Alanna still sported her buttoned blouse, but the linen pants and canvas shoes were covered in grime and dried blood. She unraveled her braid, running her fingers through it. Then she winced and pulled her hand back.
Her left two fingers had cuts at the base. Thin, red lines slowly seeped blood, now smeared across her knuckles.
“What’s this?” Flynn brought her hand up to the alley’s minimal light.
“They were going to cut them off.”
Holy shit. A fire sparked in his chest, radiating to his face. Fucking monsters.
The jewels jingled in her shaking hand. Shock was setting in. They needed to clean those cuts, but first they had to shake their followers.
“Put on the necklace.”
Alanna’s eyes widened. “What? In public?”
Flynn took the jewels and stepped behind her. She lifted her hair, and he fastened the clasp around her neck. The heavy gems molded to her neckline. Her skin was soft, covered with a light sheen, too enticing not to taste. He leaned down and kissed the junction between her neck and shoulder.
Her blush deepened, even visible at night.
“With this…” He framed her face. “No one will notice your clothes.”
He took her right hand and led her to the first club, where a large bouncer guarded the double doors. Flynn kissed Alanna’s knuckles, guiding her in front of him. The bouncer took one glance at her, and his eyebrows nearly hit his hairline. The girls at the front of the line stopped chatting, and gawked. Without a word, the bouncer opened the door.
Her flawless face and jewels were better than any ID.
Before Flynn followed her inside, he scanned the street to see if the thugs had caught up. Nothing.
Not yet anyway.
Inside, he cringed. Flynn wanted to cover his ears, but focused on Alanna’s hand curled in his. Strobe lights and a techno-colored light show ricocheted off the walls. The music’s bass bounced around in his head like mallets, vibrating through his chest. Fog covered the main floor in a cloudy carpet, and a long bar with an adjoining plush seating area filled with people on the other side.
A perfect place for Alanna to blend in. If I don’t lose it in here.
Too many faces. Too many blinding lights. No way in hell could he focus long enough to find the rear exit. To count the feet to the door, or even find a place to hide. Overload was imminent. He covered his ears, barely drowning out the cacophony.
Alanna turned and looked into his eyes. The lights crisscrossed over her face, fading in and out of darkness. Her beautiful features were distorted and eerie, almost monstrous in the dark atmosphere. The strobe lights only revealed glimpses of her expression, disjointed and haunting. He tried to smile, but there was too much.
She grabbed one of his hands and maneuvered through the crowd, like a veteran general relentlessly targeting the back of the club. Through the throngs of near-naked women and rhythmic grinding, her grip was tight, determined. A tether on his sanity.
They turned a corner, and barreled through green-padded doors. The noise cut in half. His heart still raced, but at least the beat no longer reverberated in his chest. The overhead fluorescent lights weren’t flickering, and that damned strobe light was gone. Flynn leaned against the wall and took a deep breath.
“Are you claustrophobic?” Alanna’s soft voice soothed over him like a warm glaze. She kept a firm hold on his hand, now hot and clammy.
Flynn shook his head, focusing on counting the number of ceiling tiles. “SPD.”
“What’s that?”
“Sensory Processing Disorder…common with people like me.”
“Guardian angels, you mean?”
Flynn lowered his eyes to hers, and smiled. “You think I’m the angel?”
Alanna blushed and looked at her feet. Her hair dangled over the side of her face like a dark licorice-colored curtain. “I’ve nearly been killed a half dozen times in the last few days, and you’ve saved me at every turn.” When she glanced up at him, she moved closer. “What would you call that?”
Flynn sighed, more to catch his breath than anything else. “Infatuation. Dumb luck.”
Alanna grinned and lifted his shirt. Her fingers spread across the steel plate. “Your shield says otherwise, Archangel Gabriel.” Her thumb trailed over the dent where the bullet had ricocheted off. “That has to be more than just luck.”
Flynn covered her hand with his. “Michael was the warrior. Gabriel was the messenger.”
Alanna shook her head dismissively. “You all come from the same place.”
