SCRATCH (Corporate Hitman Book 2)

by Linden, Olivia

  Chapter 13

  It was Friday night, a perfect time to get out of her head. She needed to stop thinking about Zio, and the trap of emotions, and career suicide he represented. She believed in what she did. Believed in doing right. She figured that’s why she was so torn. She watched her brother fall apart at the seams after the Vikhrov case. Her brother, who had the same sense of justice as her, had done what he’d needed to do for his job, and it nearly killed him. She’d watched the once ambitious and straight-laced man spiral until she’d fought to bring him back.

  She didn’t want to be another casualty of faulty law.

  If her brother was right, than Inzio Vikhrov, though a criminal, hadn’t deserved anywhere near the sentence he’d received. He’d been railroaded by a system that needed to have a tidy ending. Hell, at the least, she could give him that, while on the wrong side of the law; he’d gone down without ever bringing a single-family member with him. That spoke of loyalty most didn’t see these days. Monica didn’t even know if she’d be able to do that if her family had betrayed her.

  “And I’m doing it again,” she groaned out loud. “I’m supposed to not be thinking about Zio.” With an irritated grunt, she picked up her phone. Friday. She needed to get back to thoughts of Friday, and what the hell she needed to do to clear her mind. She needed distraction—needed to leave everything dealing with the law behind. She knew just who to call.

  “Hello?” Rachel answered, sounding out of breath.

  “Rach, how are you?”

  “Uh-oh. It’s either men problems, work, or a mixture of both, if you’re calling me. Is that hot ass Agent Axe getting under your skin? You should let him, you know.” Monica chuckled; leave it to Rachel to see the solution as a nice roll in the hay. They’d met not long after Monica had joined the FBI field office one night out at a party of a mutual friend. Monica quickly realized that Rachel was a little too out there for her tastes, but in a pinch the girl knew how to make the worst situations enjoyable.

  “Maybe,” Monica commented.

  “Completely,” Rachel countered. “But if that’s not your poison, pass him over here. I bet I could make him forget all about you.”

  “That’s only because you’d want to. I’m not interested in the position. But I am looking for a little fun tonight.” Monica pulled the phone away from her head as Rachel squealed into the phone.

  “You’re in luck, woman. Get dressed, the less the better, and meet me at Little W.”

  Luckily just the street was enough to let Monica know she was talking about Cielo, since she’d been there a few times before. That was exactly what she needed. She agreed and hung up with Rachel, already thinking about what she would be putting on. She decided on a short little black mini-dress. The sleeves were long and the neckline was princess cut in the front right across her collarbone. But that wasn’t the draw of the dress. It was the back. The fabric was cut into a deep v down her spine and stopped just before the slop of her behind. She added some bright fuchsia Jimmy Choo’s to make her feet happy—shoes she nearly killed herself to buy—and left her hair wild and curly around her shoulders. Nude lips with a little gloss, deep smoky eyes, and she was ready.

  She forwent using her government car, that wouldn’t look good, and jumped on the A. She got off on 14st and made a left to Horatio to get to the club. The walk gave her a chance to clear her head and enjoy the other partygoers traveling around her. She’d go for a cab on the way back.

  “That ass in that dress is amazing!” Rachel sung as she stepped out of line to greet Monica. Monica smiled, feeling lighter. Nothing like a girl’s night out to put things into perspective.

  “Come on, we’ve got a line in,” Rachel said, smiling. Holding Monica’s hand, she took her to the front door, slipped something into the bouncer’s hand, which Monica ignored, and then pulled her inside. She wasn’t a cop tonight.

  The music was thumping already, Drake’s voice pulsing over the system to a dub step beat. Rachel was already dancing around by the time they reached the bar. Monica wondered if Zio would like a place like this. The way their bodies moved together, she was positive the man could move on the dance floor just as smoothly. Wondered if he’d trail his fingers down her back, and play with the edge of her dress.

  “Earth to Monica. What do you want to drink?” Rachel asked, pointing at the bartender. Damn, she wasn’t doing a good job not thinking about Zio.

  “White Russian,” she ordered.

  “Sophisticated lady,” the bartender called out with a wink and started making her drink. They took their drinks and went for the floor. Then Monica lost herself to the music, the beat, and the alcohol. She felt free, light. As a nice buzz softened her senses, things didn’t look so bad. Didn’t feel so stressful. She just had an enjoyable time with a man connected to the case, but that was it. Nothing more. It wasn’t like she was in love or making plans for forever. And him maybe, possibly, being Inzio Vikhrov? Coincidence, right?

  She felt hands travel over her hips and a warm, hard body step up to her back. She leaned into it, thoughts of Zio transferred into her fantasies from earlier. He rocked with her, rolling to the floor and back up when she did. He traced little circles on her hips and nuzzled her neck. Rachel was laughing, grinding on a man in a sharp white button up. Her powder blue, high-waist shorts and black shirt looked painted on. Rachel got closer to her, and they danced together, the guys behind them sandwiching them closer.

  “I’m Elliot. Let me buy you a drink. What will you have?” the man asked her. No. Not Zio’s voice, but nice all the same.

