His Devil's Heat

by Linzi Basset

  “Good lord, Lauren! What happened?”

  “What does it look like?” she muttered. She didn’t bother to hide her irritation.

  “Careful, my dear. You should know better than to sass me,” William warned. His voice and the words, ‘my dear’, grated on her nerves. It was another pet peeve she had when it came to him.

  She was tired of the cat and mouse game he had been playing with her for years. He’d stopped hiding his lust and lately been forcing his caresses and kisses on her—threatening and yanking her around when she dared to oppose him.

  Lauren stubbornly refused to face him.

  “What do you want? As you can see, I’m not good company. Had you phoned before you took all the trouble to drive out here, I would’ve told you that.”

  It was a ‘not so subtle’ stab at him for arriving at her door unannounced.

  “You’ve complained so often about living alone, so I thought it was time to bring you some company.”

  Lauren was tempted to turn around but refused to give him the pleasure.

  “Again, if you had phoned, I could’ve warned you I’m incapable of entertaining.”

  “I see. Well, I guess that means we’ll just leave, then.”

  A tiny sniffle caught Lauren’s attention. She stiffened as they became louder until she heard child’s cry. She turned around.

  “I want my mommy and daddy,” the dark-haired little girl wailed the moment their eyes met.

  Lauren sat frozen, her mind went blank. The past came crashing down upon her. Flooding her with the pain and longing she noticed in the little girl’s eyes.

  Not again. Oh, god no, please, not this little girl too.

  The little girl struggled against William’s hold until he lowered her to the ground. The moment her feet touched the floor, she tore across the short distance and hurled herself into Lauren’s arms, who caught her with a cry of pain as her cast thumped to the floor.

  Her small arms clamped around Lauren’s neck as she sobbed against her throat.

  “Shh, there now, little poppet. Don’t cry like that. It’s okay. Everything will be okay,” she soothed her as she stroked her long hair.

  “No, it won’t! They’re gone. Mommy and . . . sob . . . daddy . . .”

  Lauren’s eyes lifted. William was too slow to hide the smile of satisfaction on his face. She was shocked. How could any human being relish such heartache and pain?

  “What is this, William? Where are her parents?”

  He shrugged and walked around the room, negligently inspecting every corner like he expected someone or something out of place.

  “Just another lost soul I’ve taken into my care. Much like you, all those years ago. Her parents are d-e-a-d,” he spelled the word, “and like you, she has no one to take care of her.”

  “But she could’ve gone through the legal system, William. Nowadays there are wonderful people looking to adopt or foster kids.”

  “That is true, but can you imagine the trauma the poor little thing is going through and will continue to experience until the legal system finds a match for her? Could take years.”

  He looked at her with raised eyebrows. “I thought I was doing her and you, for that matter, a favor, but I guess you’re right. I should take her to Child Services.”

  She watched him approach and her arms instinctively tightened around the clinging girl.

  “What do you mean by doing me a favor?”

  His eyes seared hers. She felt a shiver of trepidation run down her spine. It was a warning. She dreaded what would follow.

  “Come now, my dear. We both know you dream of white picket fences and children in your future. I thought you would realize that was never going to happen. Not for you. Because, you, my dear Lauren, belong to me and I have every intention of picking the fruits of years’ worth of money to support you.”

  “What are you saying?” She croaked in the silence that had become oppressing since the little girl had stopped crying.

  “I have every intention of getting married one day. To a rich, successful heiress, which of course, discounts you as a candidate. However, I am a very possessive man and you will be mine for as long as I deem fit. As soon as your leg is healed, you will become my slave.” He laughed briefly at her gasp. “So, I figured, this little girl will be the only opportunity you will ever have at playing mother.”

  “You’re not serious.”

  Lauren found it difficult to breathe but the expression on William’s face was undeniable. He intended to turn her into his concubine. That she was unwilling, didn’t seem to faze him in the least.

  “Oh, but I am, my dear. I suggest you read the e-mail I’m going to send you shortly, about my expectations from you. You better be ready, because I’ve been very patient with you.”

