Game of Vengeance

by Amanda K. Byrne

  “Your head sounds like a fucked-up place to be.”

  I meet his gaze. “For someone who’s consumed as much liquor as Constantine claims, you’re awfully sober.”

  He drops his head back on the couch. “Con was in a piss-poor mood to begin with. I’m not drunk. Not sober, either.”

  I don’t like this. This not knowing where I’m supposed to be, if he wants me here in the same room as him, or if he wants some space. His head remains tipped back, so I slide backward on his lap, figuring I’ll go sort through my new clothes and take off the tags.

  He clamps his hands on my hips. “Where are you going?”

  “Um, bedroom? There’s a mess of bags that need unpacking.”

  His fingers twitch, and he nudges me forward.

  “You don’t want to continue drinking yourself into a stupor?”

  His head comes up. “Nah. I’ve got a beautiful woman sitting on my lap. Who needs liquor?” Hands splayed across my back, he presses me against him, lining us up from shoulders to stomachs, hips notched together. My breath hitches, and I hold stiff. I’m afraid to move. Afraid to blink.

  “Relax,” he murmurs. The hand resting on my shoulder blades strokes up under my hair, and he cups the back of my neck.

  Cell by cell, I do, fusing myself to him, the faint scent of cinnamon tickling my nose, his heat surrounding me. Plastered to him as I am, I’m expecting my libido to wake up and want to party. It doesn’t. It makes a snuffling noise in its sleep and rolls over.

  I didn’t know this was possible. To want to crawl inside someone, to want to wear their security and affection like a cloak. Despite the erection between my thighs, Nick seems as content as me, sitting in the dark, his hands a heavy, welcome weight on my back. “You think you could stop the world for a while? I’d like to stay here,” I murmur.

  “Please tell me all your clothes are still on.” Constantine stops at the entrance to the hallway, hands shoved in his pockets.

  Nick’s hands glide down my back as I slide off his lap. The two of us shift in concert, Nick with his back to the corner, his arm tight around my waist, my back to his chest. His free arm comes around, circling me.

  I never want to move.

  Constantine meanders over and flops into the chair next to the couch. His gaze is critical as he looks past me to Nick. “All right, bro?”

  Nick’s hold tightens. Constantine glances at me, relief flickering over his face, then gives his attention to Nick. “Cory got back to me. He thinks—”

  “That we can talk about this tomorrow? I’m not talking business tonight. Of any kind.”

  Constantine’s eyebrows squish together, his gaze flitting from Nick to me and back again. Nick slips a hand under my shirt and rests it on my stomach, stroking the skin above the waistband of my jeans. It’s a standoff, one I don’t fully understand, and Constantine glances at me again, one eyebrow raised.

  “Thought we’d watch a movie or something.” Nick’s chest rumbles with his words, the touch of his fingers ticklish. “Cass? Anything in particular you wanted to watch?”

  “Something funny,” I say, my heart thudding its way up my throat. “Is there popcorn? Constantine interrupted my popcorn eating.”

  “George gave me a popcorn popper when I bought this place. Never used it. Let me see if I can find it.” Constantine gives me one last look and a barely perceptible shake of his head, gets to his feet, and walks out of the room.

  I twist around the second he’s gone and capture Nick’s face in my hands, kissing him hard. “Thank you,” I whisper. It’s only a few hours, but it’s a few more hours where we can continue pretending we’re just like any other couple, snuggled together and watching a movie.

  He grins, that devastating, sly curve of lips I love to hate. “Who says I did this for you? I needed a break, and I’ve had enough to drink that making business decisions would be a stupid idea.” He captures my mouth before my frown becomes a full-fledged glare. He kisses me until the frown melts and a whimper builds in my throat. “You’re welcome,” he whispers against my lips.

  I untangle myself and go in search of the remote. It’s on the bookshelf under the flat screen. Tossing it to Nick, I kick off my shoes and retake my spot, certain I’m purring with contentment I feel so damn good.

  The evening is exactly what I’d hoped for. Nick and Constantine trade insults, and both protest my choice of movie when I pull up Crazy, Stupid Love. Hey, I said I wanted funny. It’s funny. It just happens to be a romantic comedy.

