by Opal Carew
“I want her.”
Harry made the bills disappear and nodded to the door at the end of the bar.
“Room three.”
* * *
Shea fidgeted on one of the room’s two wooden chairs, foot tapping, listening for the sound of his footsteps.
She thought she’d lost him on the street earlier. How had he found them? Had he finally remembered her from the past nights he’d drunk himself stupid?
And why the hell had he followed her in the first place?
His response last night had been crystal clear. He wouldn’t help them.
Had he changed his mind? Hell, did she even want his help after last night?
She sighed and heard despair in the sound. She couldn’t afford to say no if he offered. There was too much at stake. Leo’s life was worth any aggravation he could dish out.
Especially after that spell she and Leo had attempted today.
She needed this man and, boy, did that piss her off.
Down the hall, a door opened then closed, footsteps approaching.
“Okay, deep breath, relax.” She breathed in. “You can do this.”
Her back tightened as the door opened, and she lifted her head to meet his eyes straight on. His dark gaze, however, slid all over her, from her unbound hair to the tips of her red toenails, visible in her open-toed black-leather stilettos.
Heat burned over her like an open flame. Which didn’t make any damn sense because he wasn’t looking at her with any kind of sexual intent.
Which just frosted her cookies.
Vaffanculo, what the hell is wrong with you?
He was just a guy. And she so did not need a guy. But she did need a grigorio and this one exuded strength as some men reeked of cologne. He wore his confidence as casually as he did the black coat and dark, tight jeans. The combination drew her like a cat to cream.
Her stomach clenched and her fingers itched to run through his ink-black hair and over his broad shoulders. She had the completely foreign urge to curl her legs around his waist and cling, let those huge hands run up and down her body and—
And, boy, did that piss her off. She hadn’t had to sell herself to survive. Not yet.
She would sell herself to this man if he agreed to protect Leo. From the look on his face, he realized that and she hated him for it. But her body certainly didn’t.
After what seemed like forever, his gaze locked on hers. Closing the door behind him, he took the seat across from her. A grin ghosted around the corners of his mouth. Waiting.
Ceffo. Did he think she was going to run screaming? If the bastard wanted a lap dance, she’d give him one that left him with a hard-on for a week.
Standing, she forced herself to relax, to treat him as just another guy who saw her as an object, not a person.
Stopping two feet in front of him, she met his gaze.
“I assume you know the rules,” she said. “No touching. If you do, I leave and you are removed and banned. Don’t bother to offer me money for anything other than the dance. I’m not for sale.”
She didn’t wait for him to say anything, just looked away and started to dance.
* * *
Damn, she was actually going through with it.
Gabriel hadn’t come to talk, and he certainly hadn’t come for a lap dance. But when he’d seen her in that skimpy outfit, with those beautiful tits and toned legs and long, dark hair…well, he was a guy.
A guy who’d been impressed as hell by her backbone yesterday. She’d told him off then walked away. In her position, he would have done the same.
Tonight, he’d come to take her to Serena, to find out who the hell she was. He wouldn’t put up with any shit, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have a little fun first.
Well, maybe fun wasn’t the right word.
Because a hard-on the size of his was not fun unless he was naked and the woman was willing.
And from the expression on her face, that wasn’t the case.
She began facing him, gyrating her hips then letting her upper body get into the motion. She moved in perfect rhythm to the piped-in music, every inch of her body a sinuous delight.
Her legs—long and sleek in four-inch stilettos—looked strong enough to break his neck, but not overly muscled. Her hips and ass curved in a way only women should and her stomach, though flat, wasn’t hollow. She was no cocaine-starved junkie who weighed ninety pounds and had breast implants.
No, her tits were her own. Firm and high, with just enough jiggle to prove their authenticity.
His gaze caught and held on her chest as she raised her arms over her head and did a slow turn. When she faced away from him, she bent at the waist, wrapped her arms around her legs and wiggled her ass at him.
His cock, already hard, began to throb as painfully as if she’d reached out and grabbed him. Hell, he was as close to coming without physical contact as he’d been since he was a teen.
And that made this woman dangerous.
When she straightened, throwing her hair over her shoulders, he’d had enough.
He snaked one arm around her waist and pulled her onto his lap, clapping his hand over her mouth before she screamed.
He trapped her easily, but her desperate squirming made his cock kick in his jeans. He took a deep breath, which didn’t help because it was filled with her scent, spicy and clean, and whispered in her ear.
“I’m not going to hurt you. I’m here to protect you. And take you to talk to someone. I’ll let you go when you stop struggling, then you’re going to come quietly.”
* * *
Shea finally made sense of the words the dirty, rotten ceffo had whispered in her ear, and anger replaced her fear.
Her heart still beat at heart-attack pace, but she forced herself to relax and he released her the second she stopped trying to get away.
Instinct took over and she jabbed her spike heel into his combat boot as she stood and faced him. The guy didn’t even flinch.
“Vaffanculo. You are a Grade-A bastard. What makes you think I’m going anywhere with you?”
Crossing her arms under her breasts, forcing them tighter against the straps, she watched his gaze dip for a few brief seconds, making her nipples ache against the leather.