  He walked closer and fisted a clump of her hair in his hand and yanked her head back. The kiss was hard, painful and meant as a lesson of what the future held in store for her.

  “You will bow to my demands, Lauren. This little girl’s future depends on it,” he hissed into her ear.

  He released her when her painful whimper drew the little girl’s attention and she sat upright, looking between them.

  “See, I promised you a new mommy,” William said in a soothing voice, a complete contradiction to the venom he’d just spilled into her ear.

  “And, to make sure we’re all safe, the two of you will wear these bracelets. Aren’t they pretty?” He asked the little girl who stared at the silver band he’d just clipped around her small wrist.

  The battle, to keep him from branding her, was short because he pushed Lauren’s fingers back until they threatened to snap.

  “There. See? You and your new mommy are wearing the same bracelets. Do you like them?” William asked while he brushed the little girl’s hair back.

  She nodded and sniffled, while gingerly fingering the cold steel of the clip.

  “One more thing, my dear. Do not attempt to remove them. There are remotely controlled explosives. It’s tuned to send a signal to my cell phone. If you try to remove them, I’ll know. Believe me, Lauren I won’t hesitate to detonate them.”

  “You can’t be serious! She’s a little girl. She won’t leave it alone. Please, William. I beg you. Remove hers and leave mine. You can’t—”

  “I’ll leave it to you to make her understand the importance of wearing it. Before I forget.” He picked up a brown manila envelope he’d left on the foyer table when he’d walk inside. “Your new identity. From today, you will be known as Cynthia Marsh and soon, she will be your legally adopted daughter. I’ll be back in five weeks, my dear,” he said from the doorway. “That’s when we will embrace our future . . . as Master and slave.”

  Lauren listened to the car driving away. She didn’t realize she was crying until the little girl brushed her tears away.

  “Don’t cry. Please don’t be sad,” she said in a small voice. She tried to be brave but Lauren noticed her bottom lip quivering.

  She hugged the little girl against her.

  “It’s okay, little poppet. I’m not going anywhere. You and I are going to become good friends.”

  “I miss my Mommy and Daddy,” she said dolefully.

  “I know, little one. I lost my parents too, many years ago.”

  “You did?” She stared at Lauren with big, sad eyes and found her way into her heart without even trying.

  Lauren nodded, too choked up to talk. She cleared her throat.

  “What’s your name, little one?”

  “Rebecca, but Daddy always called me Beckie.”

  Chapter One

  Present Day . . .

  “Get out of my way, Ethan,” Keon warned his friend and Internist, Ethan Brodie, who had just finished stitching up the wound in his thigh.

  “You can’t go gallivanting on this leg, Keon. You might get an infection.”

  “Then you can treat that too. Out of my . . . fuck this,” he bellowed and physically pushed Ethan out of his wa
y.

  The nurses stared aghast at the two men. Ethan was a muscle house himself but Keon was hulk of a man, with strength to match. His movement seemed as effortless as swatting away an irritating fly.

  “Where is Rhone?” He asked, yanking off the paper gown. He picked up his bloodied pants and grunted, unconcerned with the rosy-cheeked nurses who were watching him dress.

  “Nurse Aliana, please fetch some clothes from my office. Pants and shirt will do.” Ethan stood watching Keon with his hands on his hips. “One of these days I’ll have no fucking clothes left at the rate the lot of you are going.”

  “I didn’t ask for clothes,” Keon snapped. He sighed and tilted his head back. He breathed in deeply, concentrating on the flow of air in and out of his lungs. “I’m sorry, Ethan. I’m worried, fucking furious and now I’m taking it out on you.”

  “No need to apologize, mate. I understand.”

  “How is Samantha?”

  “She’s still in surgery.”

  “Will she pull through?”