  When we make our way to the bedroom, a lingering trickle of anxiety threads through my blood. Last night was a heady rush of sensation and dragging doubts. It had ended well, but that doesn’t stop me from wondering what new twists my brain will take.

  One look at Nick’s face wipes away my nerves. He’s exhausted. “Shit. Why didn’t you tell me how tired you were?” I reach up and cup his jaw. What time had he gotten up this morning?

  He curls his fingers around my wrist. “Don’t. I didn’t know how much I needed tonight until you were here. I needed this as much as you did, the chance to shut down and do nothing for a few hours.” He lets go. “Right now, though, I’m fuckin’ beat, and I’m going to embarrass myself if I don’t lie down in the next ten seconds.”

  He strips and climbs into bed, groaning softly when his head hits the pillow. His breathing is slow and deep by the time I return from the bathroom, but he seeks me out in his sleep, rousing himself enough to mutter and fumble until he finds me, fits himself to me, his face buried in my hair.

  I wake the next morning with my head on his shoulder and his arm heavy around my waist. I don’t want to move. If last night was a bubble of average, it’s expanded into this morning, and moving will pop it. I can’t ignore my bladder, though, and I reluctantly untangle myself and climb out of bed. After a quick visit to the bathroom, I find my new running clothes and slip them on, glancing at Nick as I bend over to tie my shoes.

  He looks worn out, even in sleep. Sprawled on his back with two days worth of stubble coating his jaw, I want to crawl back into bed and cuddle him until the line between his brows disappears.

  I leave him to sleep alone instead.

  Constantine’s not up yet, either, so I steal his keys again and work the one for the building off the key chain. I stick it into my pocket as I shut the door behind me. The elevator opens as I walk by, so I get in and punch the button for the lobby.

  The lobby’s empty as I step out of the elevator, sunlight slanting through the large windows in the front. I push open the door, letting the cool air rush over me. A quick scan of the street turns up nothing unusual, and after I do a few stretches, I pick a direction and start walking.

  Before his house was firebombed, we got in a few more runs. I no longer want to die after three blocks, but I’m nowhere near where I was before. Anything over a mile, and my lungs are on fire. Satisfied my muscles won’t cramp, I kick into a run and spend the next couple blocks monitoring my breathing.

  The neighborhood is boring. It has no charm, no charisma, nothing to distract me while I jog along. It’s a bunch of newer construction townhouses interspersed with apartment buildings, and even the storefronts are uninteresting. I pass a handful of people as I puff my way through the streets. They’re young couples, moms with strollers, and toddlers desperately trying to get away, and about as captivating as the buildings around them. It’s like I’ve stumbled into a hipster-yuppie enclave.

  Tris, however, is not boring. Tris is back, and he’s running with a lot more ease than I am. He’s been following me since about three blocks from Constantine’s building, and I see him behind me every time I pass a window. He’s close enough to touch, but far enough away if I stop he won’t run into me.

  He doesn’t speed up, doesn’t turn off down some other street, just maintains the distance between us and keeps running. I cross the street, so does he. I stop to re-tie my shoe, he bends over and stretches his hamstrings
.

  It doesn’t make a bit of sense, and it’s driving me nuts. Someone told him to follow me. Nick knew who he was, but Tris didn’t leave when Nick showed up. So it’s highly unlikely Nick has him on babysitting duty. Which leaves Isaiah. Is this his newest plan? To drive me nuts by wondering why I’m being followed?

  It’s brilliant. It’s also working.

  Nick’s up and in the kitchen staring blankly at the coffee pot when I walk in. I set the key on the counter, grab a glass from the cupboard, and fill it at the sink.

  “How long?”

  I lick my lips, grateful he’s not chastising me for going out by myself. “Almost two miles. After about the fifteenth block, my lungs wanted to collapse.” I refill the glass and sip it slowly. “Tris was out there. Following me. Not at some great distance, either. He was maybe a hundred feet behind me the entire time. Never came any closer.” I take another sip. “Do you think Isaiah’s trying to screw with our heads?”

