Hard Bounty (The Snake Eyes Series Book 5)

by Tabatha Kiss

  “Do you really think that’ll work?” I ask.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

  I chuckle as I step away from the bed. “Get comfortable, love. You’re going to be here a while.”

  She blinks slowly, keeping her eyes on me as she wiggles her hips and settles deeper into the mattress. “What’s the matter, Archer? You might not want to kill me but surely you’re a bad boy in other ways?”

  I bite my inner cheek and walk over to her side. She licks her lips as I lean down, drifting so close I can feel her warm breath on my cheek.

  “Not that way,” I whisper, taking a quick step back.

  She rolls her eyes and pushes herself up to sit. “Fine. Don’t take the bait.”

  I sigh and wander into the front to grab a drink from my fridge. “Just out of curiosity, how many men have you fooled with that wounded lamb routine?”

  “I lost count years ago.”

  “Very few moments have made me more ashamed to be a man than this one.”

  She shrugs. “I do have to give you some credit. Most would be balls deep inside of me right now.”

  “Hypothetical question…” I pop open a can of soda and take a sip. “If I were, how would that help you?”

  “I’d throw my legs over your shoulders, grip your neck between my knees, and twist.”

  I swallow hard. “Bloody hell.”

  “Then, it’d be a matter of finding a key to get myself out of these cuffs but I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.”

  I tilt my head. “When you get there?”

  “Oh, come on…” She smiles. “I’ve got until tomorrow night to break out of this. If you think some handcuffs and a fancy headboard are going to hold me here then you have no idea who you’re fucking with, Archer.”

  My heart skips. I’m not sure if I’m terrified, turned on, or both. She doesn’t just have the perfect body, her senses are perfectly tuned to everything. She heard every word of my conversation with Enzo, meaning she was just playing dumb before. How much has she picked up on since we met at the hotel bar?

  “You might want to get some sleep,” I say.

  She doesn’t respond. Lilah just sits still, staring straight ahead at me with those dark, predatory eyes. Maybe she is the monster Enzo claims she is. I almost don’t want to turn my back on her but I spin around and make my way to the driver’s seat up front.

  Four hours to Chicago.

  It’s gonna be a bumpy ride.

  Chapter 8

  Lilah

  Archer Allen is better than I thought he was.

  He learned quickly from his mistakes back in Los Angeles. It was a bit foolish on my part to assume he’d be just as easy to manipulate this time.

  I have to wait this out. My brothers and I have a system in place for this kind of thing. Soon, Elijah will realize I’m not where I’m supposed to be. He’ll call Dante and they’ll track down where I am. They always have before, even without GPS trackers sewn into the seams of our bags.

  Archer finding that was an unfortunate mishap but it’ll only slow them down by a few hours. Now, whether they’ll figure it all out before I’m handed off to be filleted by Enzo Zappia… well, I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.

  A soft blanket falls over me and I open my eyes to see Archer towering over me beside the bed.

  “Did I wake you?” he asks.

  “I wasn’t sleeping,” I claim, pushing to sit back against the headboard. “What are you doing?”

  He adjusts the blanket to cover my feet. “You looked cold.”

  “Well, I’m not.”

  “Bullshit. Your nipples are about to slice holes in that dress.”

  I force a scoff in disgust, refusing to admit how right he is. It’s damn freezing in here.

  He throws another blanket onto the floor in front of the bed and slides his leather jacket off, revealing tight, toned arms sticking out of his shirt.

  “What are you doing now?” I ask.

  “We’re just outside of Chicago,” he says, hanging the jacket on a hook sticking out of the wall. “I’m going to get a little sleep.”

  “On the floor?”

  “Well, my bed is currently occupied and I don’t fancy getting my neck twisted in my sleep, so… the floor it is.”

  I breathe a laugh. “Fair enough.”