She reached up further and untied the string that held the plate around his neck, letting it clatter to the floor. Flynn checked his stomach, a dark purple shadow forming with a nasty welt in the middle. And sore as hell.
“We should ice this,” she soothed, inspecting the area.
Flynn chuckled. “There’s your proof. According to literature, archangels are immortal.”
Her eyes glistened in the narrow hallway. The bad, fluorescent lighting did nothing to diminish her beauty. Her hands rested on his waist, soothing and soft.
“Thank you,” she breathed. “For coming back for me. You have no idea how much that means to me. There’s no point in hiding who I am any more. Not from you. Those men are after me because I’m—”
Flynn cupped her face and silenced her with a kiss. Everything around him stopped. No music, no bass beat, no dizzying panic. Just the soft cushion of her lips on his, and that delectable coconut taste. When he stopped, her cheeks were flushed. “I already know, Alanna. I would’ve returned for you anyway.”
Her smile lit up the room. She kissed him again, this time releasing all inhibitions. With a flick of his tongue, she opened for him and pressed against him. Pain zinged through his bruise, but he didn’t care. Holding her was his medicine. His fingers slipped behind her neck, entwining in her hair. Everything turned hot. Her hands smoothed up his back under his shirt, his skin stinging where her fingernails dug into his shoulder blades. A sting he relished.
The double doors burst open. Alanna gasped.
A young Filipina with embellished black eyeliner and purple lipstick shoved past them, smirking in a sweat-covered, sequined shirt. “Take it to a stall, face suckers.” She disappeared into the restrooms.
“You’re too precious for a place like this,” Flynn said, catching his breath.
Alanna wrapped her arms around his middle. Her cheek pressed into his chest. But she didn’t say anything.
“We need to get you some place safe tonight,” Flynn said.
“That would be wherever you are.”
THE DOCTOR’S HANDS TREMBLED AS he stitched Lozano’s gash. The mob boss’ normal physician was in the hospital with some ridiculous ailment—cancer or other nonsense—so he was forced to extort another medical professional in the middle of the night.
“Keep the stitches small,” he barked, sitting in an oversized loveseat in the salon of a smaller yacht he kept docked in Manila. He much preferred Pacific Tempest, but there was too much damage and a risk of it sinking right there next to the dock. So the older, smaller, less luxurious would have to suffice. At least it was well lit and secluded.
Ricardo clearly had a concussion with a few scrapes on his arms. He waited his turn in the opposite chair.
The cartel boss turned his furious glare to his son. “Where the hell did that fucker come from?”
Ricardo blinked up at the ceiling, pressing a rag to his head. Blood from his injured arms dripped onto the white carpet.
Lozano slammed his fist on the loveseat arm. “Answer me, boy!”
Julius stepped forward from his stance at attention, a nasty bruise on his forehead. “We believe it’s one of the men who brought her to Manila. They were the only ones who knew she was here.”
He glared at his son’s flunky. “Did I ask you?”
Julius silenced and stepped back. At least the flunky had the sense to wear a suit.
“She took the necklace right out
of your hand, boy.”
Ricardo’s eyes briefly met Lozano’s. His son shifted in his seat.
“This is no totaled Aston Martin, Ricardo. It’s a multimillion-dollar yacht. An escaped hostage. The loss of the most prized gems in the South Pacific.” Lozano inhaled slowly through his nostrils, holding his breath through the oncoming ache. He gradually exhaled. Fucking blood pressure. “Do you remember the consequences of your last fuck-up?”
Ricardo stilled, his eyes rounding as their gazes met. It had been rough on his eldest son losing his best friend, especially when the boy had walked away from the wreckage with Ricardo, only to be eliminated a day later with a bullet to the brain. A harsh lesson.
Of course, the news reported him as a runaway afterward, but Lozano made certain his son knew the truth.
“There’s no need to involve anyone else in this.” His son’s voice shook.
“Sophia’s a lovely young woman. You love her, yes?” Lozano smiled. “I assume the wedding is still on? Did she like that ten-carat diamond engagement ring?”
