by Marata Eros
Now I know life can turn on a dime.
I stride out of the library with a disgusted exhale.
I glance at my cell, relieved for the distraction.
It's Dean. He knows the line isn't secure but I still want to kiss him on the mouth for giving me the first piece of decent news in the last week.
The Queen is on the throne.
Kandace has been located.
Please phone for the country of residence.
Call back on the secure line for a location.
I turn back and meet Chloe's eyes. I don't hesitate. I walk to the front door, glad that my butler doesn't work on Saturdays, and throw one of the two wide.
Cold air rushes in and I lean against the thick wooden side.
“Get out.”
Chloe ducks her head and walks to the door. Her face catches mine in profile. “You can't just brush this under the rug, Chet.” Then she moves across the grand entrance threshold to my front porch.
Clarice already waits inside Father's limousine.
“This changes nothing,” I reply, closing the double door in her face.
Her hand smacks the wood. The frozen wind lifts stray platinum hairs away from her face with icy fingers.
“You're wrong, Chet. It changes everything.” She turns stiffly and walks down the steps toward the limo.
I close the doors. I clench the lever handles, willing Clarice's revelation to have been a nightmare I can't yet wake from.
Instead, I move to where the secure line is. Finding Kandace takes precedence.
I'll face this new horror once I get my hands on Kandace.
FIVE
Kiki
Darrin thinks he has it in the bag.
Me.
Against the wall.
I know when Chet arrives this guy is going down and I don't want to be anywhere near when it happens.
Darrin's not drunk. He's horny and immoral. I stop resisting and let my body weight drop when he's not expecting it. My ass slides down the wall, dirtying the beautiful purity of my outfit and hiking the dress to my crotch.
But I'll escape what happens next.
Chet moves in, the kaleidoscope of color shards moving shapes across his face. Darrin sees my eyes move to a point behind his shoulder as he tries to tear me up off my feet.
I pretend I'm dead.
Still, Darrin gets my ass a few inches off the cold tile floor before he senses someone's behind him.
He turns, and Chet steps in, his forearm slamming the side of Darrin's neck. Darrin drops where he stands. Out cold.
“What the fuck!” I screech, and Chet lifts me easily.
“Vagus nerve,” he replies with scary indifference.
I'm against that wall again and I've never been happier. I'm also a wasp with a target.
Chet's eyes regard me like ice chips in the shadow of the sun, his palm out. “Come with me.”
All the pain and fear of the last week thrums through my sentence, “Fuck no, you jerk,” I say in a bruised voice.
The music bursts around us like stars of noise. Darrin groans on the floor as he swims back to consciousness.
Chet backs me up against the wall, pinning me there with his forearm against my clavicle, and I don't try to wrest it away. I know how far that will get me.
I also know he won't hurt me.
“This isn't the place, Kandace.”
I'd cross my arms if I could. Instead I narrow my eyes at him. “This is so the place, Chet.”
I'm not stepping foot from here.
I don't know how he found me, and I don't care. It doesn't matter that my body submits to Chet even as my intellect defies him.
“We're going.”
He releases the pressure from my chest and grabs my hand, dragging me behind him.
I yank my hand back and his fingers clamp down.
“Stop!” I scream. I'm hurt, confused, and so pissed I feel as if I'm choking.
Chet doesn't even turn, but a few guys do. One look at my tearful face, and they stop dancing to circle Chet. Of course, I'm sure I look like shit because Darrin was doing the not-even-a-date-rape number against the wall. But they can't tell—they don't know that detail.
Fuck. I don't want Chet hurt. He saved me from dickweed on the floor over there, who now has three Xs in each eye.
“Kandace,” Chet warns, giving me a look, his hand in mine.
A huge dude moves toward us like a linebacker. “What the fuck—let her go, douche.”
Chet ignores him, his eyes only for me.
“Tell me you don't want us.”
Tears roll down my face. I do. I want him so badly I can't breathe for it.
The guy we'd both forgotten slaps Chet's shoulder with the flat of his palm, and Chet staggers a little.
Chet swings to face him, his hand still wrapped around mine. “Back off.”
Color from the spinning disco ball slaps them with eerie prisms.
“No.” Mr. Chivalry plows his index finger into Chet's chest.
Chet grabs his finger in a move almost too fast to see and breaks it.
I hear the snap of bone even over the music and give a surprised scream. Chet jerks his face in my direction, probably to see if I've been touched and another guy gives him a kidney tap in a cheap move from behind.
Chet finally lets go of me as four guys move in.
I back up against the wall. Broken Finger wails in the background, and his buddies start pounding on Chet.
Chet's engaged to Chloe, he tried to manhandle me out of a sanctuary of my choice, though a would-be rapist had me in a snare.
I get all that.
But I love him.
It's so simple, so awful, and so final. I can't choose who I love any more than I can avoid tomorrow.
I move toward the group of guys, my heels clicking as I approach. But they're too busy trying to beat up Chet.
I take a running start and heave myself on the back of the one holding Chet.
I do a Mike Tyson and bite his ear.
It's gross but effective. He bucks me off, bellowing into the club that's growing quiet.