  “She’ll have a Cosmo Fresh,” Rachel answered before Monica could speak. “Me too, by the way,” she added. The men nodded, heading towards the bar.

  “Oh my God,” Rachel sang and Monica rolled her eyes. Her first glimpse of the man she’d been dancing with was an eye opener. He looked good—tall, broad shouldered, and with a dynamite smile. But his skin was too pale, his mouth not full enough, and his eyes green instead of Caribbean blue. Elliot just wasn’t right. But Monica would take the drink. Why not?

  “I think I’m going to take him home tonight,” Rachel commented.

  “You don’t know him. He could be an axe murderer.”

  ‘Ugh, you’d be so much more fun if you weren’t a cop.”

  “I’m trying to keep you safe.”

  “No, you’re trying to keep me from having fun. You were coming here to relax. Relax. Have a good time, get drunk, and take a man home with you. Everything will feel better in the morning,” Rachel finished.

  “That hasn’t been my experience,” Monica muttered. No, shit had gotten complicated and confusing in the morning light. She shook her head, trying to dislodge those thoughts as the men came back with little peach colored drinks in their hands. Monica took hers with a small smile.

  “I wouldn’t,” a calm, deep voice said to her left as a hand reached out and took her drink from her hands. Monica turned to find an Asian man, a little under six-foot tall, she’d guess, watching her with deep, dark eyes. He cocked his eyebrow as his gaze shifted to Elliot.

  “This one’s spoken for,” he said.

  “Man, what the fuck is your problem?” was Elliot’s reply.

  “My name is Jack,” the Asian man said to her, ignoring her irate dance partner. He wore a simple black top and slacks. It was understated but elegant on him somehow. It was the way he wore it—the way he carried himself. Monica’s instincts perked. He hadn’t let go of the drink yet. She saw the tip of a tattoo on the right side of his neck; they almost looked like numbers with a letter on the end. She frowned, trying to remember why it looked kind of familiar.

  “I said back the fuck up,” Elliot threatened, taking a step forward. Jack didn’t move, he just kept holding the drink. Triad. That’s where she recognized the tattoo. This wasn’t going to end well.

  “I’m not some piece of property. It’s a drink. Just go get another one,” Monica interrupted.

  “He won’t, ‘cuz th
e one he brought was laced, yeah?” Monica froze as Scratch broke through the crown next to Jack. He looked different. Dark Aviator glasses blocked his gaze, his hair was not gelled or styled, but all natural, and looked like he’d worried it with his fingers. He had a black and grey pinstripe blazer on, the sleeves pushed up, over a black shirt, and dark pants. But he wasn’t facing her; he was facing Elliot, completely focused on his face.

  “Laced?” Monica asked, her buzzing mind landing on that.

  “Took you long enough,” Jack commented. “I figured you’d want me to leave him to you.”

  “Plan my exit outta here?” Scratch asked.

  “Cleared and ready. I’ll keep her safe.”

  “Good,” Scratch answered. He took a second to kiss her lips before he stepped past her. And then chaos ensured. Jack was at her side in a second, tucking her under his arm, and pulling her back as Scratch swung, hard. Rachel screamed and ran leaving the pandemonium that erupted in the middle of the floor. The music cut out, and all she could hear was the impact of a fist to flesh. She watched entranced as Scratch took his adversary down, and then proceeded to make sure he stayed there. Each hit was precise, ordered. Kidney shot, liver shot, face. Back to the stomach, and one to the throat had Elliot gasping for air and grabbing at his throat.

  “Mine, you hear me? You shoulda left her alone. Mine. You fucking rat bastard. Piece of shit, slip my woman a roofie? I’ll kill you,” Zio roared, still swinging.

  “We have to move,” Jack called out. He drug her forward and yanked at Zio’s collar. “Now.”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you,” Monica cried out, struggling against Jack. “Have you lost your mind?” She screamed as security ran for them.

  “Now!” Jack roared. Zio stood, kicking the guy for good measure before turning on her.

  “Oh no. You’re under arrest,” she started.

  “I’ll carry you out of here if I have to. That man had a cup full of drugs with your name on it,” Scratch threw at her. She didn’t get to say anything else, because he was lifting her in his arms, running through the people, and out the back door. The cool air kissed her skin, but he didn’t stop running. Jack stopped long enough to knock things down behind them and prop something against the back door of the club.

  “Keep going straight, I’ll bring the car,” he hollered. Scratch did just that, never stopping, never slowing. Jack broke off down an alley and then she heard a car start. Tires screeched, and drove away, only to return minutes later, ahead of them. The car peeled to a stop and Jack opened the back door from the inside. Scratch tossed her in and jumped in after them. Before Monica could hear the faint sound of police sirens, they were already long gone. How the hell had she gotten to this point? She was running from the law, the good guys, with Zio.

  She had completely, utterly, and completely lost her damn mind.

  Chapter 14

  “What the fuck!” Monica punctuated her outburst with a hard shove to his shoulder. Scratch knew she was pissed, but he was angrier, so he tried to ignore the sting of his elbow hitting the silver handle of the car door. Jack was still speeding in the direction of their apartment, but watching them through the rearview mirror.