“How was I supposed to know the guy would ram the Tempest?” Ricardo bellowed in a desperate voice, gripping the rag. “We had ten men guarding the docks with semi-automatic rifles, and you’re putting this on me?” Ricardo winced, most likely having cracked a rib or two as well.
“Those men weren’t gripping Luna de Azul between their fingers when she ran off with it, were they? It was your responsibility to put those jewels in my hand. You cost me something precious. That demands I collect something of equal value.”
The doctor cut the last suture and bandaged the wound with sterile gauze. “These will need to come out in two weeks.” His voice trembled through the remaining instructions. “Keep the area clean and dry. Be sure to change the bandage tomorrow.”
Lozano pushed him away. “You think this is my first gash? Collect your things and go.”
“B-but, your son?” he stammered.
Lozano grabbed the man’s tie, jerking him down to his eye level. “LEAVE!”
In a flash, the physician gathered his instruments, and scurried off the yacht.
“I’ll find him, Father.” Ricardo pressed the rag on his head once again, determination filling his face. “I’ll walk the princess right through your front door, and drag the other bastard behind me, so you can have fun with him. Just allow me time.”
Lozano scowled. “No. You’ve wasted your chance. I’ll bring in someone who can finish the job. In the meantime, you’re babysitting the repairs to my yacht.” Lozano stood, towering over his son. “Hopefully, that task won’t prove too troublesome for you.”
Ricardo struggled to his feet. “I can do this. Just leave it to me. There’s no need to harm Sophia.”
Lozano cupped his son’s head in his hands. “You still have more to learn. When a boy makes a mistake, his toys get taken away until he learns to value them properly.
“I’m not a boy,” Ricardo snarled. “This isn’t about toys or privileges. This is a girl’s life.”
“I’m not going to kill her, Ricardo. She’s the future mother of my grandchildren. But be careful in your decisions, or she may lose that new, flashy ring of hers.” There was no need to state his implied message: with her fingers attached.
Ricardo slid back into the chair.
Lozano turned to Julius with a vicious stare. “Since my son will be otherwise occupied, you answer to me. Ask Tiburón to join me at the condo. We have a world-class assassin to summon. If he can be enticed away from his current mission.”
The cramped hotel room held a queen-sized bed, a nightstand, and a small television bolted to a small dresser. An absolute dream to Alanna, compared to where she’d been the last ten hours. Compared to what she’d lived through.
Once again, thanks to the bravest man she’d ever known, she was still alive.
Flynn.
He’d loaned her his phone so she could try to call her family again. Rona’s house, the palace, Tulio’s cell phone—all busy signals. Andre’s voicemail was full. There was no other way to reach her family.
Curled on the bed after a shower, she trembled every few minutes and hugged her knees. She tugged Flynn’s white T-shirt over her nose, his cologne, soap, or just natural scent easing her nerves better than anything else. A rubber band she found in the dresser held her wet hair on top of her head in a lopsided bun. The boxers he’d loaned her were airy and revealed too much when she pulled up her knees, but she didn’t feel the need to conceal herself. Not around him.
The cuts on her fingers had stopped bleeding, yet they’d probably scar. She reached up to her throat, Luna de Azul washed and resting safely around her neck. Despite all the disaster they’d seen, the gems were still brilliant and secure in their settings. Her fake passport sat on the nightstand, easy to grab in case they had to run.
The bathroom shower switched off, steam seeping through the cracked door. Flynn left it ajar so he could hear her if she needed him. On the other side of that piece of hollow wood, droplets fell from his tanned, sculpted chest. Trickled down his hard abdomen, and over the chiseled V, leading to his—
The door swung open. Flynn stepped out, a towel hitched low on his waist. With the V perfectly visible and even more defined than her imagination. The multicolored bruise on his abs displayed the only proof he wasn’t a warrior god, fresh from the sea.
