She's a Spitfire (Tough Love Book 2)

by Chloe Liese

  I needed explicit details, Martin had said. An unmistakable confession. I gestured for his cigarettes. He raised his eyebrows but pushed off the edge of the bar with a clove. I opened my mouth slowly, seductively, and watched his pupils dilate as I did. He set the cigarette between my lips and lit it for me.

  “Merci,” I whispered as I pulled the cigarette away and exhaled. I slid my hand up his thigh, before letting it drop, appalled by myself but knowing I needed to get his defenses down. He smiled and stroked my cheek, then kissed me again. I wanted to retch.

  I pulled away because if he stuck his tongue down my throat again, I really would vomit. “How did you plan to…take him out?” I took a hit of the cigarette again, and exhaled through my nose without flinching, even though it burned like hell. “I should be ashamed, wanting to hear how you hurt the man I was with—”

  “He wasn’t right for you. You don’t need to feel ashamed. You’re with the man you belong to now.”

  He was bloody delusional, just like Martin had said. I swallowed my disgust and smiled coyly. Eyed him up and down, trying to convey seduction as I sat surrounded in a cloud of smoke. He pulled a chair from against the wall and sat facing me, our knees almost touching.

  “What matters is that now, we’re together,” he said.

  I smiled as I took another long hit of the cigarette and exhaled.. His eyes raked down my body and blazed, looking hungry.

  “Well? How did you do it?” I asked.

  He stared at me, fascinated. “I set a few of my men on him.” He leaned back, tipping the chair on its back legs as he reached for another cigarette and his cognac from the bar. “Apparently, your man put up a pretty good fight, so Louis had to crack him on the head with a fire extinguisher when he got dangerously close to making an escape.”

  He chuckled to himself, lit the cig, and pulled it away. “They had instructions to beat him to death. But after he fought back, it was down to Louis, who had to settle for a good bash on the head because your security was coming.”

  I watched his cognac disappear by half as he drank deeply.

  “Seems I overestimated his strength,” he muttered. He set his drink down on the floor next to him. “But in the end, he got it good enough, non? Nothing good comes of a head injury like that, not that it matters to you anymore. Does it, you little vixen?”

  I shrugged and tried to smile demurely. “No, it doesn’t.”

  “I’m very glad you’ve come around.” His hand slid up my thigh and he gripped it roughly.

  “I am, too.” I tried to keep my body calm. I’d gotten everything I needed to nail the bastard. He was going to be in jail this time tomorrow, and now I had to get out of here in one piece. But judging by how predatorily his hand was grazing my upper thigh, it wasn’t going to be very easy.

  He kissed me hard, his hand groped my chest roughly. He looked down, appreciating my cleavage. Then his hand picked up my necklace and his fingers traced the camera.

  “I have a sort of obsession with gemstones, sirène. Did you know that?”

  My pulse skyrocketed. “No, I didn’t.”

  His breath quieted, and his face turned grim as he inspected it closer. “An unusual piece—not a stone I’ve seen before.” His cold eyes flicked up to me. “What is this?”

  “An onyx,” I answered evenly.

  His eyes scanned it as he turned the camera in his hand. “Really.” His voice was flat.

  He twisted the necklace in his hand, blocking off my airway as the sturdy chain cut into my neck. “You. Fucking. Liar.”

  He stared wildly around the room, eyeing the door then looking back at me as I thrashed at him, struggling to break his grip on the chain that was suffocating me.

  “A camera? You set me up.”

  Facing death, priorities became very clear. My entire focus tunneled into how I had to fight for my life or else drift toward the light that was slowly creeping into my vision, blocking out my awareness as my hearing faded and my body felt weightless.

  “I’ll kill you, and then I’ll fucking finish him off myself. You’ll rot in hell together, you cunt!”

  That perked me up. Not Zed. No one was hurting him. Zed was innocent in this. He deserved a happy life, even if it wasn’t with me. I locked an arm around Alexandre’s neck and threw myself to the side, off my chair, toppling to the ground and bringing him with me.