  “It was a clean wound but there was some tissue damage, which is why she lost so much blood. That fucktard knows how to shoot. The bullet went right through, just below her clavicle, bypassed the sternum and scapula. She’s lucky that no major arteries were damaged. He used a low-velocity weapon but because she’s so tiny, it would’ve felt like something bigger. His intention had been to incapacitate but not kill. The danger with gunshot wounds through the chest cavity, however, is always infection and fever. That’s why the operation is taking so long. The specialist needs to ensure that there are no traces of gunpowder residue or cordite left behind.”

  “I need to find Rhone.” Keon got dressed in the clothes that the blushing nurse brought over and stomped into his boots and made for the door.

  “I’m afraid you’re gonna have to wait.”

  Keon looked at him questioningly.

  “He’s inside the OT. No one could keep him outside.” Ethan chuckled. “It was quite a spectacle but the specialist finally relented when Rhone wouldn’t budge.”

  “It seems our fearless leader has finally met his match. I’ve never seen him this affected by a woman. Where is the rest of the gang?”

  “They’re keeping vigil outside the operating OT and causing quite a stir with the nurses, I don’t mind telling you.”

  Keon’s lips pulled into a straight line. He understood that they felt the need to support Rhone. Everyone liked Samantha and was worried about her, but time was of the essence. They needed to find Beckie.

  The initial mistrust he’d had against Samantha, had started to dwindle the day she had saved Rhone from a shot by another sniper; the day she’d informed them who Bulldog was, it completely vaporized. It was then that they all understood her hesitation in disclosing his identity to them. None of them would have guessed a man, who they had deemed a friend, could have such a psychotic side. She had been right to be scared and weary. Someone, who didn’t harbor any regret for taking a child away from her father, wasn’t only heartless—he was dangerous too.

  Dread had crept over him like an icy chill, numbing his brain, when he’d watched the van drive off, carrying his little girl further and further away. The bastard, Adam Baxter, who had pretended to be their friend, had taken his daughter, Beckie. Again. Like he’d done, unbeknownst to anyone, six years ago.

  Six fucking years! While I lived in a limbo. Dead and empty inside.

  He found his friends, Lance Talbot, Max Shaw and Jack Blackmore, up in arms in the waiting area in front of the operating room. They were huddled around Max, who was furiously working on his laptop.

  “Got him!” He rumbled excitedly.

  “Where is the motherfucker?” Lance wanted to know. “Let’s go. Bracus, Ruark and Courtney are on their way here for Keon, Rhone and Samantha. Time is of the essence. We have to corner the bastard.”

  “Baxter? Did you find him?”

  The three men looked up with surprise stamped on their faces.

  “Jeesuz, Ethan, isn’t he supposed to be in bed for at least a couple of days?” The censure was evident in Jack’s voice, as was the look he slanted Ethan’s way.

  “You’re welcome to try and keep him contained,” Ethan shrugged it off.

  “Enough of the chit-chat. Where is the fucker?” Keon barked.

  “I noted the registration number of the van as they drove off. It was a rental. I pulled some strings to obtain the built-in GPS link from the car rental company,” Max informed Keon. “The van has been stationary for the past twenty minutes. I’m just waiting for the satellite link I hacked into, to kick in.”

  “Why? Let’s go. I’m not giving that man another chance to steal my daughter from me.” Keon found it difficult to contain the fury that raged inside him. He spoke with a coldness none of them had heard before. “I don't just want to kill the bastard. I want to put him in a pit and shovel dirt over him slowly until his goddamn mouth is full of muck. Then I want to look him in the eye and laugh while he suffocates to death.”

  “We’ll each have a shovel alongside you, mate. He’ll pay for what he’s done,” Jack imparted.

  “The area the van appears to be, is on the 642, Yates Ford Road, just past the bridge over the Bull Run river. They must’ve taken back roads to Charlottesville. There’s nothing there, except for the Bull Run Marina park. There’s no reason to stop there, not for this long and this time of night. Let’s just wait and . . . ah, here we go. Lemme enter the coordinates, yes! There it . . . shit, it looks like that van is hugging a tree, Keon,” Max confirmed what they were all looking at.

