Fearless For Love (Lovelly #3)

by Clara Stone

  “And I’m just supposed to believe you?”

  He laughs. “Promises are all that I have in this business.” He looks at me, not a fleck of fear in his eyes. “Now, put down the gun, Mr. Lovelly.”

  I hesitate, staring at him. But then my eyes focus on Jess; I can see her just over his shoulder, this girl who showed me not to be afraid of loving again. To be fearless when it comes to fighting for love. She looks at me, determined, silently encouraging me to shoot the bastard, and my heart clenches. The girl who was so afraid of anger and fighting is now encouraging me to be what she feared. And I can’t do it. I don’t want to be that man. So I drop my aim, putting both my hands up in the air.

  Stamos smiles victoriously. “See, that wasn’t so bad.” Then he snaps his fingers and the two assholes guarding Jess drag her from the room. I cringe as her protests ring through the air and pray this all works out in my favor.

  Hold on, sweetheart. It’ll all be over soon.

  “Let’s get down to business, shall we?” Stamos returns to his throne behind the desk and sits.

  “I prefer you buy me dinner before you screw me,” I reply, studying the room.

  He points his finger and shakes it. “See, this is what I’m talking about.” He leans forward, his arms on the table, chuckling. “Your sense of humor—hmm. It gets me every time.”

  One of the white-suited guards—the one I tagged in the gut earlier—pours two glasses of brandy, handing one to Stamos and the other to me. I half expected him to spit in mine.

  Stamos watches me as he takes a sip. “You know what men like you are for, Mr. Lovelly?”

  “No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

  “They’re used for tasks that other men are too important to partake in. Men like you are easily disposed of, and not a single person cares what happens to them. In other words, you’re nothing but a bottom feeder.”

  I feign disinterest.

  “But you see, in my opinion, someone with talents like yours should never be at the bottom of the food chain. You need to be up at the center of everything.”

  “You know, I’m so glad you get it. I’ve been trying to tell everyone since I was yea high”—I place my hand flat at about my shoulder—“that I’m too good for this world, but nobody would listen.”

  “Well, I’ll see to it that you’re never at the bottom of the food chain again. By all rights, I should kill you. I don’t take kindly to a mole in my midst, as you very well know. But there’s something about you, Mr. Lovelly, that brings out my generosity, and I’ve decided to let you live.”

  “And I’m certain you expect nothing in return.”

  He places his whiskey on the table and smiles. “I am a businessman, Mr. Lovelly, and I’d hate to waste a talent such as yours just because we couldn’t come to terms. I want you to work for me.”

  I arch an eyebrow, confused. “I don’t follow. I already work for you, and I’m not exactly Employee of the Month. ”

  He laughs. “No, you most certainly are not.” He locks his fingers together, leaning forward. “I want you to keep your current job—your other current job—and do for me what they wanted you to do for them. I want you to be a double agent, a spy loyal to me instead of whatever halfcocked government agency you represent.”

  Interesting. Can’t say that I saw that one coming. But I keep my face carefully composed and take a sip of my drink while I contemplate how to respond. “I’ve been told that my ability to be highly adaptable is one of my best qualities. But to be a watchdog . . . ? I honestly feel a little insulted.”

  “Call it whatever you like. But you watch my back, and you’ll never have to worry about money or keeping that pretty girl of yours safe again.”

  My composure falters as rage floods my system at the mention of Jess, but I pull it back, masking it behind another sip of brandy. It really is good brandy.

  “Think about all the things you could do at my side,” Stamos continues, not noticing my sudden change in demeanor.

  My bones and muscles tighten up as I listen to him drone on. I feel like I’ve been injected with adrenaline. And it’s telling my body to find a way out and get this shit taken care of. I’ve had enough of this bullshit. I slam my glass down on the desk and smile sweetly at his startled expression.

  “That sounds like a wonderful plan, really. And I’m honored that you’d think of me. However, I’m going to have to decline your offer and ask you shove it up your ass. If you can’t do that, I’m more than happy to shove it for you, because I too am feeling generous right now.”