  He falls out of sight as he lays down. I scan the dark trailer, once again searching for a way out but it’s not here. This headboard was created exactly for a situation like this and nothing short of snapping my thumbs is going to get me out of these cuffs. Sure, I could borrow a page from Lucy Vaughn’s Manual for Escaping Shitty Situations but I get the feeling I’m going to need full use of my hands sometime very soon.

  My cell phone is still in my duffel bag. If I could get to it and turn it back on, then my brothers could easily track it. It would only take a second…

  There’s no brute-forcing my way out of this. I’m going to have to find another way.

  “Hey, Archer?”

  After a few moments, I hear his voice from the floor below. “What?” he mutters.

  “Why was I sent to kill you?”

  He chuckles. “You tell me, love.”

  “I don’t know. As you pointed out, I don’t exactly ask questions when I’m given a job.”

  “Why ask now?”

  My lips twitch. “Personal curiosity.”

  I wait through several seconds of silence before he finally sits up and balances on his hands behind him.

  I blink away as his handsome face comes back into view, cradled perfectly by shadows around us. “The Boss’ list of loose ends isn’t for just anybody,” I say to distract myself. “You must have done something to piss off the organization at some point.”

  He pauses with a furrowed brow. “This came from the Boss herself, then?”

  I raise a brow. “How did you know the Boss was a woman?”

  “Lilah, I knew about Snake Eyes long before Fox Fitzpatrick turned rogue.”

  “Really?”

  “If I had to guess…” he bites his cheek in thought, “I earned my loose end status about five years ago.”

  I shift up into a more comfortable position. “How?”

  “I was with MI-6,” he begins. “I got called in for a classified assignment in Afghanistan. The US government suspected one of their own of traitorous activity, but they didn’t want anyone tipping him off to the investigation, so they sent me instead.”

  “Who were you investigating?”

  “High-ranking bloke named Paxton,” he answers.

  I chuckle. “Yep. He’s one of ours. Or was.”

  “I learned that fairly quickly…” he nods, “but before I could alert anyone to my findings, I woke up in a bloody box buried beneath six feet of sand.”

  I pause. “You were buried alive?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you get out?”

  He stares at the bed between us for a few quiet moments. “In some ways, I never did.”

  My chest clenches. I take a deep breath only to push it back out again as my lungs fill with that phantom stench of smoke and fire.

  Archer clears his throat and turns away from me. “That’s enough story time for now.”

  He lays down again, leaving me in suspense, and I ease down to get more comfortable. I roll the blanket beneath my ankles to keep them warm and a smile locks on my face.

  “Hey, Archer.”

  “What?”

  “Thanks for the blanket.”

  He doesn’t reply, but I sense a smile.

  ***

  I jerk awake several hours later to find Archer standing over me in nothing but a white towel wrapped around his waist.

  “Rise and shine, love!”

  He grins at me as he pulls open the top drawer of a dresser beside the bed. Beads of water fall from his hair and trail down his chest and back, drawing wavy lines along the taut skin over his muscles.

  I clear my thr
oat and turn away from the fresh, clean scent of him. The cuffs dig into my wrists, instantly reminding me of how fucked I am. “What time is it?”

  “Early,” he answers, grabbing some underwear and socks from the drawer.

  I glance around for a clock. “Wanna narrow that for me?”

  “No.”

  I yawn. “Cool.”

  Archer smirks and takes his clothes to the foot of the bed. I watch with one eye as he dresses himself, fiercely tempted to gawk at every inch of him. He’s built like a damn tree; thick, muscled torso and strong legs. Unbelievable arms and, of course, stunningly equipped where it counts.

  He glances up and smiles as he pulls his pants up. “See something you like?”

  I roll my eyes. “Not in a million years.”

  “I didn’t hear you complaining last night. I mean — before the whole attempted murder thing happened.”

  “I was working,” I say. “All part of the job.”

  “Sure, it was,” he says, winking at me before throwing a tank top on.