  Keon was already stomping toward the exit. The others didn’t hesitate and sprinted after him—Ethan included, who barked instructions to the director of nursing on his way out. “When Rhone’s brother arrives, see that he is taken to the operating room waiting area, immediately.”

  “Of course, Doctor Brodie,” the tall brunette responded. Ethan frowned. Something about her tickled a memory, other than the usual tight bun her hair was caught in, at the back of her head and the green tortoiseshell glasses resting on her nose. Where had he seen her outside of the clinic? He shrugged it off. There were more important things to focus on at present.

  * * * * * * * *

  Keon watched the bonfire, hoping it would swallow the rage churning inside him. The heat was scorching, ordering him to take a few steps backward, but he didn’t. He watched, with sightless eyes, his posture square to the flames.

  A red, orange and yellow ball of rage roared upward, eating its way through the wood pyramid at its base—similar to what he was feeling inside. Plumes of grey were buffeted into the night sky, carried by the chilly wind—an indication of an early winter. Ashen debris glided silently away from the smoke into the dark sky.

  Like most nights, this was where he’d stay until the glowing embers died, until the wind blew cold once more. He felt at home when the world slept, faux solitude, no need for a mask of docility and cordiality.

  “Relax, Baloo. There’s only us,” he soothed the big Tibetan Mastiff that pushed his nose into his hand. He’d always been able to read Keon’s emotions. Beckie had named the dog after the big bear character, Baloo, in the animated movie, Jungle Book. He had been two years old when the tragedy had struck.

  Earlier today, Keon had driven like a madman, desperate to get to the site where Max had found the van. His gut instinct had warned him they would find nothing, but he had been impelled to get there as fast as he could, nonetheless.

  Baloo growled and shook his head. His mane shone in the blaze of the fire. He stood as tall as Keon’s waist and could very easily be mistaken for a lion, if not for his russet coat. He growled again and stared over the fire into the dense trees on the outer edge of his estate that bordered Club Devil’s Cove and Rhone’s property.

  “We’ll go in soon, Baloo,” Keon promised with a deep grunt. Baloo stared at him, his ears pricked as he looked toward the trees once again and then yawned. He stretched, shook himself a
nd circled several times before dropping to the ground at Keon’s feet.

  Keon’s eyes hardened like the surface of a frozen lake, robbing them of their usual warmth as he recalled the despair he’d felt when they’d arrived at the accident scene. His shoulders had slumped as he took into account the splotches of red on the front seat, the shattered window covered in blood, where someone’s head had clearly broken through on impact. At that moment it had felt like everything in his life had lost importance—life, death, and pain, none of it mattered anymore.

  Not without his precious little daughter. He’d held her in his arms, so briefly; experienced the joy of finding her alive, six years after accepting that she’d died with her mother, only to lose her again just as quickly.

  After their death, he’d lived in a void. The darkness had consumed everything and left him feeling nothing—empty; nothing beyond the hollowness of his empty soul. He still resented Amelia’s parents for cremating their bodies and having the funeral before he was released from hospital. They could’ve waited. Two more days and he would’ve had the opportunity to say goodbye to his cherished family.

  He’d disappeared for two years then and to this day he cringed at the things he had done during that time. Life had little meaning to him and he’d became a sought-after assassin, or if he had to be honest, a mercenary. He hadn’t even cared if it was the good or the bad paying for his service; as long as it served the purpose of his life—to make him forget.

  Until Rhone found him in a drug infested hovel in Mexico and saved him from complete self-destruction. Keon owed him his life and it was time he repaid that debt and assured Rhone that he had stopped blaming him a long time ago. Keon was grateful for Rhone, who’d kept him alive and looked after him during those two years he’d taken to work through his grief.

  Adam Baxter was the one to blame; him and no one else—including Samantha, or Ace—her sniper codename for the CIA. It didn’t even matter anymore that her innocence hadn’t been proven as far as the shooting of his wife was concerned.