  He sighs, disappointed. “I have to give it to you, Mr. Lovelly. Or perhaps the congratulations goes to your bureau for always spitting out better men, year after year.”

  I get to my feet and grab the glass of brandy, swirling the remnants around lazily. So he lied when he said he didn’t know who I worked for. Great. Guess I should have seen that coming.

  “If you weren’t such a talker, or an undercover rat, you would have been an amazing addition to my collection.”

  “Beggars can’t be choosers, Stamos.”

  His smile disappears as he pushes back away from the desk and heads toward the door. “I must say, I’m not surprised.” He opens it and in come four men. “Though, it really is a shame that you and I can’t work together, Mr. Lovelly.” Stamos walks out past his goons, his white-suited bodyguards trailing like the mindless puppies they are. He turns back, and right before the doors close, he says, “Say hello to Krish for me.”

  I sigh, downing the rest of my drink as the doors to Stamos’s office slam closed, feeling the brandy burn down my throat. “That’s one damn good drink,” I say, looking at the glass as Stamos’s men close in.

  When the first guy gets close to me, I throw the glass in my hand at his face. I grab hold of the bottle, crying internally at the waste of such wonderful liquor, and chuck it at the guy behind him. The third guy sees what I’m doing and doesn’t wait for his buddies to get out of the way before he opens fire. I quickly snag the gold plate that used to hold the decanter and glasses and use it to shield myself as I duck.

  My arms jerk from the power of a glancing bullet—turns out, the guy’s a lousy shot—but thankfully, the metal holds. I walk backward toward the guy that has his face filled with whiskey and pull him forward, using him in place of the platter. His buddy apparently has no qualms about friendly fire, and Suit #1 takes a few to the torso before collapsing. I unseat the gun from his holster before tossing him to the side and ducking behind the desk.

  Shouldn’t that guy be out of bullets by now? Jesus!

  I throw the gold plate at Suit #4, who took the hint from his partner and started shooting at me. Then I duck and run, rolling over the top of the pool table to land on the other side, shielding myself between the wall and the table. I take aim and shoot at Suit #3 from under the pool table, getting him in the knee. Two down, two more to go.

  I peek over the pool table and take out the guy to my right—Suit #4—hitting him in the shoulder, and then aim for the last man standing, Suit #2, who bore the full wrath of a bottle of brandy to the face.

  His gun clicks as he tries to fire, but no bullets spit out. Thanking my luck, I pull the trigger. My gun makes the same pathetic click, signaling the end of my magazine, so I chuck it at him instead. When he covers his already mangled face to protect himself, I surge forward, and send him stumbling to the side with a right hook.

  I take a deep breath, feeling the sting from a solid impact and shake my head. The guy readies himself and throws his own right, then left hook. Which I duck with ease.

  He throws a punch next, and I shove his hand aside, getting him in a headlock. I use my leg to sweep him off his feet, landing us both hard on the carpeted floor The guy struggles, but he can’t break my grip, and he eventually falls into unconsciousness. I roll him to the side and get to my feet, surveying the beautiful mess I made out of four fully grown men. “Not bad for a day’s work,” I say out loud, feeling my b
reathing start to slow down again.

  Now I just need to find Jess and hope the FBI gets here in time.

  I’VE BEEN PACING. A lot. I don’t know how long I’ve been stashed in this room. Maybe ten minutes, maybe ten hours. Sure, it’s nice and comfortable with these huge couches and that table filled with food. But I’m too sick with worry to even think about eating. So I pace. And wait. Wait for them to tell me Harrington’s dead. Wait for Tony to come back. Wait for someone to herd me like a cow for the slaughter.

  Deep down, under all the scars and fear, I know I’m a survivor. If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t have survived my childhood. Sure, Vincent was there to save me more times than I can count, but there were times when I needed to save myself too. And this . . . well, this is worse than all of them. I don’t know if I can survive this. I don’t know if I can survive without Harrington.

