Storm

by Jo Raven

  I step out, and Raylin is already hurrying around the car to reach me. Taking her hand, I walk with her to the emergencies entrance.

  Blood. Gore. Death. Blurry memories of twisted bodies, bones sticking out of mangled flesh, their eyes open, faces twisted in a grimace of violence and death.

  My parents’ faces.

  “Storm.” Raylin tugs on my hand, worry etched on her fine features. “Come on.”

  Didn’t realize I’d stopped walking.

  What I want is to run. Take off running, run until my lungs burn and my muscles tremble. Until I can empty my mind.

  Instead I nod and follow her. Need to snap out of it. Guess the explosion back at the apartment shook me worse than I thought—and now this.

  If Rook doesn’t make it…

  The doors slide open in front of us, then close behind us. Nope, haven’t made it out of the strange daze. I’m walking through blood, and every face staring back at me is the face of a corpse, gray and open-mouthed, crimson dripping down their necks, soaking their clothes, and then—

  “Mr. Jordan. This way, please.”

  I blink at the tiny triage nurse. “We’re here for—”

  “Mr. Roderick Carter. We have been expecting you. You are on the list of next-of-kin.”

  “Roderick Carter?” Raylin whispers. “That’s Rook?”

  “Yeah.” So much I need to tell her. So much I never thought I had to recall.

  Because I didn’t think she was staying. Didn’t think I could keep her. Still not sure she’ll want to stay, even if we manage to get the triad off our backs, because maybe I’m not crazy after all, and the danger is real and much worse than I thought.

  I never got to keep much, except money from deals with the devil and jumbled, bloodied memories. Never got to keep people I love, except for my two friends, and now one of them is lying in hospital because of me, and I don’t even know if he’ll pull through. The thought turns my insides to ice.

  Fuck. We fall behind the nurse, winding through too-bright hallways, past open doors and exhausted people. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  Yeah, that about sums my thoughts—for this day, this year and my whole damn life.

  ***

  “He’ll be okay,” Raylin tells me for what has to be the twentieth time. “You heard the doctors.”

  I’m leaning against the door frame to Rook’s private room, arms folded over my chest. The bandaged wound on my back burns, and my leg throbs, and it’s a background music, a symphony of misery.

  Rook will be okay. I repeat the words in my head, forcing them to sink through the morass. He broke his collarbone and arm, and more importantly he banged his head pretty good, but he’s showing signs of waking up. The doctors are confident he’ll be awake in time for the evening news.

  Troy Jordan’s limo went off the road today. Hit a lamppost. Driver dead. No news about the infamous Troy Jordan himself.

  Until he walked out of the hospital, and everyone knew he was fine.

  If they haven’t swung by to ask and know the answer already. If they aren’t waiting outside to finish him off. Because, hey, how much patience can this fucking killer have, making murder attempt after murder attempt look like an accident? How long until that patience runs out and I get a real big motherfucking bomb planted in my car or apartment, or a sniper takes me out?

  I bet an examination of the limo will show brake failure and nothing suspicious.

  Why aren’t I dead yet? Is their plan to get me into a madhouse, first?

  Shit. I rake a hand through my short hair, tugging, the sharp pinpoints of pain a welcome distraction. Raylin comes closer, and I lunge for her hand, pull her to me. Warm, soft, bright. Right now she’s the only constant, the only anchor in a world spinning out of control.

  “We’re going to a hotel,” I hear myself say. “Until we decide what to do.”

  “And you’ll tell me the rest?” she asks softly. “About the roses and the secrets.”

  My throat is closing. Rook is bruised and battered lying there on the bed, one arm in a cast and sling, unaware.

  “I will.” No point in putting it off any longer. “But first we need to see about the triad.”

  “And how are we gonna do that?” If anything, her voice has gone even softer, and fear shines through her eyes.

  “Hawk.”

  “What can Hawk do?”

  “The real question is,” a deep voice says from behind us, “is there anything Hawk can’t do? And to save you the trouble of thinking about this, the answer is no, not really. Right, Storm?”

