Saved

by Angel Payne

  * * *

  This was their needle?

  Garrett swung glances up and down the narrow passageway alley in which they stood. At least that was what he called it for the time being. Truthfully, “alley” would’ve been an upgrade. “Ambush Zone” was feeling more in line with the area’s scuzzy vibe. Some instincts were pounded into a guy’s brain cells forever, and Garrett’s had gone Mach five from the alarm bells in his.

  Luckily, he felt more normal when he caught Wyatt doing his own surreptitious recon. Z didn’t add his own trepidation to their paranoid batter. These alleys had been the man’s childhood playground. Beyond that factor, his friend was clearly familiar with this specific address—though like its neighborhood, the word “address” was given a wide berth for definition here.

  Z reached for a spot behind the grimy door frame and pressed in. The hidden doorbell let off a series of bell chimes inside the building, making the place sound like a cathedral being readied for worshippers.

  “Should I have worn a tie?” Garrett cracked.

  Zeke let out a dark laugh. “Only if you want her to whip it off your neck, braid it into a whip, and then beg you to open her up with it.”

  Wyatt coughed. “This should be interesting.”

  Two seconds later, a woman’s toned arm shoved open the door. Tattooed angels and demons danced their way up it, reaching for another piece of ink that took up the top of her shoulder—a diamond wrapped in thorny roses. Garrett’s gaze was distracted from the artwork by a face that was surrounded by a sleek mane of ebony hair broken up by silver and lavender streaks. In spite of all the distractions, the woman’s face was striking. She used minimal makeup, which was a good thing. Her huge purple eyes, prominent bone structure, and full mouth didn’t need much enhancement.

  At the moment, that mouth curved up at Zeke in a grin that truly defined the cat about to eat the canary. The metaphor wasn’t tough to come by, considering the woman wore a skintight black outfit—and had Zeke responding with a very visual gulp.

  “Well,” she finally murmured. “Ezekiel Gabriel Hayes. What’s an angel like you doing in my naughty corner of hell?”

  Before Garrett could let out half a snort of derision, Zeke horse-kicked backward. His heel caught Garrett’s shin with perfect precision.

  Without skipping a beat, he lifted the woman’s knuckles to his lips and replied, “Luna honey, my halo got shot off before I busted my sixteenth birthday.”

  He dropped her hand, but determination didn’t just live in the woman’s gaze. Luna latched a finger into the V of Zeke’s shirt. “What about my horns?”

  Garrett joined Wyatt in stunned silence as the woman lifted an angular leg and wrapped it around Z’s waist. For a moment, Garrett wondered why this woman’s name had never left his best friend’s lips, even after the three years of their friendship. That was before he caught the terse lines of his friend’s face along with the invisible screws that tightened Z’s jaw. Understanding formed. Garrett had heard about Luna, though not by name. She was—how the hell did Z put it?—a “unique” sort of girl. A submissive with appetites that were beyond the edge coupled with a personality that didn’t have a proper off switch. Z had actually shuddered when talking about girls like her. Their refusal to call a safe word could land an unsuspecting Dom behind bars for abuse, assault and battery—maybe even murder.

  Zeke grabbed Luna by the waist and pried her off. “I think it best we keep your horns safely tucked away, girl.”

  She narrowed her eyes, flashing an energy that really did seem a little demonic, before pivoting toward him and Wyatt. “Maybe your friends want to see them.”

  “No.” Z tightened his hold on her waist, keeping her in place. “They don’t.”

  Garrett held up his left hand. “Engaged.”

  Wyatt copied the move. “Married.”

  “Hell,” Luna spat.

  Garrett couldn’t help it any longer. He looked at his watch with a grunt. “We’re at ninety minutes and climbing, Z.”

  Luna scrunched her lips. “What’s his issue?”

  “I’m afraid it’s one I share,” Z offered in a more diplomatic tone. “I need to talk to you.”

  Luna tossed her hair over both shoulders. “Fine. Talk.”

  “Inside.”

  “No. Here.”

  Z rose up over her, looming like a damn grizzly about to bite her head off. “Inside.”

