Crusader (Impossible #9)

by Julia Sykes

  He gestured to Roman, and his henchman handed him a red ball gag. I recoiled, remembering the last time I had been gagged, in that warehouse…

  “Now, I can’t have you following me tonight.”

  His fingers closed around my jaw, applying pressure until I was no longer able to resist his strength. I screamed out my frustration and fury as my lips parted. The familiar rubber taste filled my mouth, the ball sliding along my tongue until it settled firmly between my teeth. Dimitri buckled it at the back of my head with practiced ease.

  He pulled back and gave me an indulgent smile. “Be a good girl and stay here. This is how the game works. I get a head start. Then, you try your best to find me.” He tapped his forefinger against my temple. “And all the while, know that I’m waiting for you. You will think of me every second of every day. I’ll allow you to come to me when I feel you’ve suffered enough. And don’t consider quitting and going home. That’s against the rules. You’ll die before you can leave the country.”

  He released me from his black gaze and turned to pick up his slave. He held her close to his chest and planted a tender kiss on her forehead, as though he harbored true affection for her. I took note of the potential weakness. I might be able to use her to get to him.

  Her eyes found mine again. Definitely reproachful. Was she jealous of Dimitri’s attentions? If she served him willingly, I certainly wouldn’t have any qualms about using her.

  Roman followed on his master’s heels, blocking Alicia from sight. Before Dimitri closed the door behind him, he spared me one final glance over his shoulder.

  “This only ends one way, Clara. I win. I always win.”

  My enraged scream was muffled by the gag.

  Chapter 2

  Rage quickly gave way to terror. The taste of the gag in my mouth fucked with my head, making me remember the last time I had been subjected to it. I tried to breathe through my nose, to center myself. But a choking sense of helplessness expanded in my chest, rising up to block my windpipe. Memories that haunted my nightmares consumed my waking mind.

  The warehouse smelled of damp concrete and steel. The place reeked of the residual fear of the women who had been sold there. My face throbbed where Dimitri’s men had beaten me bloody when I fought for freedom, and my wrists ached from supporting the full weight of my body.

  A horrified moan echoed through the cavernous space. My heart squeezed when I turned my head toward the sound.

  Charlotte. She struggled against the chains that held her naked body stretched taut, panic consuming her.

  My fault. My fault.

  The bang of a fist against wood yanked me out of the warehouse and back to my current predicament. For a moment, I feared Dimitri had returned for me, but my mind quickly concluded that he wouldn’t knock on the door.

  “Clara Peterson?” An unfamiliar male voice called out.

  I screamed against the gag. If someone came in and freed me now, I could go after Dimitri. He couldn’t have gotten far.

  “Officer Peterson?” The man asked more insistently.

  How the hell does he know I’m NYPD? My desire to be liberated by the stranger wavered. If he knew who I was, he might be here to put a stop to my hunt.

  “I’m coming in,” he announced.

  The door opened to reveal a towering man with shockingly white-blond hair. His pale blue eyes widened a fraction before his square jaw firmed. He was unmistakably Dominant. Not only was he wearing leathers, but it was evident in the way he carried himself and in the righteous anger that tightened his muscles as he approached me. His bare chest ensured I got an eyeful of those rippling muscles.

  Despite my situation, I faced him head-on, allowing my own sense of power to clash with his.

  He gave a derisive snort and knelt down before me to untie the ropes that bound my wrists. As soon as the first one was free, I reached behind my head and ripped off the gag. I drew in a deep, shuddering breath. The action made me wince as my injured abs protested. I would have a hell of a bruise where Roman punched me.

  “What happened? Are you hurt?” The stranger gripped my chin and turned my face to inspect me.

  Pain flared in my skull, and nausea gripped me. My head would hurt like a bitch tomorrow, too. The fucking mobster had gotten in a good hit with his gun.

  I slapped the man’s hand away.

  “Do you mind?” I demanded with a growl. “And do you want to explain who the hell you are?”

  He glared at me. “I’m Dexter Scott. Kennedy Carver sent me here to rescue you. You’re welcome,” he said pointedly.

