by Eve Langlais
As the adults rushed to act, she was passed around, not speaking, in her own world as her clothing—covered in blood from both her parents—was stripped from her.
She’d lost her home that night, too. Everything from that point forward changed because of two men. Assassins who had orders to remove both of Marina’s parents. They did so in front of a little girl eating her birthday cake.
Was it any wonder she had issues?
The assassins didn’t shoot her. They’d left a witness to their callousness. Even laughed as they went out the door while blood pumped from her parents’ bodies. Even at her young age, she’d known enough to dial for help.
Nothing could help. Even if the loss of blood hadn’t killed them, the bullet wounds would have.
Marina could have forgiven a proper hit. Her parents, as she learned, had skirted certain rules and made enemies. What she couldn’t forgive was the assassins giving a little girl nightmares. Because of them, she’d made a promise to her dying father that she would kill everyone who’d had a hand in his death.
But how far should it go?
She’d killed the original assassins. Then their team, which, two and a half decades later, had scattered around the globe. It actually worked in her favor. No one connected the dots.
However, their deaths didn’t erase the nightmares. Who had funded the killers? Some rich drug lord and his partner. They died, as did their left and right-hand men.
It should have been enough, yet she still heard her father’s raspy voice. “Avenge.”
What was left? Who’d trained them? What about going after the school that thought it was okay to train men to kill people in front of little girls? What kind of depraved curriculum were they hoping to achieve?
What of the companies that provided them cover?
How far does it need to go, Papa? When could she say enough?
She’d spent every penny she made on her vendetta and would need more to go on. That turned out to be simpler than bringing down the businesses without repercussion. She’d erected crime rings in the cities she needed to hit. It gave her dollars, a base of operations, and an attack force that didn’t link back to her. Although, it had gotten close recently.
She’d tangled with Bad Boy and only barely made it out. Darren never knew. Never even guessed that she was the mastermind of so many plots.
But I wasn’t behind the island. Someone else had gathered them all in that spot. And Sergei swore he had nothing to do with the helicopters.
Which meant there was another player. But would Darren suspect? Like everyone else, he’d blame everything on the Russians.
Whatever. It didn’t matter.
Except it does because I don’t want him to hate me. She just couldn’t explain why that was important.
The hospital stood bathed in light, and she had the taxi drop her off a block away. She had no clear plan other than getting inside unseen. That was the easy part. More difficult was figuring out how to get into the hospital records to find the location of the victim of the church bombing—which the news reported as terrorism-related.
It took finding a quiet station, the nurse having grabbed her phone and a tampon before leaving it unguarded on the third floor. Marina quickly slid into the warm seat and grumbled at the log-in screen. Lucky for her, there was one thing that most workplaces had in common. Some people couldn’t remember their passwords and…a peek under the desk didn’t show it, nor was there a sticky note in sight, but she found something taped under the keyboard.
She tapped one of the hand-scrawled streams of letters and numbers. In moments, she had a direction to go.
The church bombing victim had scored a private room on the fifth floor, but the file didn’t say much else. Just a general description, no name, and the notes on his condition were blank, citing, “see physician.”
It might not be Darren. She still had to see.
The fifth floor at this time of day was quiet, the nurses’ station at the far end of the hall and away from the door she wanted. A man leaned over the counter, chatting with the nurse.
The empty chair outside the door she sought probably belonged to him. The question remained, though, did anyone guard inside the room? If she were setting up the security, she would have someone.
Sneaking in wouldn’t work. She’d need a distraction.
The man at the counter laughed at something the nurse said and leaned down to whisper something. Whatever it was had her standing, giving a quick glance around, then scooting off with him into another room.
How kind of them. Now, for whoever guarded the room. How to get them to exit?
Marina took a moment to test a few knobs before she acted, opting for the simplest ploy. She pounded on the portal then dove through the door of the room across from it, shutting it quickly, the wadded cotton batting shoved into the latch hole keeping it from latching. Flattening herself against the wall, she held her breath, listening.
It didn’t take long to hear a masculine, “You see anything?”
“No, but Mason’s gone. I’ll check out in the hall. You stay with him.”
Two men. One of them gone. She waited until the steps receded before peeking. She saw the rear of a man at the end of the corridor, pausing at the nurses’ station before turning the corner. She skipped across the way, whipping open the door and shutting it quickly as someone said, “Hands up.”
Thank you for pinpointing your location. She turned and jabbed, the heel of her hand hitting the guy in the diaphragm. Then lacing her hands together, she swung them like a club at his head. He staggered. She raised her hands again, only to freeze at a voice.
“Hello, Marina. Looking for me?”
That sounded exactly like Darren behind her. Whereas, in front of her, lying in the bed, a still figure with the blanket drawn to the neck. Not Darren. Not even a real person. A bloody mannequin.
This is a setup!
She whirled, heart racing, and saw Darren, fully intact, still wearing parts of his tux, the white shirt, splattered with blood, gaping at the neck. His hair ruffled.