  The woman’s reaction was a surprise plot twist. With one growl, Zeke turned the intrepid, leg-flinging woman into a weak-kneed kitten. Her eyelids drooped. Her lips parted on a breathy, “Yes, Sir.” She turned like a dancer in a daydream, leading the three of them inside the building.

  As Garrett had hoped, the warehouse’s interior looked like a typical artist’s studio. Canvases both finished and blank were stacked along the textured plaster walls. Several easels, lots of tarps, and racks of paints cluttered the rest of the area. A loft overhead was shielded by gauzy curtains, but he discerned a big bed and kitchen area through them. And curled up in a puddle of the curtains? A sleeping white cat.

  There were two elements in the scene that fit the circle-what-doesn’t-belong-here option. Suspended from a heavy chain directly over Luna’s workspace was a pair of thick leather suspension handcuffs. Even Garrett could tell the bondage gear had gotten some enthusiastic use. But that discovery was secondary to the jackpot they all spied at the other end of the room. Without second thought, Garrett joined Zeke in sprinting over to it.

  The machine wasn’t an ordinary printer. It resembled a space-age weaving loom, though it was twice the size of its medieval ancestor. It measured a little over four feet long and was about as high. A sheet of clean plastic film was preloaded into it—but just beyond the machine, still littered across the expanse of empty floor in front of a rolling garage door, were slivers of the vinyl that had been part of the previous print job. Every single one of them was pink or lavender.

  “Thank fuck,” Garrett muttered.

  “Not yet,” Zeke retorted. The guy’s jaw turned to gritted granite again. He pitched his voice back into a bellow at the woman pouting at them from across the room. “Luna!”

  She sashayed closer. “Yes, dear?”

  Z pointed at the vinyl confetti. “Who were they?”

  “Who were who?”

  “You didn’t pay for this printer yourself, honey. Somebody brought it here so they could take advantage of your talent and your work space. They had you design a custom wrap for a van, didn’t they?”

  Luna tilted her head up at him with a soft smile that made her feline features even more stunning. Holy shit, this space queen was dangerous. Garrett was just glad that Zeke knew it.

  “You…think I have talent?”

  “As I’ve told you a thousand times,” Z responded patiently. He took a deep breath as Luna pressed herself to him, purring in what was supposed to be gratitude. “Luna, let me be clear. We don’t have time. I need those names. Now.”

  She threw him another bratty pout. “Who says I even knew who they were?”

  That was it. The latch on Garrett’s tolerance broke off. “Goddamnit.” He rushed forward. “Listen, Morticia Addams, the lives of three women are at stake here. Maybe that makes a difference to you?”

  Luna glared. “Damn. He needs to get laid.”

  “Hawk,” Z interjected. “Just chill.”

  Garrett pinned a glower into his friend. “You want to get Rayna off that express boat for Bangkok or not?”

  Zeke pushed out a tense groan. Garrett realized, too late, that his galloping temper had pulled out one too many stones in Morticia’s castle ramparts.

  “Who’s Rayna?” she snapped at Z.

  Z’s lips flattened. “Just a woman I’ve been watching over for work. Don’t ask me anything more, Luna. You know I can’t talk about my job.”

  She nodded. Very quickly. The line clearly wasn’t new to her, and neither was the pained glimmer in her eyes because of it. “And now this ‘jus
t a woman’ is in trouble, thanks to the van I wrapped today.”

  “Yes.” Zeke cupped his hands around hers. Just that motion seemed to push some button in Luna. The woman gazed up as if CNN had just informed the planet that the universe revolved around Zeke Hayes. Z reacted by stepping closer to her, his posture filled with determination. Garrett released a quiet but admiring breath. Z just earned a shitload of check marks on the steel balls rating sheet. To endure that crazy stalker glint in Luna’s eyes, in hopes she’d simply spill a couple of scumbags’ names to him…took fucking fortitude. It also served as crystal-clear proof of what Rayna had started to mean to the man.

  Unfortunately, Garrett wasn’t the only one to recognize that.

  “You like her.” Luna’s words were smoky rasps, the edges smoking with accusation. “Don’t you, Z? You like her a lot.”

  Zeke weighed the question. Though the canyons of his face changed little, storm clouds of conflict raced across them. “Yeah,” he finally replied. “Yeah, baby girl. I do.”