  He slammed his fist into my face, and I felt my nose break. Then his hand clasped my windpipe, and I flailed, pinned by his weight. Finally, I got an arm up and chopped across his forearms, over and over, until I managed to knock his grip loose. He’d caught me unarmed twice already in my life, but this time I’d come prepared.

  In the moment that his balance was off, I freed the small knife I’d stashed in my garter far up my thigh, and wrenched it through the air. Aimed for his shoulder, hoping to cause him enough damage that he’d be unable to choke me again. But he lunged at me that same moment, his eyes widening as my little dagger arced forward and sunk deep into his neck.

  I screamed for air as his blood poured over my hands and down my arms.

  Falling back, I gasped madly, hacking and coughing. Alexandre’s body dropped heavily onto me, his blood soaking my clothes and skin. The memory of him pressing into me years ago converged with the present of his dead weight, and I needed him off me. I tried to push him, but he was heavy, and I was tired. So impossibly tired.

  As my vision dimmed, I caught the door bursting open. Tom and Marc thundering in, Marc bending over me and yanking Alexandre back, Tom shouting into the phone, calling for reinforcements, his gun training toward the door.

  “Ms. MacGregor! Nairne!” Marc tapped my face, testing my awareness, but I drifted deeper in the water of unconsciousness, into its shadowy depth. “Shit, she’s not breathing!” His face leaned closer, then I was senseless.

  Twenty-Nine

  Nairne

  Marc revived me. I’d asphyxiated—passed out from lack of oxygen—and the woman providing me first aid at the police station said that had Marc not flooded my body with critical oxygen, I might have joined Zed in a coma, thanks to hypoxia. I’d managed to defend myself but failed to preserve my life. Sounded like my luck.

  I gave my statement to the police, with Detective Martin and a lawyer of her suggestion by my side. They’d uploaded the video footage and it spoke for itself, not that it mattered anymore, because Alexandre was dead now. I’d need to come in for further statements and some questions sometime soon, but Martin and the officials watching the video said that my motive was abundantly clear. Self-defense.

  I couldn’t believe it. Self-defense or not, I’d killed someone.

  On the drive back to the hospital, I started shaking, as shock set in and tears poured down my face. Crying made my nose hurt but even that pain felt far off, as a surreal numbness left only the sensation of being cold and shivering. Detective Martin, though she was a woman and thus presumably taught by her culture to embody things motherly and comforting, didn’t seem to possess a nurturing bone in her body. Her pinched face betrayed her discomfort at my emotions, though she did manage to pat my hand a few times and tell Marc and Tom to hurry up.

  I’d killed someone. With my little knife that Granda gave me on my eleventh birthday.

  “A lass should always have a form of protection on her,” he’d said, placing the tiny dagger in my hand. It was sheathed in ornate stamped leather that was old and worn, but when I’d pulled the blade out, Granda leaned back. I could see the blade was sharp, and it glinted in the sun that spilled into the kitchen.

  “I dinna think I want it, Granda.” I’d turned it over gingerly in my hand.

  “Nonsense,” Nan had chimed in, setting fresh bread on the table between us, then plonking down a crock of butter. “Every Scotswoman has one, especially in these parts. Think, Nairne, when you’re alone? Caught unawares? Every woman needs to be equipped to protect herself.” Nan had patted her calf, then stood and turned back toward the work top.

/>   I’d gaped at my grandparents. “Nan has one?”

  Granda had waved his hand as if my surprise could not be more ridiculous. “Och, aye. Keeps it right inside her stocking.” He’d sat forward and grasped my hand. “Dinna fash, lass. I’ll teach you how to use it proper. You’ll know exactly what you’re doing.”

  “You’ll not regret it, Nairne, I promise you,” Nan had muttered into my hair as she leaned in and kissed my head soundly.

  How right she’d been.

  In the emergency department at the hospital, they ran a slew of tests to be safe, and Elodie held my hand. A doctor examined the bruising along my neck, confirmed my broken nose, which he painfully straightened out, then wrapped me in warm blankets to offset the cold of shock. I was released at that point to go back to Zed, and was relieved to find two tall Italian men staring down their noses at me when I arrived.