  A sharp pain on my fingertip rips me out of my thoughts. I’ve been chewing on my fingers while pacing. Never a good sign. Especially because about four of them are now bleeding. I inspect my self-inflicted injuries, and suddenly, I have an idea.

  I look over at the two men guarding the door and jerk my chin at them.

  They look at each other, then back at me.

  “I need to use the bathroom,” I tell them. “Like really bad.” When they still don’t move, I get desperate. “Mother Nature is visiting me right now, if you know what I mean.”

  They look confused.

  I sigh. “Period, guys. I’m bleeding down there and I need to use the bathroom.”

  “Oh,” one of them finally says. And, in typical male fashion, they look uncomfortably between each other, trying to decide how to deal with this.

  “You take her,” the one on the right says.

  “No, you,” the other answers.

  “While you fight over there, I’m about to bleed all over the floor, just so you know.”

  If they were uncomfortable before, now they look downright terrified. Seriously? These men see blood on a daily basis, but a little talk about menstruation and they can’t handle it? I shake my head. Men. Sometimes they can be such wimps.

  “Fine,” the one on the right finally says. “Come with me. And no funny business.”

  “Scout’s honor,” I say, following behind him as he leads me out the door. I wink at the guy left behind as I pass.

  He grimaces.

  “No funny business,” my guard says again when we reach the bathroom. He pushes the door open and ushers me through.

  I walk inside and look around. There’s not a door or window in sight. “Where am I going to go? Into the walls?”

  Then I shut the door on his angry face before he can respond and lock it.

  What next? Think, Jess. Think. I turn on the faucet and let the water run while I look through the cabinet below the sink.

  There’s nothing. I mean nothing down here. Not even a spare toilet paper roll. Then it hits me. I quickly empty what little toilet paper is left on the roll, and pull out the empty cardboard tube. Then I open the door just wide enough to peek through.

  “Can you get me more toilet paper?” I wave the empty roll in front of his face.

  “What do I look like, your personal shopper?” he snaps.

  “No. But I don’t have my tampons or pads, because, you know, I didn’t expect to be drugged and kidnapped,” I say impatiently. “So unless you can give me something I can use to block this bleed, I’m afraid . . .”

  The way his face screws up like a corkscrew tells me I’ve got him where I wanted. “All right. All right. Spare me the details. Wait here.” He gestures with his hands as he walks backward. I hear him speak into his earpiece about needing to find toilet paper as he turns away.

  The moment I see him clear the hallway, I step out of the bathroom and and head in the opposite direction.

  I walk on my tippy-toes to the end of the hallway and then carefully look to the right, then left. I catch laughter coming from somewhere. Only thing is, I can’t tell from which side.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  I try a door on the right side of the corridor, then another. All the while, the laughter’s getting closer.

  This can’t be good.

  Come on. Come on.

  I’m sure I’m making enough noise to wake the dead, trying to get these damned doors open, but it’s better than nothing. Two shadows appear on the wall in the adjacent corridor. The thumping of my heart has reached new levels. Sweat beads down every nook and cranny of my body.

  The shadows grow bigger as the distance between them and me decreases.

  What do I do, what do I do? Come on. Think, Jess.

  I need to get out of sight and fast. I’m going to have to go back the way I came, but not to the bathroom. Once I round the corner, I make a dash toward the end of the hall. As timing would have it, another set of shadows envelops that exit too.

  Oh, come on!

  What are my options?

  They’re getting closer.

  I look to the left and right.

  And closer.

  I’m so dead.

  They’re at the end of the hallway. I’m boxed in.

  I back away from the cross section, plastering myself against the wall behind me. But then the wall moves and I fall backward through the now-open door I was leaning against. Right into a room with Stamos, Tony, and his men.

  I blow out a breath of air. “Fuck.”

  “Indeed, Ms. Owens,” Stamos says, his eyebrow raised. Amusement and surprise play over his features.

  Tony walks toward me and grabs a hold of my arm, aggressively jerking me up. “You son of a bitch. Let go of me.”

  “Such big bark for a tiny mouse.” Tony laughs.