Then she got to see the angry mug of the man she’d taken down.
“You must be Ben,” she said to the hairy fellow nursing a few bruises. “I’ve read all about you.” Sergei had a few dossiers on the Bad Boy crew. He’d been known to headhunt for recruits.
“Please tell me I can kill her,” Ben growled.
“No killing, not yet,” Darren replied. “I need you to leave so Marina and I can have a chat.”
“I’m not leaving you alone with her. She’ll kill you.”
“She didn’t come here to kill me.”
“Don’t be so sure.” Marina was beginning to realize just how rash and stupid she was, running over here to see him.
“Leave. Now,” Darren barked when Ben would have argued.
“Don’t expect a eulogy from me if she decides to send you over the rainbow bridge.” Ben left, but she doubted he’d go far.
He’d already made his first mistake, though. He’d left her alone with Darren. Confusing things happened when they were together.
“You’re alive,” she said, brilliantly stating the obvious.
“I am, no thanks to you.”
“You should thank me, considering you look remarkably whole.”
“Don’t you dare twist this around. Did you or did you not have a hand in the bomb going off today?”
Killers couldn’t squirm when caught. She held firm. “It’s business.”
He advanced on her. “Is it business? Because I get the impression that I was supposed to die today. But someone saved me. Any idea who that was?”
Admit that she got cold feet? “I don’t know, but Sergei wants to throttle them. You ruined his plan.”
“His plan, or yours?”
More like her papa’s ghost’s. She shrugged as she backed away. “Does it matter?”
“I think it does. Wife.”
A shiver went through her. “If you’re not h
appy about it, we can divorce.”
“Don’t you mean annul? After all, we never consummated the marriage.”
She blinked at him. In all her planning, that had never crossed her mind. In Sergei’s plan, Darren died before the wedding night happened.
“You look a little shocked, wife.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“But that’s what and who you are. My wife. Unless you’re here to make yourself a widow.” He lifted his hands away from his body, a defenseless target.
“I don’t want you to die.” The truth spilled from her, and she wanted to slap herself.
“Lucky me. Why did you want to marry me?”
“I need something you have.”
“And you couldn’t ask for it?” He arched a brow.
“Would you have given it?”
“I would have done more for you than you realize.”
Would have. As predicted, she’d ruined his love. Again. “We don’t have to let this end in tragedy. Just give me what I want, and we can go our separate ways.”
“What about what you owe me?” he asked.
She blinked at him. “What are you talking about?”
“You lost, Marina. The bet. You said if Sergei were behind the leaks, you’d live with me for a month.”
“But he wasn’t. I was. For most of them, at any rate.”
“Still your team at fault. Which means, I win the bet. And I’m demanding you fulfill your end of the bargain.”
The moment what he said filtered in, elation filled her, along with incredulity. “You want me to live with you?”
“That was the deal. For a month.”
She shook her head. “No. I can’t do it.”
“You have to. You lost.”
“I never meant to agree to that.”
“Then you shouldn’t have promised.” He reached out and snatched her arm. She could have hurt him to set herself free. Instead, she allowed him to reel her in. She was weak like that. For him at any rate.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked, tilting her head enough for their lips to align if he closed the gap.
“If you’re looking for a concrete answer, I don’t have one. I don’t know why I can’t let you go.”
“Because you’re weak.”
“No, because, despite it all, I still love you.” He drew her closer and walked her back until her ass hit the bed with its mannequin.
“You can’t love me,” she said.
“Shouldn’t,” he corrected as he fumbled with her pants.
“I wish you wouldn’t,” she muttered as she helped pull him free from his own trousers.
“You’re like a drug I can’t resist.” His growled words as he pushed into her.
“You really should try. Because I have no use for you.” A claim shown for a lie as she gripped him tightly and began to pant as he thrust.
“I keep thinking one last time. One last time, and I’ll be cured.”
“There is no cure.” She’d tried. And now look at her. Legs wrapped around his waist, about to come all over his cock.
“Live with me for a month. Concede your loss, and maybe we’ll finally sate ourselves.”
Oh, the temptation. “It will never work.”
“Don’t.” Thrust. “Be afraid.” Out and then back in. His lips slid over hers as he murmured, “I only want to bring you pleasure.”
But pleasure might make her forget her promise.
How much more blood must I spill for it? How much more happiness must she sacrifice?
She clutched at his head and kissed him as his pace quickened and he pummeled her willing flesh. Her orgasm after the tension of the evening hit her hard, yet she knew better than to scream. They weren’t in a safe place. One wrong sound, and people might come running in. And then she’d have to kill them.
Instead, she buried her mouth against the meat of his upper shoulder, biting him when the climax rocked her body. They shook together in the aftermath.
He held her close. Kissed her temple. “Marina, I—”
Whatever he might have said next was lost in a hail of gunfire in the hall.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Nothing worse than getting caught with your dick creamed and still pulsing when a gun battle breaks out.