  Luna nodded again. Her move lacked confidence this time. She shifted on her high-heeled boots, making Garrett marvel for a second. How she didn’t fall on her face in those things was beyond his mental scope. Another surprise—how the hell she managed to get her hands stuffed into her back pockets after pulling them from Z’s grasp. The leggings looked like another custom cling vinyl job.

  “Is he being straight up?” She nodded in Garrett’s direction. “Is her life really at stake?”

  “If that boat they’ve got her on leaves American waters, then, yes.” He watched Z’s shoulders slump from that. He couldn’t remember ever seeing his friend so vulnerable. “She won’t be dead, but she’ll wish she was.”

  Luna absorbed that with an impassive expression. But she kept up that balance-changing thing, which made Garrett as nervous as watching a tightrope walker. If she fell and split her head, they’d be up Shit Creek. It was reassuring to see Wyatt eyeing her with the same trepidation.

  He planted his feet and shoved down his anxiety. The faster Morticia processed this, the better. He saw that deep inside the gothic pain-slut exterior, Luna seemed to have a heart. The trouble was, it clearly yearned for Zeke’s in return.

  At last, Luna snapped her chin at Z. The new look on her face made Garrett want to grab his friend and yank him back, just in case the woman was secretly packing another pair of those handcuffs. Likely both. Was it possible for a woman to simultaneously want a guy’s heart on a plate and his dick between her thighs?

  Her lips twisted with determination. “If I give you the names, I want something in return.”

  Zeke responded to that with a soft laugh, though there wasn’t a thread of humor in the sound. “I bet you do.”

  “So we have a deal?”

  Zeke stared at the woman like a convicted man in front of an electric chair. “Yeah, baby girl. We have a deal.”

  Luna lifted one side of her mouth, wrapped her arms around Z’s neck, and pulled him down for a lingering lip-lock. “You want to use whips or floggers?”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Zeke’s voice matched the brutal jerks he used to get away from her. “You know I’m going to open you up with either.”

  She ran both hands up her thighs, as if to spread out the heat from her delighted shiver. “Yes, Sir!”

  “The names, Luna. Now.”

  Five minutes later, the three of them threw their asses back into Garrett’s truck. Wyatt had barely closed his door before Garrett peeled away from the curb. Z was already on the line to Franzen, requesting every shred of information on the tampon-van boys that the Feds could get their hands on.

  “Cut a right ahead,” Z ordered him. “I have a buddy down the street who’ll let us use his place until we spin up a plan for catching up with those cocksuckers.”

  “Check.” Garrett whipped the truck onto Harrison. After setting the course straight, he glanced over at his friend. “Did you just agree to what I think you did?”

  “Yes,” Z snapped. “And if you mention it again, I’ll turn your balls into shark chum.” The guy checked his phone for an update from Franz. His punch against the dashboard relayed the negative result. “Let’s just get our shit together and find our women before it’s too fucking late.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Eat!”

  Sage looked up at the guy who spat the order at her and slipped him a curious stare. The kid needed a haircut and a shave. Hell, he needed to be out enjoying his summer break or flipping burgers so he could take his girl out this weekend. What the crap was he doing with a SIG P238 shoved in her face, wearing a glower that belonged on an asshole three times his age? And more importantly, why did she care?

  Because her mind, now as drained as her body, was finally giving in to anguish.

  Yeah, the pom poms were unraveling. Her desperate efforts to keep them glued together were failing with every passing minute. She felt her spirit paying the price, standing in a pile of torn hopes, shattered courage, and the stabbing shards of one undeniable truth.

  The night had come. The guys hadn’t. The morning had come. The guys still hadn’t.

  Now this goon-in-training was trying to tell her that refusing a roast beef sandwich was going to earn her a bullet in the skull. Seriously?

  “Sage.” Josie’s voice came at her ear, still not wavering from its plane of reassuring calm. The woman had either popped a bottle of Quaaludes yesterday in place of tasting wine with them or she had nerves molded of steel. “You need to eat, sweetie. You didn’t have any breakfast.”

