"

  Mike forced himself to smile and pushed her curls out of her face. The silky hair wrapped around his finger. He tugged it lightly before he whispered, "I don't recall forcing you."

  "You didn't." She pushed her cheek into his hand.

  "We part here for the night." He shrugged before adding, "I sleep alone."

  She untied the belt to his robe and slid it off her shoulders revealing the expanse of her naked skin. Her nipples were hard and peaked. The soft glow of a dying fire cast a golden hue around her body. Tatyana glared at him as she held out the robe. He took it as she shut the door.

  Mike rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. The tension of his unnatural actions, words, and mannerisms rode hard on his conscience. Taku Skanskan, the Lakota Sioux's name for God, knew how much it cost him to treat a woman like a piece of meat. He'd seen his mother endure that shame from too many men. He'd sworn he'd never treat a woman like that, and yet here he stood. The ghosts of his ancestors bore witness to his pain because, during this mission, no one else could.

  Knowing he wouldn't be able to sleep, Mike pulled a folder out of his bedroom's wall mounted safe. A picture of his mother and the man he was told was his father lay on top. He'd turned the photo over and picked up his mother's last letter to him. He'd received it two months before he'd been accepted into Guardian. Her handwriting scrawled across the sheet of paper that had been torn out of a spiral notebook. She'd asked for more money. He sent every dime he didn't use to exist to her each month, but her drunken rant scribbled in a gush of misspelled words accused him of forsaking her and his heritage. She called him worthless, told him he was a mistake and he was the reason she'd never found a good man. He would never be loved; he was cursed. He'd heard it all before. Each time she'd fall into the bottle the words would lance his heart. He flipped the photograph over and traced his mom's smiling face. He loved her with a fierce devotion only a child could manifest. Each time she belittled him, he built a stronger wall against her hurtful words and the pain he felt at neither being fully Sioux or fully white. He was stuck in the middle, rejected by both worlds, and wanted by no one. Yet, he'd accepted his life with a utilitarianism that allowed him to functio
n until he joined Alpha team. The sense of purpose, fellowship and belonging he found with his brothers, fed his soul and allowed him to flourish.

  He shut the folder and closed his eyes. Visions of Jacob, Doc, Dixon, and Drake, filled his mind. He would spill his blood to protect those men, as they would for him. He thought of the poor ones bought and sold by the Bravata. They had no champion. He felt their pain. It was with that singular thought in mind that he developed the list of requirements for the sex slaves he was purchasing. He'd give the requirements to his little Bravata representative tomorrow. The list in itself was benign. Females. Five with brown hair, five with light hair, five with red hair. Sixteen youngest, nineteen oldest. There would be no other requirements. The people the Bravata had already kidnapped could fill this order, and he'd be ensuring fifteen young women would be returned to their life. The team he'd worked with for the first five months of his undercover operation had thought the pre-order through. The amount of money that would be transferred for the minimal work the Brotherhood would have to perform would either entice them or caution them. It was the massive second order that would set a trap for the bastards.

  Mike stood and rubbed his face as he dropped the folder into the safe, securing it. He turned and focused on the bed where he'd ended his self-imposed celibacy. Tatyana's scent taunted him. The echoes of the acts they'd performed replayed in his mind. He shook his head and massaged the back of his neck. Whatever game the woman was playing, he absolutely could not get entwined. The operation was too important. The woman was only a single piece of the massive puzzle, a tool he'd use to get his job done. He cringed at the reality of it, but it could be no other way. He slid into the sheets and pulled a pillow into his arms. Small crackles from the fireplace broke the quiet darkness. His mind raced through the details the events of tomorrow would require from him. With Tatyana's declaration tonight, a wild card had been thrust into the mix of possibilities. Vengeance was a volatile emotion, a feeling that could force smart people to make stupid mistakes. He'd have to keep her close. He already monitored her every move, but he would need to inform David Xavier's security team of their upcoming responsibilities outside the chalet, plus the requirement to surveil her in New York and San Diego. Mike groaned at the thought. He'd make sure the transaction worked. There was no alternative.