  “God damn it,” I muttered. Then I said more loudly, “I don’t need rescuing. I’ve got this. So you can run along home and tell the FBI director I’m doing just fine. This is none of his business.”

  “Yeah,” he drew out the word with sarcasm. “You look just peachy.” He touched the side of my head, and I hissed in pain.

  “Asshole.”

  Blood colored his fingertips when he pulled them away. He frowned. “You should get this looked at.”

  “I’ll pop some Tylenol when I get back to my flat,” I informed him. No way was I going to a hospital.

  I pushed myself to my feet, and the world tilted. Dexter caught me with a strong arm around my waist.

  “Where are you staying?” He pressed.

  “Up yours,” I snapped.

  “I’m pretty sure you’re not staying up my ass. You’re doing a shitty job of it if you think you’re brown-nosing right now. Stop being difficult and tell me where you live. If you won’t go to the hospital, I’m taking you home.” It was the order of a Dominant.

  I tried to wrench free of his grip, but I swayed again. I muttered a curse.

  “Fine, caveman. Why don’t you just fling me over your shoulder and drag me there?”

  “That wouldn’t be good for your injuries,” he said calmly. Then the presumptuous bastard lifted me up in his arms to cradle my body against his chest.

  “Put me down!” I demanded.

  “No.” He started to walk out of the private room. I couldn’t allow him to carry me through the club. It was far too humiliating.

  I squirmed in his grip. He didn’t even seem to notice. I settled for crossing my arms over my chest and shooting him a mutinous glare.

  “You’re a freakishly strong bastard,” I huffed.

  “Thank you.”

  “That wasn’t a compliment.”

  “This freakishly strong bastard is saving your ass, so you really should be nicer to him.”

  I pressed my lips together and opted to say nothing. He obviously wasn’t going to budge, and I wasn’t willing to make a scene. Everyone in Club Lash knew me as a shy little submissive, and I didn’t want to ruin that image. I had to come back to track Dimitri’s drug trafficking business in the hope that I could locate him again. The next time we met, it would be on my terms.

  Dexter paused when we reached the locker room.

  “Where are your clothes?”

  “Locker number one-thirty-two,” I said through clenched teeth.

  “Where’s your key?” His hand shifted on my thigh, searching my garter.

  “Uh-uh. You’re not-”

  He found my knife sheath and raised a questioning eyebrow. Damn it, that was my thing. I really didn’t like having that judgmental stare turned on me.

  “Really?” He asked. “You were going to take on the Russian Mafia with a freaking knife?”

  “Yeah, that was the plan,” I said acidly. “The Brits aren’t exactly gun-friendly.”

  “Kennedy told me you were being reckless, but he neglected to mention that you’re absolutely batshit crazy.”

  “Oh, shut up and take the key already.” I fished it out of my cleavage and handed it to him.

  Mercifully, he did actually shut up. His lips remained twisted in a disapproving frown, but he stopped arguing with me.

  A minute later, he had my clothes and his black leather jacket bundled in one large hand. A small duf
fel bag with his own clothes was slung over his shoulder.

  “Aren’t you going to let me get dressed?” I protested as we headed for the exit.

  He jerked his head to the side. “No. I’m not letting you walk on your own. I won’t give you the chance to fight me. You can put on your coat in the cab.”

  “Stop bossing me around! Can you stop being such a goddamn Dom for a second and act like a normal human being?”

  He speared me with an incisive stare. “Can you?”

  I didn’t have an answer for that. I certainly didn’t feel like a Domme in that moment. I felt weak. Not just physically. I was practically begging Dexter to leave me alone, but he wouldn’t listen.

  “I don’t like you,” I declared, a touch petulantly.

  “Okay.” He shrugged.

  I sighed and crossed my arms again, giving in for the moment. He had that whole implacable Dom thing going on, and I recognized that he wasn’t going to give in to my demands.