  “Just calm down. We’ll talk about it when we get to my place,” he grumbled.

  “Calm down? Your place?” She yelled each question while slamming her hands on the back of the headrest in front of her. Good thing he was the one sitting behind Jack.

  Monica looked at him like he had just told her that his name was Hannibal Lector.

  “I’m not going anywhere with you. Just turn around and take me back.” She sat back with her arms folded as if her demand was going to be met. When she saw that Jack had no intentions of changing course, she lost it.

  “Are you crazy? What was that back there? I have to go back. I can’t just leave the scene like that,” she argued.

  “Go back to what scene? The guy face down on the ground in a puddle of the drink he tried to poison you with? Bet that will look real good on your file,” Scratch said more harshly than he meant to.

  Monica just shook her head. It was obvious that he wasn’t going to do as she asked, so short of jumping out of the speeding vehicle, she would deal with getting away from him when they stopped. She turned her gaze toward the city streets that whizzed by in a blur of lights. Looking at him was not helping her mission to keep a clear head. He looked too damn good and it reminded her how fucking hot he looked when he was handing out that beat down back in the club. In fact, she was so turned on it pissed her off. She was pissed that every time she tried to put him out of her mind, he did something that pushed him right back to the forefront.

  Scratch watched her as she fumed. He couldn’t decide if she was even sexier when she was mad. He wanted to reach out for her, to comfort her, but he would spare Jack the drama. Jack who was already glaring at him with that damn look that said he knew that Scratch was fucked.

  They rode in silence for a few more minutes until Jack was pulling up to their back entrance. Scratch had known he would, no point in having to witness anymore than he already had. He saw Monica’s hand reaching for the door handle before the car came to a complete stop and knew she was going to attempt to bolt. He gave Jack a little signal, and when they stopped Jack was jumping out the car and on her before she made it two steps.

  “Let me go,” she demanded. “This is fucking kidnapping! Who the hell are you, anyway?”

  “Just Jack. No one special.” Jack enjoyed a rare laugh as he handed Monica to Scratch, and got back in the car. It was pretty fucking funny, considering she had no clue how right she was. Scratch couldn’t help but chuckle at the irony.

  “So this is funny to you? Well I don’t find a growing rap sheet something to laugh at, but call me crazy,” she snarked. She began to run off the gamut of offenses that he should be charged for as she struggled to get him to release her. He was halfway up the stairs to his level when he couldn’t take anymore.

  “Shut up, Monica. Enough!” He knew that wouldn’t sit well with her, but he didn’t care. She had to know they were beyond the point of worrying about local city cops, or a bar brawl. And he didn’t understand why after she promised not to run away anymore, she was still trying to. His emotions were high, his patience was low, and everything he did where she was concerned, was just adding nails to his coffin.

  He released her suddenly, and she wobbled back against the wall for support. She was about to lash out at him when he decided to give her a piece of his mind.

  “What the fuck were you thinking? You’re a fucking federal agent. Don’t tell me you don’t know better than accepting a drink from a fucking stranger!” He placed one hand on the railing, and the other on the wall to keep his hands busy. Of course he would never hurt her in anyway, but he wanted to hit something real bad, and didn’t want to scare her anymore than she already was.

  “What I do is none of your business! You have no proof he even did anything. I was out trying to have a good time, and your jealous ass ruined it!”

  “Proof? I saw it with my own eyes! And what were you even doing there without me? You were supposed to call me. I thought I made things clear in my office, but here you are running again.” He made a frustrated growl and pulled at the hair on the back of his head. This woman confounded him.

  “Made things clear? Why didn’t you make them all the way clear and tell me your name was Inzio Vikrohv, instead of me having to find it out on my own?”

  Scratch froze when she spoke his real name. So she knew. He knew it was reckless of him to have her call him Zio, but hearing her call him George was killing him. So she knew his true identity, and she was running away. It took him a minute to process how he felt. On the one hand, he felt a sense of relief that everything was on the table, and he didn’t have to hide that from her anymore. But on the other hand, his cover was blown and that meant his freedom was in jeopardy, and whatever she felt for him. While he was reeling, Monica was talking.


  “This is so fucking crazy. I don’t even know where to begin. Why are you not in prison?” She pressed the heel of her palm to her forehead as if in total exasperation. She knew it didn’t matter what he said. Unless he was in a witness protection program, anything he said was going to be bad. She waited for him to speak, but Scratch still hadn’t gotten his words together.

  “Are you going to say something?” She yelled at him and smacked the wall. “Explain yourself. Tell me why? Why were you such a selfish bastard that you had to drag me down in your quicksand!” Monica was beside herself. Yes, she played a role in what was going on between them, and knew it was wrong to put all the blame on him. But she was angry and confused, and she wanted to snap him out of whatever stupor he was in. Standing there staring at her like a lost child.

  Scratch came alive then. The word selfish had sunk in. Was he selfish for wanting her? For not being able to stay away from her? Maybe. But she couldn’t deny him anymore than he could her.