  Brando and Gianno. Teo sat near Zed’s bed. They had all made it sooner than I thought they would, though logically it made sense they were here by now. I’d called them as soon as I got to the hospital with Zed last night, and of course they’d taken the first flight available. But my focus had been tunneled into the task I’d had to accomplish, and I’d lost track of time.

  I knew I looked thoroughly banged up, swimming in oversized hospital scrubs and blankets since my dress had been soaked with blood, but their disapproval seemed a little much, even for my bedraggled looks. One particular set of eyes burned into me—my father’s.

  “What. Were. You. Thinking,” Gianno gritted, his jaw ticking as he stormed toward me.

  He stopped when we were toe to toe. Gianno dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around me roughly. “You could have been killed, tesora. I could have lost you.”

  “I’m all right.” I wrapped my arms around him, stroked his hair. I had nothing more to say except what he saw in my eyes when we pulled apart.

  “You’re lucky is what you are.” Gianno stood and frowned, looking like he was swallowing a lot of other admonishing words. I could tell the conversation wasn’t over, but it was clear to him that I needed a minute.

  “Perhaps,” I admitted. He stroked my hair and backed up so I could be next to Zed. I needed so badly to touch him, to see he was still safe. I clasped his hand in mine. “I know it was risky, but this was the only way we could think to end this madness.”

  I took a long, unsteady breath and my eyes blurred with tears.

  Elodie came in and set her hand on my shoulder as she leaned down. “I think it’s time I go. You have your family here, and you’re safe.”

  I turned and hugged her. Kissed her hair. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

  She squeezed me in a hard hug. “Yes, you could have. But I’m glad I was here to help how I could. Be well, ma fille. I’ll call soon.”

  With Elodie gone, it was me in a room full of stern Italians, staring in concern between me and Zed. Zed’s head was now free of the gauze, but otherwise he looked like death warmed over. I set myself next to his bed. Gently ran my hand through his wavy hair, which was longer than I’d ever seen it, except for the spot they’d shorn to stitch him up.

  Brando clasped Gianno’s shoulder and muttered quietly to him while Teo continued watching Zed from the other side of the bed, chin resting on his linked hands. “I’m glad you’re safe, Nairne, ” Teo said. He shook his head and tipped his chin toward Zed. “Hell of a risky maneuver, though. He’s going to be pissed at you when he wakes up and hears what you did.”

  I managed a weak laugh. “Oh, I know.” I peered at Zed, ran my hand along his forearm, then back down to his hand and squeezed. “But I don’t regret it.”

  “Nairne.” Gianno sat on the edge of the bed, folded his arms. “I’m sorry I got angry. I’m not practiced at this. You’re precious to me, and I was upset and frightened by what you did.”

  I patted his hand. “I know, Gianno. And I’m sorry I scared you. What I did was risky, but completely necessary. I couldn’t possibly let the man who hurt us both go free. Especially knowing what happened to Zed is because of me.”

  “Don’t blame yourself, Nairne. It was not your fault.” Brando looked down at me over his glasses, smiling softly. “You are brave. You risked yourself to protect your love.” He glanced over to Zed, and I saw the pain etched on his face. “I’m going to go hunt down his attending physician, settle my mind on a few things, all right?”

  All three of us nodded and returned to our vigil.

  Brando got some answers from the team when they understood his credentials, and folded him deeper into Zed’s neurological care. His brain swelling went down steadily, which gave them confidence to bring him out, and after two days of slowly weaning Zed off the sedative, his brain activity picked up. I gasped when I felt his hand squeeze mine, causing Brando to shoot up from his seat to the machine. Narrowing his eyes, he analyzed it in true neurosurgeon mode.

  “He should come to soon.” Brando smiled with relief before his face fell into cautious concern. “Nairne, it might not be pretty, he—”

  I squeezed his hand with my free one, still dazed at the fact that Zed’s hand had flexed around mine. “I’m familiar with how upsetting coming out of sedatives can be. I’ve been through it. I’ll be all right.” I pulled Zed’s hand to mine and kissed it. “I’m just glad he’s coming back.”

  Zed’s eyes fluttered as he groaned.

  “Zed, don’t fret. It’s all right.” I kissed him gently on the cheek.