  Bastard. He’s right fucking there, winking at us, blond hair sticking up like a hedgehog, and a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

  And I’m so damn glad he’s back, because he’s right. If anyone can pull this off—if anyone can deal with the triad and convince them to get off our backs, make a deal and let Raylin go—then he’s the one.

  ***

  “Tonight we rest,” Hawk is saying as we head out of the hospital, round a personnel side entrance, hoping to avoid any paparazzi who may have gotten whiff of this new story. “I send out feelers to see who I could talk to, and tomorrow you go and arrange for the money we will need.”

  Right. It’s a bit more than I can get from an ATM. Damn, I have to go to a bank. Talk about making myself into an easy target. And that thought leads to this one:

  “Do you believe me now, asshole?” I jab a finger at Hawk, and he dodges the jab easily, dancing out of the way. “About the attacks?”

  Rook would believe me if he was awake and able to think.

  Dammit, Rook. He did wake up before we left, but he was instantly pumped full of sedatives and painkillers until he was out like a light once more, and we were shooed out.

  “I’m… reserving judgment.” Hawk glances at my bodyguards who are following us through the hospital at a discreet distance, brows heavy over his eyes. “Let’s say you’re right, and this brake failure wasn’t natural, then—”

  “Natural. You think my cars aren’t checked regularly?”

  “You were away, Storm. Fucking hell, lots could have happened without your supervision, know what I mean?” He lifts his hands and turns back to stride toward the automatic doors. “I’m just saying. You may be right, and we’d better be careful.”

  Well, that’s something, I guess.

  “You’re staying at my place,” he goes on.

  No fucking way am I doing this again.

  “The hell we are. We’re staying at a damn hotel, where we don’t put you in danger, too.” I push past him, Raylin barely keeping up, heading to our green car. “See how it turned out for Rook.”

  “But sending me to the Chinese mafia isn’t dangerous? What’s the matter with you?” Hawk grabs me before I reach the car and spins me—and Raylin who’s holding my hand—around. “You think I’m scared, asshole?”

  “Maybe you should be, for a change.” I shake myself free, my pulse thumping inside my skull. “Because it’s all falling apart. Because Rook’s in the hospital, and someone’s after me and what if it has to do with what I told you all those years ago—”

  “Shut it.” Hawk’s light eyes dart from me to Raylin and back. “She doesn’t know.”

  “I’m gonna tell her my secret, man. Not yours. So it’s none of your business.”

  “You said you didn’t know who might be after you,” she hisses. “And now you do?”

  Damn. “No, I still don’t. Ray…”

  “And how would your secret have to do with any of this?” Hawk waves his hands in the air like racing flags. “You’re not even sure about what you remember—”

  “Hell, Hawk,” I grind out from between clenched teeth. “I don’t fucking know. But what else is there? A random hotel, that’s where we’re checking in, and pray to God nobody will follow us.”

  He shakes his head, disgusted.

  He’s definitely unhappy with me. Hey, he should take a number. The line of people unhappy with me is growing long�
��though ‘unhappy’ might be too mild a term.

  “Fine,” he spits out the word and pulls two things from the pockets of his jacket—a handgun and a prepaid card phone, which he hands to me. “Have it your way. Meanwhile, I’ll see what I can do about the triad. She only owes the money, right? That’s all.”

  Oh fuck. He doesn’t know the new development. Raylin shivers at my side, and I tug her closer, as if that way I can protect her.

  “As a matter of fact, something else came up. Listen…”

  ***

  Ten minutes later Hawk is cursing under his breath, his face red, and not in a flattering way. I mean, I like it when Raylin blushes—holy shit, just the thought of it gets me hard and aching—but on Hawk it only tells me one thing: he’s two seconds from either self-combusting or punching me in the face.

  Or maybe both.

  Probably both.

  “She did what?” he finally manages, and dammit, we’re still on the sidewalk, in plain view of everyone.

  Raylin moans low in her throat, and I pull her all the way into my arms. “You heard me. Can you do something about it?”