I land ungracefully on my ass, his ear bleeding like a stuck pig, and I spit out blood. He strides to me and rears back his foot.
He kicks me in my ribs, and I shriek.
I curl into the fetal position, but Chet's loose. His eyes become slits of frozen murder as he sights in on my position on the floor.
The guy moves in to do more damage, and I cover my head with my arms, curling my legs against my body to protect my internal organs.
I know how to survive a beating.
There's a slender gap between my forearms, and I watch Chet.
He rams his right fist into the dude I took a chunk out of, and the guy stumbles back, slamming into the growing crowd.
Three other guys come at Chet. He snaps his left hand out like a plank right into one guy’s throat, and he gasps, falling backward and struggling to gain air.
The other two pause at this new development.
Smarter than they look.
They take a look at the three down for the count and back away.
Chet straightens then turns his attention to me. He crouches, his eyes flicking to onlookers.
Gently, he picks me up and holds me against him. I whimper at the pain in my side.
I see Ax, and my eyes go wide as he brings a full bottle of champagne down against the back of Chet's head.
“No!” I say in a hoarse shout.
Chet's eyes go round then flutter shut. I can't hold onto him.
Ax catches him.
“This Chuck?” Ax asks, eyes wild.
I nod without correcting him.
“Huh,” he says and drops him on the floor.
Chet's head bounces, and I run to him to cradle his head.
I give Ax the dirtiest look I've ever leveled on anyone.
Ax chuckles as the crowd closes in around us. “No, girl, leave him. Let security deal with him.”
“We can't just leave him here!” I cry.
Ax shakes his head. “We can, and we will.” He rolls his eyes, and the whites look very stark against his deep brown irises.
He holds out his hand, and I hesitate.
Chet saved me.
He's engaged to Chloe.
Ownerships is nine tenths of the law, and that's what this was really about. I rejected Chet by running away, and he wants his exotic pet back. Eating his angel food cake with me as a dark bing cherry on top.
I take Ax's hand.
We move through the crowd, and I glance at Darrin.
Ax stops. “Is this the shitbag who put the moves on you?”
Another tear slides down my face to join the rest that have dampened my neckline. “Yeah.”
Ax punches Darrin in the face, and he goes down for the count for the second time.
“How did you know?” I ask as Ax tows me behind him.
He jerks his jaw toward the bar. “Aaron was looking out for you.”
Not too much. Darrin had just about had me.
Chet's the one who'd stopped him.
Chet.
I glance behind my shoulder before Ax jerks me through the exit that leads to his apartment upstairs. Gooseflesh blankets me as I see the spot where Chet laid is empty.
*
“Kik, what in the good goddamn was that?”
I swipe at my nose and wring my hands. “Chet just showed up,” I say in helpless explanation.
“How? I mean... god.” Ax moves to the kitchen, fills a glass with water from the tap, and sets it on the coffee table. “Drink.”
I take a sip then another. I'm so sober it's not funny. Two Long Island iced teas, and I feel as if I could take the bar exam. I suck in a lungful and cringe at the sharp pain in my side.
“Are you okay?” Ax asks more gently, eyeing me.
I nod, palming my side. Bruised rib. “One of those doofuses kicked me.”
“If you hadn't gone medieval on his ear...” Ax says with a smile in his voice.
I roll my eyes. “Right, and I was going to let five guys pound on Chet.”
Ax stands, folding his arms, and his all-black ensemble stretches across every hard part of his body. All of them, I can't help noticing. “Kik”—he scrubs his short skull cap of hair in obvious frustration—“let the dudes figure it out.”
I sulk and cross my arms, wincing at the protest of my rib.
An exhale explodes from him. “Chump can handle himself. He's a fucking dangerous dude.”
“Chet,” I say in a pout.
He lifts his shoulders to his ears. “Whatever.”
Ax sits beside me. “Tell me about this guy. Like, who is he?”
So I do.
A half an hour later, Ax leans back with a whistle, throwing his legs out in front of him. “Kiki, I'm not gonna lie. He's got some financial mojo.”
I nod.
“No offense, you're a hot girl—I got all the love for you, baby.”
I swear my eyes cross.
“But he can get some serious tail. You're…”
I watch Ax struggle to find an adjective, and I let him fumble.
“Difficult,” he finally says.
My hand covers my mouth as I laugh. “You think? Have you figured this out yet, Ax?”
His dark gaze locks with mine. “Figured what out?”
“I don't think Chet Sinclair wants easy,” I say.
Ax threads his fingers together and rest his palms on his head, gazing into space. “That's a no-shitter.” Then he turns to me. “So let's make it tough.”
SIX
Chet
My eyelids crack open and brutal light spears my aching eyeballs.
I groan and try to move, and my head swims with pain so excruciatingly bright, I roll over to toss whatever's in my stomach.
Eugene's there with a bucket.
I purge my stomach and fall back against soft pillows. “Awful.”
A familiar face appears above me. Doctor Lancaster.
I blink. Great.
“Hello, Mr. Sinclair.”
This man gave me booster shots when I was five.
“Hello,” I say on a croak, and Eugene moves forward with water and a bendy straw.
“What? Am I five?” I take a grateful sip anyway.