  When we reached the waiting taxi outside the club, the driver didn’t seem even mildly phased by my state of undress. In the States, I probably would have been ogled. I liked that about Europe. Partial nudity wasn’t such a big deal here.

  However, it was freaking cold and spitting rain, so I wasn’t too pleased about being half-naked. Grateful for the dry heat in the cab, I allowed Dexter to place me in the backseat without putting up a fight.

  A few beats of silence passed.

  “Where to?” Dexter prompted.

  I ground my teeth, but I gave him the address for the flat I was renting in East London. As soon as we set off, he tugged my red trench coat around my shoulders. I pulled away from him with a warning glare and shoved my arms through the sleeves.

  Unperturbed, he slid into his own jacket. Somehow, he appeared even more intimidating in all that leather than he had with his muscles on display. I looked away from him, opting to stare out the fogged-up window.

  All too soon, we arrived at the terraced housing that contained my tiny hole of an apartment. Dexter swiped his credit card to pay the cab fare. I tried to escape out the door, but he quickly corralled me up to my front stoop, his massive body invading my space. If my head weren’t throbbing, I would have tried to fight him off. As it was, I didn’t really have any other option. Besides, if Kennedy had sent him, he wasn’t my enemy. Not exactly.

  He followed me into the flat, and I almost reflexively offered him tea. But he didn’t deserve my politeness. I felt more like his hostage than his hostess.

  I rounded on him.

  “Okay, you’ve seen me safely home. You can go back to New York and tell Kennedy I’m fine.”

  “I’m not a liar. Especially not to my new boss.”

  “Then tell him he should have put me on the joint task force to investigate Dimitri in the first place. If Kennedy hadn’t been such an ass about keeping me off the op, I wouldn’t have been forced to hunt him down by myself.”

  Dexter fixed me with a stern stare. “I’m not going anywhere. Not until you tell me what’s going on. Start with what happened tonight.” He softened slightly. “Sit down. I’ll get you some Tylenol. Where do you keep it?”

  “Medicine cabinet,” I bit out. My legs folded automatically, and I settled gingerly on the threadbare couch. Really, I wasn’t in a state to keep moving around. All I wanted to do was take some painkillers and go to sleep.

  Dex disappeared into the narrow kitchen that led to the frigid bathroom. I heard water running, and he returned a moment later with a bottle of pills and a glass of water.

  “Thanks,” I said grudgingly as I took them from him.

  One corner of his lips twitched up. “You’re welcome.”

  He sat down in the armchair across from me and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Pale blue eyes regarded me expectantly.

  I blew out a breath. The man obviously wasn’t going anywhere. It was time to talk.

  “I was trying to track down Dimitri Abramovich. Tonight, I met his sovietnik Roman Alkaev, and I flirted with him to get him to have a private session with me.” Dexter scowled his disapproval, but I continued on. “I planned to torture him for information.”

  “Jesus,” he muttered. “This is worse than I thought.”

  “Do you want to hear this or not?” I demanded. Dexter gave me a short nod. “I pulled my knife on him, but Dimitri was waiting for me with a gun. He knew I’ve been looking for him.”

  “If Abramovich was there and he knows you want to kill him, why are you alive right now?”

  “You’re far too pretty to kill.”

  I suppressed a shudder. “He doesn’t want to kill me.”

  “Why not?”

  I hesitated. The big bad Dom wouldn’t like the answer. He might make me go home.

  “Tell me.” The command lashed against me.

  I answered before I could stop myself. “He wants me to keep looking for him. He thinks it’s some kind of game.”

  “So he doesn’t want you to find him. Good. You can come back to New York with me, then.”

  “No!” I practically yelped. “I mean, it’s not over. He wants me to find him. I still have a shot at this.”

  Predictably, Dexter let out a low growl. “So let me get this straight. You’re allowing him to toy with you until you finally walk into his trap. You’re definitely coming back to New York.”

  I hardened my resolve. “You can’t force me. What do you plan to do? Haul me onto an international flight, kicking a screaming?”

  “A private plane can be arranged. Kennedy is serious about bringing you home.”