  He frowns into his coffee. “Don’t know that Tris following you twice equals a new plan on Isaiah’s part, though it’s a possibility. He’s proven a lot smarter than we’ve given him credit for.” He winces as he swallows. “This coffee tastes like shit.”

  “Then buy better shit,” Constantine says, coming into the kitchen. He pours a mug for himself and takes a careful sip. “Shit. This does taste awful.” He puts the mug aside and points at Nick. “You need to talk to Cory this morning. Guy’s about to lose it.”

  The two of them walk out of the room, arguing some point, and I head for the guest room and the shower. If I’m lucky, the registrar’s office will still be open, even though the semester ended a few days ago.

  I’m halfway through my shower when the bathroom door opens. There’s a rustling noise, and then the shower curtain slides back. Nick steps into the tub.

  I clutch my loofah to my chest. “Problems?”

  He reaches behind me for the soap. “Cory’s dead.” He runs the bar over his arms, across his chest, and I try not to stare. It’s hard, though. He’s naked and wet and right there. “Found with a bullet in his brain three blocks from his apartment.”

  He blows out a breath. “Bad enough Isaiah’s going after my guys and you. But now he’s taking out people who aren’t connected to the family?”

  That answers one question. Cory’s not a member of the Kosta organization. “What did Cory do?”

  He swaps out soap for shampoo, and I resume cleaning myself. “He oversaw transitions once a sale was finalized. He’s done it plenty of times before. Knew nothing about what else went on, or if he did, he kept his mouth shut.”

  We dry off and head to the bedroom to get dressed. Nick turns to me. “Come with me today.”

  I shake my head. “I need to stop by the registrar’s office. Besides, you’re going to be talking business or strategy or both, right? I won’t have much to add to the conversation.” This had better not be about keeping me safe, or I might have to hit him.

  “Come with me today,” he repeats quietly. “I need… I need you to see this. More of this. How everything fits together. I need you to see who I trust so if you ever get stuck and I’m not around, you know who to go to besides Con.”

  Constantine said something about how I was already in deeper than any of Nick’s previous women. I didn’t want to read too much into it before. Now? Now I’ll take any scrap I can.

  I nod. “I need a few more minutes, then we can go.”

  Chapter 15

  Watching Nick work is a lesson in frustration, and judging by the look on his face, I’m not the only one feeling it. He’s met with three different men so far this morning, all of whom gave me a brief once-over and dismissed me.

  Nick has his head in his hands when someone knocks on the door. “Come in,” he growls. The door opens and Surfer Dude walks in. He stops short when he sees me on the couch.

  For a moment, I think he’s going to do the same thing the other men did—scan and ignore. After darting a look at Nick, he surprises me by coming over. “Peter.”

  I get up from my seat and shake his hand. “Cass.”

  Nick arches a brow and motions us both toward him. I follow Peter to the chairs in front of the desk.

  “Beta testing’s going well,” Peter says. “Errors occur about ten percent of the time on Android devices. Cory’s assistant forwarded me the data he’d collected, and I think we can locate the problem and duplicate it.”

  It takes me a few seconds to understand they’re talking about work, actual work, and to remember Cory was the man found dead this morning. It also tells me that Peter must be someone Nick relies on quite a bit if he’s involved in both sides of the business.

  Nick shoves a hand through his hair. “Good. First good news I’ve heard today.” He scratches out a note to himself on a sticky pad. “Timeline for the fix?”

  “Day or two, three at the most.” Peter shoots me another sidelong glance. “Bas reported in. They were able to locate the apartment Isaiah was using. Gone now, nothing inside to clue us in where he might have moved to.”

  Nick swears. “Have Bas keep on it. The fucker can’t hide forever.” I open my mouth to protest and snap it shut with a click of my teeth. He levels a blank stare at me. “What?”

  I shake my head. “Nothing.” If Constantine were here, I’d question Nick in a heartbeat. But as engaging as Peter’s been, he’s an unknown, and I can’t trust him simply because Nick does.

  “Cassidy.”