  “Is that how you get your kicks? Picking on people that are smaller than you?”

  “Now, now,” Stamos says. “Play nice.”

  I grind my teeth.

  “What?” one of the guards, yet another black-suited clone, barks into the mic on his wrist. Hurried words are exchanged, but I’m unable to hear most of them. Just something about “escape” and “missing.”

  “What’s going on?” Tony asks, forgetting about me for a second.

  Stamos puts a finger up as one of his white-suited men rushes toward him.

  “It’s Lovelly, sir. He escaped.”

  “Find him,” Stamos bellows. “Find him now!”

  I laugh, loud and with an open mouth, holding my stomach as I guffaw.

  “Shut up!” Tony yells, grabbing a fistful of my hair in his hand and yanking my head back.

  Stamos slaps Tony’s hand from my hair, making my yelp and chuckle at the same time.

  “Go find him. I want him brought to me. Dead or alive,” Stamos orders his son. Tony lets go of me completely, shoving me further into the room, and then stalks out the door.

  The moment it closes behind him, I glare at Stamos. “You know, if there’s one thing I’ve always admired about Harrington, it’s how fucking stubborn he is about keeping his promises,” I say, feeling hope spring back to life in my chest. “So here’s a piece of advice.” I keep my eyes locked on Stamos, so he doesn’t think I’m talking to someone else. “Run. Run now, and you might still get to live out your days somewhere.”

  Stamos walks up to me, his face filled with rage. “I guess I’ll enjoy killing you in front of him, after all,” he sneers, making a circle around me, like a predator, drawing ever closer. God, he’s just as creepy as his son.

  I wait until he’s standing right behind me before I make my move. I’ll have two, maybe three seconds before his guys get a hold of me.

  Now or never.

  I shove my head back, hard, and flinch at the impact.

  “You bitch!” The way he howls, I know I got him. I glance over my shoulder and see that his face is gushing blood, his nose broken. Good. Now to finish it off. I turn, throwing my fist to connect with his Adam’s apple, and then make a dash for the door.

  “Grab her!” he yells, just as arms wra
p around me and pull me back.

  I probably could have made it out the door if it weren’t for my throbbing head. I flail and jerk, trying to get loose, when the glint of metal on my attacker’s hip catches my eye. I twist like a pretzel to get free and dive for the gun. I lock my hand in place and remove the safety, turning on my back. My aim is set for between Stamos’s legs.

  “Take one more step and I’ll blow his head off.” I clarify, in case there’s any doubt. “The one between your boss’s legs.”

  They take a step toward me and I adjust my position to a one-foot kneel. “Don’t test me,” I yell, shaking the gun.

  “Take her down,” Stamos growls.

  Before his men have the chance to act, I close my eyes and shoot him in the left foot. “I said not another step.”

  Painful screams and swearing fills the room and his two henchmen freeze, not sure what to do next.

  Do as they’re told and risk their boss’s life, or stand there and wait for orders that might never come.

  Decisions, decisions.

  Welcome to adulting, bitches.

  Their concern for their leader turns into something else as they put their fingers to their earpieces.

  The door bangs, like someone’s trying to break through it with a battering ram. All eyes turn toward the door, and the two henchmen draw their guns, shooting worried glances at each other.

  I’m torn between keeping my gun on Stamos and turning it toward the door. I don’t know what to expect, what’s going to come barreling through from the other side. Is it friend or foe?

  The door bangs again, and then once more. My heart’s beating hard in my chest as a tense silence overtakes the room. Stamos’s eyes are wide as he stares at the ominous door. The two thugs don’t even care that there’s still an untrained woman with a gun in the room. Everyone waits, breath held, for whatever’s on the other side.

  A clicking sound ricochets through the quiet and the doors open slowly inward.

  Two shots echo inside, followed by two thuds. I cover my ears and jerk to the side. I don’t know what or how it happens, but the moment I’m startled, Stamos has me by the throat, the gun I’d held now pointing at my head as he uses my body as his armor. Together, we face whatever, whoever, was on the other side of the door.