  Sage stared back up at the gun. The hollow hole might as well have been a mirror. She felt just as black and empty. Fate had finally gotten her home, finally with Garrett again, and she’d wasted every second of the blessing. She’d spent the time playing head games with him, being so impatient to “fix” him that she’d missed the most important part of finding him again…of being a real submissive to him.

  She’d never just loved him.

  “Sage.” Josie’s prompt was more urgent in her ear. “Come on. A few bites. Keep up your strength. It’s actually not bad. Look, they even included dessert.”

  “That’s not dessert.” Rayna grimaced into her chocolate pudding.

  “Eat it!” The kid jabbed the SIG at her again.

  Josie grabbed her wrist and squeezed. “Sage.”

  She turned her weary smile at the woman. Josie’s optimism was amusing. And heartbreaking. “He’s not going to shoot me, Jo. He’s not going to shoot anyone. They just want us healthy and rosy when we get to Bangkok.” She dipped her gaze back to her feet. “Bony slaves don’t sell as well as plump ones.”

  She felt Josie’s head-to-toe tremor. But the woman spat, stronger than ever, “That’s not going to happen.”

  Sage looked away. Her soul was split down the middle. One side yearned to keep riding the rah-rah bandwagon with Josie, refusing to believe that every passing minute dragged them closer to the fate none of them would speak about. The other half screamed at her to wake up and smell the whole kettle of coffee before dumping its scalding truth over her head. Maybe then the burns would sink in. The pain would become part of her again. It was less torture once a tolerance was built up. She had to believe that. She had believed that, back in those days when sorrow was normal and hope a luxury. It had only been a couple of weeks since she’d left that darkness behind. Surely it couldn’t be that hard to acclimate to it all again.

  Who the hell was she kidding?

  She closed her eyes, wondering if she could dare remember heaven one more time. But there was no way she couldn’t. As soon as the word bloomed in her mind, Garrett did, too.

  My heart. She felt the warmth of his murmur down her neck and rejoiced in the wings that opened in her heart in answer.

  My hero. She heard the whisper as if she gave it to him once more and watched his sensual lips spread into a brilliant smile. His gaze ignited with that blue fire that adored her, desired her, claimed her. Hers. He was fore
ver hers in their warm, wonderful paradise…

  Until reality smashed a boot to her backside again.

  Her gaze was jolted open as Junior lowered his foot, his face fixed in a vicious leer. He maintained his proximity, so his crotch took up at last half her view.

  “Eat your lunch, slut, or I’ll give your mouth something else to do.”

  Sometimes no reaction worked better than a nice huge eye roll. She bought into that threat less than she believed the twerp would shoot her. The crew had clearly been given orders to keep Josie, Rayna, and her in well-fed, pristine condition for their new overseas owners.

  But who had given those orders? The blank behind that question mark remained strangely vacant, though Sage knew it wouldn’t stay that way. King’s stateside partner would slither out from under his rock eventually, if only to flaunt his triumph in orchestrating their recapture. When he did, she’d tell the bastard to find some men for his dirty work, not the last rejects from the Seattle boy band auditions.

  With that thought as encouragement, she dug a toe under the plate in front of her and upended the whole thing at Junior. The guy yelled and used the F-word in at least four different ways as a slab of roast beef dropped off his crotch, leaving behind a streak of bright yellow as a souvenir.

  Josie and Rayna broke into giggles. Their mirth turned to horror when the goon advanced on Sage, swinging his pistol into a wide backhand. Sage clenched her jaw and squared her shoulders, swearing she wouldn’t show this punk even a flinch of fear. She was the Hawk’s woman. Proving it right now became the sole object of her will and desire in her heart.

  Nevertheless…this was going to hurt.

  With a resounding thwack, a hand with long elegant fingers seized Junior’s wrist.

  “Temper, temper.”

  Like the hand, the intervening voice was smooth yet lethal. The words were spoken with unalterable command—and an accent where street boss collided with jungle dictator.

  A whole tub of ice dumped into Sage’s chest. Her heart leapt from the freezing floe and begged her throat for sanctuary. But there would be no refuge from the fear now. No safety. No more hope. The fire Garrett had given her a minute ago was now doused as thoroughly as the memory that had brought it, wiped by the monster in front of them now. A yellowed smile parted his slick lips. Cavalier confidence defined his posture.