  I shoot him a look that says really? You want to do this here? He motions for me to continue, and I straighten my shoulders. “Why is Isaiah still out there? You’ve got all these men looking for him, and it seems the only one who’s come close to finding him is sitting right next to me.” I jerk a thumb at Peter. “And I haven’t heard anything about what’s going to happen to him once he is found.”

  “The family’s gotten too big.” Peter shakes his head when Nick turns his scary face on him. “You know it, Dom. You’ve known for a while.”

  Nick’s mouth firms into a thin line. “Nothing I can do about it.”

  “You mean Andreas doesn’t want to listen.”

  I’ve heard that song before. I even know all the words. But I need to be sure. “Does he even care that Isaiah’s instigating a mutiny?”

  “Isaiah’s using the structural flaw to his advantage.” Peter stretches out his legs like he’s preparing to be here for a while. “If Andreas had taken the multiple suggestions to slim down the family, there might not have been so many people willing to listen to Isaiah.”

  “Anton agrees with him,” Nick spits out.

  Peter groans, and I frown. “Who’s Anton again? And why does his opinion matter more than others?”

  “Anton is Con’s dad. My uncle. He’s Dad’s strategy guy.” The only outward sign of Nick’s displeasure is the tightness in his jaw.

  I search for a metaphor that’ll make sense to everyone in the room. “So Anton is Tom Hagen.” Peter snorts out a laugh, and even Nick cracks a grin. I slot the new information in beside what I already know of Nick’s family. “What I’m hearing,” I say slowly, “is that I’d be better off not trusting anyone.” Nick shuts his eyes briefly as I push to my feet. “I need to get going if I’m going to replace my ID.”

  He digs into his pocket and holds out his keys. “We’ll figure it out, Cass.” I nod and turn to the door, stopping when Peter puts a hand on my arm.

  “You need something and you can’t find Nick, you can come to me.” His expression is earnest, and I believe he means it. But I can’t just trust someone because they say I can.

  “Find out where Isaiah’s hiding, and maybe I will.” I walk to the door and let myself out.

  I take the stairs to the garage. Once I reach the bottom, I scan the dimly lit space before hurrying to Nick’s car. He had the foresight to park near the stairs. After the recent gun fight in the other parking garage, I’m surprised he’s willing to park in
one at all.

  The black sedan idling at the curb is far too easy to spot, especially when it pulls into traffic right behind me. Whoever’s driving isn’t hiding the fact he’s tailing me. Blocks pass, and he doesn’t bother to let a few cars slip between us. It’s probably Tris. Since he hasn’t approached me so far, I don’t try to lose him.

  Traffic sucks. I hit every red light between Nick’s office and the UCLA campus, some of them twice because I can’t make it through on the first try. The black car passes as I find a parking spot in the surprisingly crowded lot. With classes over for the semester and finals winding down, there shouldn’t be so many cars around.

  Although, if that means campus will be busier, I’m okay with that.

  The shady walkway is empty as I hurry to the registrar’s office, and I take a moment to scan the lawn, checking for Tris among the students relaxing on the grass. He’s nowhere to be found. I pull out my phone, shoot a text to Nick to let him know I’m on campus and another one to Denise before I can talk myself out of it. Her unresponsiveness makes me anxious. I keep telling myself she’s still mad about all the lies I’ve told, and that’s why she hasn’t texted back. I feel slightly better after Bas checked on her, but I wish she’d at least respond.

  I wasn’t sure if the office would actually be open, but it is, and there’s no line. I get a new ID printed and move on to one of the older women sitting behind a desk.

  She’s perfected the look down the nose, peering at me over the tops of half-glasses, the kind used for reading. “You understand that should you withdraw in the middle of the next term, you are running a serious academic risk?”

  “I was in the hospital for two weeks and recuperating for a month. I don’t anticipate that happening again.” Unless, of course, Isaiah steps up his game and manages to catch me unawares, which is always a possibility.

  She pushes the necessary forms across the desk and watches as I complete them. I spend the next half hour picking classes for the next semester, annoyed when several I need to complete my degree are full. I manage to find enough credits to give me a full schedule. Nick’s definitely not talking me out of returning to class. I’m finishing this degree. He’ll just have to deal.