“I washed your clothes as best I could. They’re hanging up in the bathroom. Hopefully they’ll be dry by tomorrow, but with this humidity, who knows. I’ll pick up some new ones for you in the morning.”
Alanna nodded absently, still distracted by his wet hair, slicked back with a few strands dangling over his forehead. Would they be as soft as running her fingers across the covers in her palace bedroom? Maybe softer.
Flynn pursed his lips. “Does that fake passport get you through airport security?”
“I don’t know. Didn’t seem to fool the customs officials.”
“The customs guys just handed you over to those monsters, didn’t they?” He placed his hands on his hips, framing the top of the V.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“So, we can’t go to the cops. That’s clear.”
“They’ll be after you now, too.” She looked straight at him, those damn trembles starting up again.
“I wasn’t thinking that far ahead.” He looked at the passport. “The safest place for you is out of Manila. I have a plane ticket to Brisbane in the morning. But if you’re not sure about that passport, I don’t want to chance it. The next fastest way out is by boat.”
“You wrecked the last one.”
“Are you complaining?”
“No.” She smiled softly, trying to breathe through the rising panic. “Why did you come back for me?”
His eyes locked with hers, something raw and primal passing between them. A connection that went straight to her heart.
He sat next to her on the bed. His proximity with a bare chest far more exhilarating than it should have been given their chaotic state. He stretched out his legs in front of him, and adjusted the towel over himself. He stared hard at the black television screen before he answered. “I don’t intervene in other’s affairs. I’m not a fan of people who refuse to take care of themselves. It’s just the way I was raised. But, I saw your photo on the news, and realized I turned you in for stealing something you already owned. The mistake was mine, so I had to fix it. When I went to the customs office to explain, they told me you weren’t the princess. That Perina Alanna Kalani had a record of burglary and prostitution.”
Alanna opened her mouth to object, but Flynn stopped her. “I know, ludicrous. But they said you’d already been moved to the police station. Then when the customs officer pointed a gun at me, I knew something was wrong. But I have no connections here, no one to help me. Dean kept telling me to forget about it and make sure my ass was on the plane tomorrow.”
Alanna’s hopes sank a little. “Dean’s a good man. He didn’t want you in trouble.
I respect him for that.”
Flynn took her hand, and slowly rubbed his thumb across her knuckles. He was still warm from the shower, heat radiating from him like a sauna. How crazy to be comforted by one simple touch. “I know that. But I also knew I couldn’t leave you in that situation without everyone knowing the truth. I returned to the marina to think and call my dad. Maybe he had connections, someone who could sort out everything. But then I saw you being dragged onto that yacht in cuffs. They were so forceful, I knew it wasn’t the police. My gut told me mafia. And to get you out of there, no matter what.”
Alanna tucked her knees tighter into her chest. Flynn risked so much just to follow her, to get her off that boat. If only he’d known what happened between the jail cell and ramming the ship, the kinds of things those thugs did. He may never have shown up to save her. She’d still be in those monsters’ hands, missing two fingers and Lord knew what else.
“You couldn’t have gotten out by yourself.” His grip tightened on her hand. “I was the one who handed you to them, in a damn golden chalice. There was no way in hell I’d let them hurt you if I could stop it.”
The shakes started again, and Alanna cringed inside.
I’m stronger than this. I’m not a child. Get a grip!
He wrapped an arm around her. The side of his body was lean, solid, and better than any pillow. The crisp, soap scent surrounded her like a blanket.
“I think what really decided it for me,” he continued, softer. “I couldn’t bear flying home knowing I’d never look into your eyes again. The thought just…I couldn’t breathe. Which makes me officially crazy.”
“But I’m grateful for it,” she whispered, resting her head in the crook of his shoulder.
They laid there, the silence between them as natural as the air. From his deep breathing, he could’ve been asleep, except for when he held her hand to inspect the cuts on her fingers. He was careful not to touch them, but he caressed all around them with his thumb, including the inside of her palm. Soothing, comforting, drowsy…
Flynn jerked out of bed. “I’ve got it!”
Jewel of Solana Page 12