  “The fuck, Storm. This isn’t a card game. If she killed one of theirs…”

  “Be quiet, goddammit.” My heart is slamming against my ribs. This has to work. “Can you, or can’t you? I thought nothing was beyond you.”

  “Yeah, well, that was before you dropped this bomb on me.”

  Our driver is standing next to the car in the alley, pretending not to look at us. The bodyguards are standing between us and their car. My skin crawls. There’s an itch on the back of my head, as if I can feel the red dot of a rifle aimed at me.

  There’s nobody else here, dammit. We’re in a narrow alley with a smell of cat piss where hospital staff come out to smoke and make phone calls. We’ll be safe for another two minutes.

  “Can you do it or not?” I’m not staying out in the open a second longer. “Tell me now, and I’ll see what to do.”

  “You can’t do this without me.” He’s waving his hands again. Hawk rarely gets nervous, and this is one of those rare times. “You know it.”

  “Are you in, Hawk?” Because he’s right. He’s the only person I know—and trust—with connections with the triads.

  “Fuck you.” He glares at me, makes me wait. Then he sighs. “Yeah, goddammit, I’m in. Need to save your fucking ass—again. Like I have a choice.”

  “We all have choices,” I remind him as I open the car door and gently push Raylin inside.

  Playing my last card and hoping Hawk won’t let me down.

  “And I choose to make sure you and your little girlfriend keep breathing. But you know what, man. That’s not a fucking choice at all. Like I’d choose anything else.”

  With that he, well, storms away, leaving me light-headed with hope and fear, and Christ, I really hope I haven’t just signed the death sentence of yet another brother, my other best friend. I have so few real friends I really should be more fucking careful.

  But despite what I told Hawk, it’s not like I have a choice, either. How can I leave Raylin in the hands of the triad?

  I can’t, and that’s a fact.

  RAYLIN

  Everything’s a whirlwind right now, moving too fast for me to keep up. To think that I considered traveling all over the country as I ran from my pursuers, reaching as far south as Florida, to be a wild ride. Breaking into a mansion, seeing the ocean, watching a handsome man jog down the beach…

  And now here I am, in Baltimore, with a bad-boy millionaire and his demented friends, trying to figure out a way to get the triad off my back and wondering what his secrets might be. The secrets that may or may not be the reason behind the attempts on his life.

  Attempts everyone else sees as accidents. Attempts not even his best friends regard as such. But I believe him. I’m done doubting. And this secret he says he’s about to tell me… If my jangled nerves are any indication, it’s going to be a big one, an important one.

  One that might change the whole picture. Not because I’m smarter than he is, or better at solving riddles. No, I’m just more suspicious, made wary by life. Plus, whatever it is, it doesn’t matter. We’ll weather this together.

  I’m staying with him, and I’ll do my best to protect him, until he sends me away. And even then… even then, I know it, my heart will stay with him.

  Chapter Seventeen

  STORM

  I have the driver drop us off at the first decent hotel I lay eyes on and tell him to drive back without us. I also tell him not to give our location to anyone. Hell, his pay is so good I have to hope he’ll do as I say, but experience tells me I shouldn’t hold my breath.

  Trust no one, that’s what my uncle taught me, and I hate to admit it, but he was right.

  Except when it comes to Raylin. Everything changes when it comes to her. The laws of physics and the universe go out the window.

  I’m that fucked. No wonder both Rook and Hawk seemed uneasy with my actions. It’s not every day I vanish into thin air for months, then return with an unknown girl who also just happens to be a ticking bomb for a triad.

  Yeah. No wonder my friends are pissed as all hell with me.

  Sucks to be them right now, stuck with a friend like me, but I can’t find any trace of regret in me. Especially when she looks up at me as we walk up to the front desk of the hotel, her warm gaze grounding me.

  I consider whether I should give a false name, but when the receptionist gives me a broad smile and says “Welcome, Mr. Jordan,” I guess the question is moot.

  I don’t think I’ve stayed in this hotel before. Not that it matters.