  I shift up to sit and my head throbs, threatening a serious caffeine headache if I don’t drink something fast. “Look…” I say, “I know we’re supposed to be mortal enemies and all but can I please have a cup of coffee?”

  “No.”

  My head falls back against the headboard. “Oh, come on. I said please.”

  “I don’t have coffee.”

  “You…” I raise my head. “You don’t have coffee?”

  “I don’t drink it.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s really bad for you, you know.” He walks into the kitchenette and reaches for the cupboard above the sink. “You should switch to tea.”

  I recoil in disgust. “I can honestly say that in all of my years of killing people, I’ve never wanted to make a person suffer as much as I want you to in this moment.”

  “That’s quite the honor,” he chuckles. “Feeling pretty good about myself right now.”

  “God, I hate you.”

  “I’ll make you some tea. You’ll feel better.”

  “Ugh…”

  I glance at my bag in the corner. I need to get to that phone — especially if this bastard is withholding coffee. Chaining me up is one thing, depriving me of caffeine is another.

  I sit up taller. “Can I, at least, use the bathroom?”

  “No.”

  “That’s inhumane.”

  “Says the monster.”

  My anger spikes. “Don’t call me that,” I murmur.

  His head pops up. “What?”

  “Never mind.”

  I turn away and stare at the wall, trying to shake off the insult but it still burns. It’s been hours since I disappeared from the hotel. Surely, Elijah’s figured out I’m gone by now.

  Unless things went really well with that nurse.

  Well, shit.

  Archer walks over to the bed and leans over me with the handcuff key. “You have sixty seconds,” he says.

  I flinch with excitement as he frees my hands but quickly deflate as he bounds our wrists together with a single pair of cuffs.

  I blink. “You’re going in with me?”

  “It’s that or nothing at all.” He pulls me off the bed and flashes me a smile. “I could sing a little song while you tinkle if it’ll make you feel better.”

  “Ugh...”

  We walk to the bathroom and my eyes shift once more towards my duffel bag in the corner.

  He stops. “Wait—”

  My gaze shoots up with his voice and I look at him instead as he pokes his head into the bathroom.

  He reaches in and withdraws a razor from the sink. “Wouldn’t want you getting your hands on this…”

  “Then, you should take the toothbrush, too.”

  Archer pauses and stares at me, the wheels spinning in his head as to whether or not I’m joking. In the end, he reaches back in and snatches his toothbrush, along with his package of nail trimmers and tweezers.

  “Good call,” I wink.

  He takes a step back to let me inside. “Sixty seconds,” he repeats.

  I step inside the tiny bathroom and, to his credit, he slides the door closed so it’s only open enough to poke his cuffed hand through. A quick glance outside shows that he’s turned his back to give me privacy. Hell. I’m almost starting to like him a little.

  Almost.

  “Can you really kill a man with a toothbrush?” he asks.

  I chuckle as I awkwardly try to figure out how to do my business with only one hand. “Well, yeah. I mean… I never have, but it wouldn’t be too hard, I think…”

  My eyes fall to the toilet paper roll beside me and a plan pops into my head. I look to the door again to make sure he’s not peeking before silently collapsing the tube and sliding it off the rack.

  “Just stab the handle into his eyes,” I say, buying time as I try to twist the white roller apart with one hand. “Or shove it down his throat. Or, depending on the thickness, I could probably force it up into the brain through his nose…”

  He says nothing. I kind of wish he’d sneak one peek just so I could see the terror in his eyes but, thankfully, he doesn’t even glance back.

  I smile as I pull the metal spring from the tube. “Archer?”

  “I now regret asking that question.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, I prefer to make it quick so I wouldn’t do any of those to you.”

  “Oh, you’ve mentioned that.”

  “At the worst, you’d just feel a little pinch.” I stand up and flush, quickly straightening the spring and using it to pick my cuff. I don’t slide it completely free, just enough to let me slip out when I need to. “Or a cold sensation.”