Son-of-a-bitch.
He smiled as if he’d read her mind. “You came to me for help, babe. Either you take it or they take the kid. I’ve seen what’s after him.”
Damn him. Her stomach rolled and, for a minute, she thought she might throw up. He was deliberately trying to scare her.
And since she’d seen first-hand what those men would do…she was terrified.
They could be anywhere. Sitting in the audience. Next to her on the street. They were close. She could practically feel them, like a dark presence that lingered on the outer edges of her consciousness. They’d killed her parents. There was no way she’d let them have Leo. But if something happened to her, Leo would have no one.
Unless she trusted this man with the steady dark stare and rock-solid jaw under a finely trimmed beard that covered his chin and continued up to meet his sideburns.
She sighed. “Why are you here now? You made yourself perfectly clear last night.”
He shook his head. “No, I didn’t. Look…last night…I wasn’t expecting you. I was tired and…” He sighed. “I didn’t mean to offend you. So, may I please offer you my protection?”
Her lips twitched at his apology during which he never apologized and at his purely male look of exasperation. He had to know she wouldn’t say no. There was too much at stake.
“Can you at least tell me your name? And who wants to talk to us?”
His head inclined the slightest bit. “Gabriel Borelli. And all your questions will be answered when we get where we’re going. But we gotta go now.”
“Fine. Just let me change—”
Borelli held up one hand to silence her as his eyes narrowed. He turned toward the door, revealing, for a brief second, the armory be
neath his coat.
A brief flash of memory sparked as she recognized a few of the weapons under that coat. Her father had had many of the same in his own collection. Gabriel Borelli was a warrior, exactly who she needed to keep Leo safe.
His intense concentration as he listened to something outside the room actually calmed her. She didn’t hear anything but he obviously did. Something that set him on edge.
After a few seconds, Borelli made a sharp motion with his head for her to follow him.
Slipping off her heels, she watched as he opened the door and looked both ways. Then he waved her into the hallway that connected these small rooms to the dressing room at the end.
Where Leo waited.
Borelli dogged her heels, a gun the size of a small cannon in his hand. They reached the dressing room in seconds. No one appeared in the hall as they slipped inside.
“Leo,” she whispered. “Come on, we’ve got to go.”
His dark head popped up from under the vanity table where he’d probably been playing his PSP. His eyes widened when he saw Borelli and he looked back at her with fear in his eyes.
“It’s okay, bud.” She smiled at him as she shrugged into her hoodie and pulled on her sneakers. No time to change the shorts. “He’s here to help.”
Leo looked again at Borelli, who swiped a quick look at Leo before returning his intent gaze to the dressing room door. Her brother took a second to make up his mind before he moved to her side.
She grabbed his hand and her backpack…
And froze as her skin tingled. Someone was using a spell to search for them. Someone powerful.
Oh, shit. They’d been found—
Borelli grabbed her shoulder and shook her, breaking through the fear that’d nearly paralyzed her. He didn’t say a word, just motioned toward the door at the rear that led to the back alley.
She didn’t need to be told twice. Holding tight to Leo’s hand, she’d barely pulled him through the door when the shooting started.
Chapter Six
The dressing room door muffled the first few blasts.
But as the wood splintered under a barrage of bullets, the sound of the gunshots pounded her ears.
“Get to the end of the alley and wait for me there,” Borelli hissed before he turned back into the room.
He fired twice, the sound reverberating off the walls of the narrow alley, making rats scurry from their hiding places. Leo flinched but never hesitated as Shea forced him to run faster down the alley.
Stopping where he’d told her, she put Leo between herself and the brick wall of the building and watched Borrelli.
Walking backward to keep an eye on the door, the grigorio continued to shoot. Gunsmoke hung in the air, the stench thick and choking.
When he reached them, Borelli slung Leo over his shoulder like a sack of flour and grabbed her arm. Then he ran like hell.
She had a hard time keeping up, but she kept her mouth shut. Her heart flooded with adrenaline and fear made her stomach roll. Afraid to slow them down, she concentrated on not stumbling. As a kid, she’d learned to run on deer trails in the forest in her bare feet, her dad right behind her, ready to catch her if she stumbled.
“Shit.” Her foot snagged on something and she nearly fell. Gabriel dragged her until she had her feet under her again.
“Concentrate or we’re dead,” he hissed. “I can’t carry you both.”
He was right, damn him.
They didn’t run long, but it was a flat-out sprint up the alley. Shea’s lungs burned and her calves sang with pain.
But when Borelli skidded to a halt, she wanted to scream at him to keep going.
Until she saw the three men at the end of the alley.
Borelli nearly dropped Leo in his haste to put the boy behind him and against the wall of the building. Then he grabbed Shea’s arm and pulled her behind him, as well.
He kept his gun leveled at the men, two of whom had guns aimed at them.
The other was a boy, tall for his age, but still only a child. Maybe fourteen or fifteen. He looked like an angel with strawberry-blond hair and a face full of curves instead of angles, though his body was almost painfully thin, at that awkward stage between teen and man.