  He moaned louder, his face grimacing. The monitors started squawking and I looked over, tried to infer what I could. I was no medical professional, but I knew what an elevated heart rate was. His was through the roof.

  Brando left the room to ensure Zed’s care team came immediately.

  “Zed,” I said firmly, right into his ear. Resting one hand in his hair, I set the other firmly over his heart. “Calm down, love. You’re waking up from a coma. You got a good knock on the head and they just put you under for a bit, so you could heal.”

  His arms shook like he was trying to thrash but didn’t have the coordination to do it.

  “I’m here. Nairne’s here.” Soon the alarm stopped, and I looked up. He was dropping steadily to a reasonable range again. I sighed and smoothed his hair back. “Nairne’s here. Shh,” I whispered, kissing his cheek, then his jaw, then his neck, loving gentling touches that embodied a reality between us that didn’t require he know the time or his location. Our love was independent of any of it. I knew that. His calmly beating heart said he did, too.

  His eyes flicked open and stayed that way. Slowly, I brought myself up to my elbow so I could see him, cupping his cheek in my hand. He shifted his head ever so slightly and his eyes widened as they took me. Water pooled in them, and when his eyes shut, tears slipped down his cheeks. I kissed them away.

  He flexed his neck as if trying to figure out the ventilation. “You’re intubated right now, but they’ll get it out soon.”

  He squeezed his eyes and groaned again.

  Soon a flurry of medical professionals burst in, and with Brando’s help, I slid off the bed onto my wheelchair, keeping a firm grasp on Zed’s hand as they worked on him. He made a noise when I moved away, and the alarm went off. But as my hand squeezed his hard, he quieted, and the alarm stopped again.

  The nurse carefully removed the tube, earning a disgruntled hack from Zed as she did. A string of brief assessments by his doctor, more prodding to ensure he was breathing stably on his own, then the room dwindled to a single nurse. An oxygen canula was strung on his nose, a few monitors were moved around on his body, then the nurse slipped out, leaving Brando, Zed and me alone.

  I watched Brando, sniffling and palming his eyes as he held Zed’s hand and muttered in Italian to him.

  Zed coughed, then rasped a soft and barely discernable, “Nairne.”

  Brando sighed in relief and kissed Zed on the head. “Oh, thank god.”

  “What?” I asked worriedly.

  “If he rec
ognizes you, can say your name already—he’s going to be fine.” He wiped his eyes again. “He’s going to be fine.”

  Looking immensely unburdened, Brando made to leave. At the door he turned back. “I’ll be nearby, if you need me.” He smiled, tapped the door, then pulled it shut behind him.

  Zed’s eyes were rimmed with exhaustion, but they locked on me.

  “Mind if I join you?” I asked.

  He craned his head gingerly and managed what you could construe as a smile. I took it as a yes and pressed the button, lowering him so I could slide on. Once I’d settled in against him, his eyes slipped closed, and his face looked peaceful.

  “Zed?” I whispered, and his eyes flicked open and slid over to me. “Can you squeeze my hand?”

  He did nothing, just stared at me for a long moment. I tried not to panic at why he hadn’t responded. Then out of the blue he smiled wider, and it was the sun bursting through a cloudy day.

  “Which one?” he croaked. His eyes slipped shut again, and he sighed in satisfaction.

  I threw my arms around him and kissed him soundly on the lips. “Cheeky bastard.”

  Thirty

  Zed

  If one more person asked me “does it hurt?” or “can I get you anything?” in English or Italian, I was going to punch a wall. I needed a recorded answer at this point. Yes, it fucking hurts, the back of my head was cracked open. And yes, you can. You can get the fuck out of my face.

  Apparently, withdrawal from days of sedatives made you cranky. Dad condescendingly reminded me of this when I got shaky and acted like a petulant teenager weaning off crack. Which was frequently.

  Lucas came back from the bicycling trip he’d been on in France, of all places, and checked in on me here and there. Gianno and Teo had flown back to Genoa, both satisfied I wasn’t going to die on them. Teo had promised he’d be back when I was healed and ready for a good brotherly ass-kicking in the ring. Dad had stuck around because he was a mother hen and I was his first chickling.