  He turns around and slides the door open with a quick jerk. “Cold sensation?”

  I look into his face, finding great amusement in his stunned expression; almost like a spooked child staring at me from across a campfire. “Do you really want me to describe that one?”

  Archer blinks. “No, thank you.”

  I rinse my hand in the sink and shake the water off. “So, what’s next? Is it back to bed with me?”

  “Well, if you promise to behave—”

  I slip free from the cuff and reach for the back of his neck. His face twists in surprise and I yank him forward, smashing his head into the door frame.

  Archer shakes it off quickly and juts forward to take hold of me. I use his momentum against him and deliver a hard punch to his gut. He keels forward and I smash my knee along his face on the way down.

  It’s not enough to knock him out cold but it’s enough to buy me the few seconds I need.

  I jump over him to make it to my bag. I pick it up and dump it onto the bed, shifting through it for the hard, plastic case.

  It’s not here.

  He tossed the phone back into the main compartment with my clothes. I saw it. It was here.

  I shove my hands into the bag to check again but there’s nothing there. It’s empty. I—

  A wet rag clamps over my mouth. Archer’s strong arms squeeze around me as I take in a single, undeniable breath of chloroform.

  I push off the floor, raising my legs to kick against anything I can and shove us backward into the wall. Archer groans, but he takes the beating, planting his feet and holding the rag over my nose and mouth until I can’t fight it anymore.

  The chemical seeps into my system. My vision blurs. My lungs burn. His arms stay locked in place around me, guiding me all the way down to the floor as my muscles relax.

  I roll onto my back and I catch him smirking as I pass out.

  ***

  My face rests against a hard, cold surface.

  I open my eyes and wince as the sunlight burns in. My head is throbbing harder now, plagued by a loss of the caffeinated fuel I love so much and a heavy intake of harsh chemicals.

  “Take it easy now…”

  I raise my head off the table and turn my neck to find him sitting on the other side of
me.

  Archer leans back with his feet up and a book in his hands. Another one of my tampons hangs from his bloody nose, the string dangling down over his swollen, purple lip.

  I try to sit up but my hands catch beneath the table. I lower to look and see them cuffed together with a long chain wound around the steel table leg. The table itself is bolted down and solid as a rock.

  I’m not getting out of this one.

  Archer turns a page and doesn’t look up from his book. Calm and cool as one can be with a fucking tampon shoved up his nostril.

  “You know what?” I say, sitting up as far as I can. “I’ve changed my mind.”

  “About what?”

  “I won’t make it quick. When I kill you, it is going to hurt.”

  He laughs. “Is that right?”

  “Oh, it’ll be excruciating. It’s going to hurt so badly, your own mother will feel it.”

  “That will be awfully impressive considering she’s dead already.”

  I fall silent, feeling a sudden stab of guilt out of nowhere.

  “What?” he asks. “Don’t let my orphan status keep you from throwing down another witty retort.”

  “When did she die?” I ask.

  “While she was having me.” He sets the book down. “Lived in orphanages until I was sixteen, then I ran off. Never met my father, so he’s basically dead, too.”

  I lay my head on the table again. “Where’s my phone?”

  “I moved it last night while you were sleeping.”

  “To where?”

  “Somewhere else.”

  I fill my eyes with emotion — any that I can muster. “Archer, please.”

  He slides his feet off the table and rests his chin on his palm as he stares at me. “No.”

  “If all you care about is money, I have plenty to spare.”

  “Do you, though?” He raises a brow. “Running around and racking up debt on your dead granny’s credit card doesn’t scream fiscal responsibility to me.”

  I pause. “What?”

  “Mary Elizabeth Hart,” he says, making my chest cave in. “Your grandmother. You have a card in her name. Mostly, you use it for hotel rooms and gassing up your bikes, but I’ve caught you throwing away money at a boutique here and there—”