He smiled then, sweet and innocent. His expression sent a chill through her entire body. Goddess, the vibe she got from him slithered on her skin like slick black oil. He was anything but innocent.
Borelli’s voice hissed between his teeth. “We need to get to the tan car behind them. When I tell you, grab the kid and follow me.”
“Hello, grigorio.” His voice just beginning to deepen with age, the teen made the title sound like a curse.
Gabriel never looked away from the two men with the guns. “Don’t even try it.” Borelli stared straight at them. “You’ll both be dead before you pull the trigger.”
The teen laughed, a weirdly young sound. “You wouldn’t dare shoot that thing in my vicinity, would you, grigorio? A bullet is such a small thing to alter. One tiny flick of the air and it can land somewhere you didn’t expect.”
As if to demonstrate, one of the men squeezed off a round, straight at Borelli’s head. Shea gasped, but the teen waved his hand in the air and the bullet veered away and lodged in the building.
Goddess, the boy was grigori, like Gabriel. Cold terror spread through her body. This is what Dario wanted to turn Leo into. Oh, Goddess, please—
“You know, you’re right about bullets.” Borelli’s gun didn’t so much as waver. “But then, I never was much for machinery.”
Faster than her brain could process, Borelli’s hand, still holding the gun, shot out and connected with one of the men’s chins before tossing a left hook at the other.
As the men fought, Shea kept her eyes on the teen. He stood to the side, his unwavering gaze stuck on Leo. Waiting.
Shea hated waiting. Damn it, she wanted him to make a move so she could do something. Not only had her dad taught her how to drive, but he’d taught her how to take care of herself, too.
Finally, the teen’s eyes narrowed and he began to inch forward, seeing a tiny gap in the fighting between Borelli and the other two men.
Come on, bastard. Come on.
He came at her first with magic. His arus brushed against her and she braced herself against it. It was so cold, it burned. A fierce hatred fueled it, one she couldn’t fully grasp. She only knew it hurt, and her head began to pound.
Steady.
When he was close enough, her fist swung out and clipped him on the jaw. Pain radiated up her arm at the force of the blow and the kid rocked back on his heels. But a second later, he smiled and slugged her back.
She saw it coming, knew it would hurt like hell, but she took it like her father had taught her. And when it didn’t drop her, the boy’s smile finally faded.
And hers spread.
“Hey, kid. Didn’t your mom tell you it isn’t nice to hit girls?”
She grabbed his shoulders, catching him off guard. Then she pulled him forward and kneed him in the groin with everything she had.
He hadn’t been expecting it, stupid kid, and he fell to the ground with a strangled screech, clutching his balls.
“Run, now,” Borelli yelled as he finally knocked one of the men to the ground and kicked the other away. “The car.”
Shea obeyed mindlessly. She picked up Leo, her brother’s arms wrapping around her neck, the warmth of his body sinking into her skin. Hugging him tight, she ran.
They were nearly to the car when the men caught up to them. One grabbed for Leo, the other hit Borelli with enough force to knock him into her.
She stumbled against the car and hit her hip hard. Still, she twisted, struggling. She had to get Leo away. Had to—
Someone began to scream, someone close.
A shaft of pain shot through her head, nearly blinding her, but she struggled toward the car, holding onto Leo as tightly as she could.
She didn’t realize until the man grabbing for Leo f
ell away that he’d been the one screaming. He dropped to the ground, writhing and waving his burning arms, the flames quickly spreading.
“Get in the car!” Borelli shouted at them. “Get in the car!”
Her mouth hanging open, she stood there, motionless.
Blessed Goddess. Leo. Leo had done that.
“Sissy.”
Startled by the sound of his voice, she turned to look into her brother’s deep brown eyes. She saw his fear so clearly, it jumpstarted her body. She turned to wrestle open the front passenger door and slid in with Leo.
Boosting him over the backseat, she said, “Stay down and don’t move.”
She watched while he did that then turned to see Borelli slide into the driver’s seat.
The car came to life with barely a sound, a fact that struck her as funny. With all the rest of the drama, there should be roaring engines.
The thought didn’t last long as Borelli pulled a tight U-turn and peeled out in the opposite direction. Turning to look through the back window, she saw one of the men lift his arm, point the gun and shoot.
“God damn it, get down.” Borelli palmed her head and shoved it onto the leather seat, even as he turned the next corner one-handed and at nearly fifty miles an hour. “I don’t want you to get fucking shot.”
He took another turn without braking, his hand still on her head, and she heard a small “oof” from the backseat. Habit made her say, “Watch your language.”
His fingers tightened in her hair. He wanted to respond. She could practically hear the words on the tip of his tongue.
He didn’t. Instead, he released her, replacing both hands on the wheel.
Sitting up, she let her gaze roam over their foul-mouthed savior. Except for a split lip, a decent-sized bruise on his cheekbone and a bloody tear in his pants at the knee, Borelli looked okay.
She felt awful. Her jaw throbbed from the right hook the teen had landed and her head throbbed with the onset of a migraine. She wanted to curl into a ball and pass out.