  Raylin’s wide eyes jump from the man to me and back. She hasn’t really grasped it yet, though she will eventually: everyone knows my face. Probably how we were found back in Boca Raton. The gardener or a passerby saw me, recognized me and ran to sell the story to the newspapers.

  Happens all the time. When I ran, three years back, I grew a beard and wore a hoodie or a baseball cap—or both—to hide who I was. Then I realized a good disguise is ninety percent attitude, so I changed the way I talked, and the way I walked, and suddenly I was someone else.

  Storm. Definitely not Troy.

  The hotel manager appears through a glass door, rubbing his hands together in glee. “Mr. Jordan, what an honor,” he gushes. “You will of course have the white suite.”

  He waves an imperial hand at the receptionist who prepares two key cards for us immediately. I’d laugh if my insides weren’t a knot of nerves.

  “Anything you need,” the manager croons, “we’re here for you. And may I say you look fine, Mr. Jordan. So pleased to welcome you back home.”

  Home.

  Hiding a wince, I take the cards and nod. I wonder if my name’s on the news yet in connection to the ‘accident’ that landed Rook in the hospital. I wonder if as soon as the elevator doors close behind us, the manager will turn to the receptionist and tell him to call a reporter, let them know I’m here.

  Christ. I didn’t miss this shit. At all.

  The elevator opens directly into the suite, like it does to my penthouse apartment. Shit, the apartment. I wonder if the cleaning crew fixed and cleaned everything.

  As if it makes any difference. As if I’m ever going back there without reliving the moment of the explosion and the shard slicing into me.

  The wound on my back gives a sympathetic twinge.

  “Oh my God.” Raylin walks into the suite, lifting her hands in the air. “Oh my fucking God. This is awesome.”

  Is it?

  I glance around the place. White furniture, white carpets, white walls with pale gray photos in—wait for it—white frames.

  Ah. The White Suite. How imaginative.

  “It’s not bad,” I concede, stripping off the jacket of my dark suit and throwing it on the white sofa. It lands among white cushions.

  Jesus.

  “Not bad?” Raylin turns in a circle, that pretty mouth hanging open
. “Not bad?”

  I snort and wander in search of a bathroom. I sometimes forget she’s not used to this. The luxury, the ease. It’s what I ran away from, what I’m used to. And dammit, her excitement makes me grin, despite the darkness swirling inside my head like ink.

  “Look at the TV!” she squeals, and exhausted as I am, my damn leg and back throbbing, I chuckle as I wash my hands and splash my face with cold water. “And there are chocolates! Filled with rum!”

  “Some rum would hit just the spot,” I agree quietly, patting my face dry.

  “And the bed! It’s huge!”

  I shake my head and start stripping. “I’ll bet.”

  “There’s a frigging bottle of champagne!”

  “On the bed? How sloppy of them.” I push down my pants and briefs, then my socks and I toe off my shoes, stepping out of the whole pile at once.

  “No, stupid, in an ice-box thingy.”

  I laugh. This girl… “An ice bucket?”

  “I know what an ice bucket is, smartass. This thing is made of glass and is shaped like a flower. Wait. Hey, the tongs are also shaped like flowers.”

  Really. I just hope the champagne is good. I could use some, though I hope the mini-bar contains something stronger.

  The water runs warm, and I step under the spray with a deep sigh. Cranking up the heat, I bow my head, letting the water sluice through my hair and beat on the knotted muscles of my back. The bandage is getting wet, but I don’t care. I let my breath slow, feel how the air fills my lungs, expanding them, then leaves in an exhale.

  If I could just crawl into bed and forget this day… Maybe by the time I’m out of the shower, I’ll find Raylin curled on the bed and fast asleep.

  But then of course, on the heels of that thought come ideas of how I could wake her up again. I’d kiss her body, her neck, her face until her lashes flutter. Then I’d undress her, slowly, pull that white tunic over her pretty tits and play with them, rub them and lick them and make her nipples tighten, then I’d suck on them until she’s wide awake and moaning my name.

  Jesus, I’m so hard already at the images playing out in my head I’m about to shoot my load.