He quickly stuffed himself back into his pants, whereas she just yanked her pants up and then palmed a gun before hitting the door.
He heard someone yell, a cry of pain from close by.
Ben!
With no regard for the danger in the hall, Marina opened the damned door, poked her head out, and fired. Pop. Pop. She ducked and yelled, “Get ready to grab his arms and yank when I stand up.”
She heaved in a deep breath and opened the door again when the latest barrage slowed.
Pop. Pop. “Argh.”
Darren only vaguely heard the noise as he heaved Ben, dragging him inside. The man was bleeding from the shoulder and leg. Marina leaned back in, not an ounce of fear on her face. Excitement made her eyes glitter. “Two gunmen, one at each end of the hall. The one by the elevator is injured.”
Not to mention brazen. Who the fuck sent a hit squad to a hospital?
“Is this your doing?” he snapped as he grabbed the sheet on the dummy and used it to press against Ben’s shoulder wound.
“Don’t insult me.” She wrinkled her nose. “This is sloppy.”
“Sloppy can still kill, and this will draw the cops.”
“True, which is why I am going to clear a path for you and your friend.”
“You can’t go out there by yourself. You said there were two gunmen.”
“Not for long.” She poked her head out, ducked when someone started shooting, and fired from floor level.
The gunfire stopped.
“Only one left by the emergency exit,” she announced.
She threw herself into the hall, and he yelled, “Marina.” Then more softly, “Marina,” as the gunfire erupted again, interspersed with a steady pop, pop.
Self-preservation said to stay in the room. His damned heart made him open the door.
He was in time to see her last shot take down the gunman. He crumpled to the floor, and Marina whirled, gun still raised.
Eyes flashing.
Body vibrating.
Lips parting.
Yelling, “Get down.”
Darren obeyed and hit the floor, rolling as he did, hearing the dual gunshots fired. He ended up on his stomach facing away from Marina and thus saw a third gunman still standing within the open elevator drop, a perfect dime-sized hole in his head.
“Nice shot,” he remarked.
But Marina didn’t reply.
He whirled to see her down the hall, entering the stairwell, clutching her arm. Her bleeding fucking arm because she’d taken a bullet meant for him. Saved his fucking life.
He took a step after her as voices yelled, “Roll call.” The academy boys who’d come to lay the trap converged, calling out their names. Only Ben and Marina were seriously wounded, but she’d disappeared. Darren wanted to go after her. However, chaos locked down the hospital. The cops wouldn’t be happy until they’d questioned everyone. Darren had to return to his bed and play up his injury. The wound Harry had given him to have it look good in pictures. The mannequin got tossed down a laundry chute. And the dead bodies of the thugs were rounded up and declared a gang.
Darren was released the next day, but Marina’s trail was cold. It was as if she’d vanished, again, leaving him more confused than ever.
The trap at the hospital proved only one thing. He knew nothing.
She’d come to the hospital to find him. Not kill him. She’d made love to him because of their connection. Not to kill him. She took that bullet to save him. Not kill him.
What did it all mean?
Fingers snapped in front of his eyes. “Darren. Wake up. We’re about to board the flight back home.” Ah, yes, the airport Harry had brought him to after the hospital fiasco. Authorities were
more than happy to see the tourists leave after their run-in with local violence.
Except, Darren wasn’t ready for home. “I’m not going with you.”
“What are you talking about? Of course, you are.”
“I still have business here.”
“This’d better not be about that Russian woman again.”
“That Russian woman is my wife.”
“Only until the annulment goes through. I’ve got a lawyer working on a judge for that.”
Time to stop that plan in its tracks. “You can’t annul it. We consummated the marriage.”
“When? You were never alone after the ceremony.”
“We had time at the hospital.”
“For like two minutes!”
“It was long enough.”
Harry cursed. “Goddammit. You were supposed to question her, not give it to her.”
“I got some answers.” And more questions. Why did she take that bullet for me?
Only one person could answer that, which was why he ditched Harry at the airport, despite all protests, and called his new friend in the city. “Pierrot. It’s me, Fran’s ex-boyfriend. Still want to make some money? I need you to get me to Russia without anyone knowing.”
He needed to pay a visit to Marina. Because not only did he want to know why but he also intended to make sure she didn’t welch on their bet.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The vodka burned along the gash in Marina’s arm. A souvenir from her visit to the hospital. The furrow the bullet left hadn’t hit anything major but required her to slap on several plastic adhesive strips and change shirts before hitting the airport. Airport security agents would make a fuss about blood on her shirt when what they should really be looking for was the knife concealed in her carry-on. The garrote around her wrist was hidden in plain sight as a bracelet.
The whole plane ride home—which involved several flights switching back and forth to lose anyone trying to follow—she couldn’t decide what was more annoying. Was it the fact that she couldn’t dress her wound properly? Or listening to Sergei berate her for not only sneaking out—as if she were a child in need of a chaperone—but also raging about the fact that she’d gotten injured because she defended a man?