  “Why does he care?” I burst out. “He wouldn’t let me on the task force. He doesn’t give a shit about me.”

  “Of course he does. He wouldn’t have sent me on this rather unpleasant mission if he didn’t care. He wants you to be safe. You’re obviously on a suicide mission. Or worse. You said Dimitri doesn’t want to kill you. What does he want from you, then?”

  I cut my eyes away.

  “That’s what I thought. Is that what you want? To be tortured and sold? Kennedy briefed me on what happened to you. You barely made it out the first time. What makes you think you’ll be so lucky again? If Dimitri wants you-”

  “Shut up!” I ordered. “Just shut up. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I know you almost got yourself and Charlotte Santiago sold into the sex trade. I’m not going to let that happen to you. So yes, if I have to tie you up and drag you home, that’s what I’ll do.”

  My fury gave way to desperation. I couldn’t let him take me away. Not when I had a chance to take Dimitri down. The last thing I wanted was to admit my weakness to this man I barely even knew, but I had to make him understand.

  “It’s all true. I did that to Charlotte. I can’t live with it. I can’t let him live.” My tone hardened with determination. “I have to redeem myself. I have to kill him.”

  Dexter’s countenance softened, and he was silent for a long minute.

  “I know a thing or two about needing redemption,” he finally murmured. “I have my own fuckups to atone for. But I won’t add you getting captured to my list of sins. Please come with me.”

  “If you understand how I feel, then you know I can’t do that,” I said quietly. I had to get him on my side. “What did you do that was so terrible?”

  His lips thinned, and he didn’t answer.

  “Okay, you’re not up for sharing. I get it.” I tried to establish a rapport with him. “But I can’t let this go. I have to make things right. No matter what the cost. I can’t live with myself.”

  He was silent for a long moment, then he sighed. “I’ll help you.”

  I blinked at him. “What?”

  “I’ll stay and help you. You don’t stand a chance by yourself, but I’ll have your back. Kennedy sent me here to protect you, and I won’t fail in another mission.”

  “Thank you,” I said with soft surprise.

  “Don’t thank me yet.
I’m going to be a pain in your ass. I don’t intend to allow Dimitri to have you, so you’re going to have to trust me as your partner if we’re both going to survive this. That means you won’t go running off half-cocked without consulting me. We do this together, or we don’t do it at all.”

  “Okay,” I agreed. “But you have to promise me that when we get to him, Dimitri is mine. I get the kill. We don’t arrest him. He can’t have the chance to walk free.”

  “That’s not exactly ethical. Luckily for you, I’m just about as off the rails as you are. And we aren’t under Kennedy’s jurisdiction, so what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Dimitri’s all yours, Clara.”

  I gave him my first genuine smile and extended my hand. “Partners, then.”

  His answering smile was grim, but he shook my hand. “Partners.”

  Chapter 3

  “You’re eating beans for breakfast?” Dexter filled the small entrance to the kitchen, running a hand through his close-cropped blond hair to straighten it after a night of sleeping on the couch. He eyed the can of Heinz Beanz with distaste.

  “We’re eating beans for breakfast.” I corrected him and poured the contents of the can into a small pot. “It’s an English thing. Also, I can’t cook. So I figured, when in Rome, you know?”

  “We’re in London.” His brow furrowed in an exaggerated frown.

  I pursed my lips and gestured at his chiseled features. “Please don’t tell me all that pretty is hiding a whole lot of stupid.”

  He actually blushed. “It was supposed to be a joke. I’m not good with jokes, I guess. I never can get the timing right.”

  I paused. This towering, god-like man was insecure? Now that he wasn’t wearing his leathers, he looked almost awkward in his slightly too-short jeans and knobby burgundy sweater. Although no one would dare call him awkward to his face.

  I hoped he was as smart as he was massive.

  “Your timing was fine,” I told him, more kindly. “Your delivery was off. It needs to be deadpan. You tried to sell it too hard.”

  “Oh.”

  “Besides,” I said quickly, trying to boost his confidence. “You were good with the quips last night.”