“Well, if one behaves as such...” Lancaster says, pushing his wheeled chair back a foot and crossing his legs. “You have a concussion. It was delivered quite precisely, judging by the damage.”
I cover my face with a forearm.
Kandace.
I sit straight up in the bed and my vision doubles.
“Chet,” Eugene slips from his usual formality, “lay back.”
“No.” I laser them with my eyes. “It's all right, Doctor, I'll live.” I turn to Eugene. “Where's Dean?”
Eugene exhales in an irritated way. “He awaits you outside.”
“I want to see him. Now.”
“Mr. Sinclair...” Doctor Lancaster begins.
“Sorry, I've urgent things to discuss with a colleague.”
Lancaster sighs. “Bed rest for one day, consume liquids only, and if anything worsens—such as headache, change in mood, instability, etc.—come in immediately.”
My head feels like a crushed tomato, and the back of my neck throbs where Ax tapped it.
He'll pay for that.
“I would be remiss if I didn't mention all the ramifications that could occur. Quite frankly, if ignored, a concussion can become a brain bleed.”
“Thank you, Dr. Lancaster. Duly noted.”
He sighs and stands,Eugene following. He brushes shoulders with Dean as he passes through the doorway and moves into the room. Dean is a huge man. More of an enforcer than assassin, he comes highly recommended for sensitive jobs.
“Should've let me come into the Crawl, Mr. Sinclair.”
Apparently everyone has a lecture today. They’re all variants of the same theme, and I find I'm not in the mood. Even though Dean's right, I'm loathe to admit it. If Axton hadn't used a stealth attack, and admittedly, if Kandace hadn't been in my arms, I would have exited his establishment without incident.
I think of the tank from last night whose finger is now crooked from my attention.
Maybe not completely scot-free.
“Lots of money exchanged hands last night, Mr. Sinclair.”
I swipe my face three times, hating the stubble that scrapes my hand. “How long have I been out?”
“Overnight.”
A man of few words. My favorite type of human being.
“Tell me what you've learned?” I ask, swinging my legs out of my bed and walking more or less steadily to my large en suite bathroom.
I lean against the solid granite surface and gaze into the mirror. A bruise wraps the lower part of my neck. I don't bother to look at the back. My torso is bare, and black lounge pants cover my lower body. Eugene's doing.
“He's a con.”
My eyes meet Dean’s in the mirror. I grab my toothbrush and line toothpaste on the bristles like a mint train. I work my teeth over as he goes on.
“He's got dummy corps throughout Seattle. The man is worth money.”
My eyebrow cocks, and Dean smirks. “No offense, Mr. Sinclair—he's not in your league, and his money is dirty.” Dean's lips pull up, “It spends the same.”
That it does. I frown and spit the toothpaste into the basin, briefly contemplating the filthiness of my past.
“His trade?” I swirl water inside my mouth, spitting again.
Dean shrugs his massive shoulders, the outline of his gun stark against his ill-fitting suit.
“Make an appointment with my tailor for a new suit.”
“Huh?” he asks, covertly checking his attire.
“Your weapon shows.”
His neck turns a ruddy shade of brick.
“No offense,” I say, keeping almost all of the mocking out of my tone.
“Right.” He moves on
, ignoring my assessment for the moment. “What doesn't he own? The Crawl is a front for other things.”
“I need to clean up, and we'll come up with something.”
“Better make it fast, Mr. Sinclair. He'll move that girl to another holding before the day's through, if he hasn't already.”
I face him. “Her name is Kandace. And she wants to move out of my reach.”
His flush returns with a vengeance. “I apologize. They're all marks to me. Marks to eliminate, find, or protect. It's more or less the same.”
I step forward, the blood rushing to my head, and I've never felt sharper. Maybe I needed a decent bludgeoning once in a while to think straight. Because god knows, I can't think around Kandace—as evidenced the prior night.
“She's not a mark, Dean.”
He stares at me.
“It doesn't matter, Mr. Sinclair. You pay me the same whether they bleed or survive. Period.” He puts his hands out from his body. His ruddy face is pockmarked from long-ago acne scarring. Dean's built for football, but he plays a different game now. A dangerous one.
“You need to be made aware of who Kandace is to me. It changes how we proceed.”
Dean waits.
“She is the woman I love.”
Dean hangs his head. When it rises again, there's a spark of understanding in his cynical eyes. “I'm going to speak plainly, Mr. Sinclair. You went off half-cocked, without backup, and in front of a crowd. You have the money to pay them off but only to a point.”
My expression must show my doubt. Money has always been sufficient. Everyone has a price.
“You put that college idiot in the hospital with a broken finger and a fractured jaw.”
Sounds perfect. “So?”
“He plays football for UDub.”
Fucking wonderful.
I'm silent as he continues.
“High profile slip up. Remember the press that Mr. McKenna received?”
Unforgettable. I cross my arms. “Yes.”
“He just about didn't survive it. You're in the same boat. You can't behave like normal men. You're not an average Joe.”
I snort.
His lips twist.
I can't argue his logic. “What do you recommend?”
“Let me find her. I'll lean on Axton, give him the rightful law spiel.”
