Die for Me

by Nichole Severn

  His right-hand man walked at his side, Nicholas’s eyes focused on the actual street rather than scouring the faces they walked past. “She’s following us.”

  “Seems Christian Wren told the truth, after all.” Isaac studied the balconies overhead and the windows lining the streets, wishing for a glimpse of the famed fighter. “Where?”

  They continued walking.

  “Right side, back about twenty feet. Gray sweatshirt.”

  Isaac’s body tensed with the excitement. He’d only heard stories of Adelaide Banvard, but what he’d heard, he coveted. Having an asset of her skill beside him would make the point he’d been trying to make to his rivals for years: he was untouchable.

  The possibility was almost orgasmic.

  “Take the next block without me,” Isaac said, slowing. He glared into a nearby storefront, not really seeing the antique typewriters or porcelain castles, but keeping what he thought to be Adelaide’s form in his peripheral vision. Others moved behind him slowly as Nicholas moved on down the street, but one distinct shape remained motionless.

  In the storefront window he saw his blue eyes reflected back at him, his lids heavy. Bristle formed around a strong jaw, the gray hairs beginning to show through his tough exterior. Pieces of trash swept against his Armani loafers and suit with the breeze, which brought the stench of the country along with it but also the smell of citrus. Such a remarkable scent. Isaac kicked the trash away in irritation and glanced up in time to see a thin cord pass over his face.

  The wire bit into his neck, cutting off the precious oxygen. He tried to leverage his fingers between the wire and his skin, but his attacker was too strong and the cord too sharp. Razor wire dug into his fingertips and neck, and he moaned in pain.

  The attacker pulled him backward, away from the storefront. His feet scuffled against the cobbled street as the walls of an alleyway engulfed him on either side.

  His vision blurred in a black haze, lungs burning for air.

  The locals wouldn’t help him. Not in this part of town.

  Isaac’s left knee buckled and he sank into a puddle of sewage. He tried to call out, but the wire wouldn’t budge. His heart pumped hard through his chest, eagerly waiting for Nicholas to do his damn job.

  The wire loosened.

  Isaac caught himself before he face-planted. He could breathe, but barely. Struggling with his necktie, he loosened it as much as he could before examining his neck with his fingers. Turning around, he confronted the person responsible for trying to cut off his head. His mouth had dried and he could barely speak. He reached for his neck again, coming away with spatters of blood. “I wondered how long it would take you to make your move,” he rasped.

  In his scarred bodyguard’s arms, held in place by a knife across her throat, was the schizophrenic he’d traveled thirty-four hundred miles for.

  “Hello, Adelaide.”

  Somehow, she’d known they came for her, maybe even why.

  Was it the way he dressed? Or how he moved that’d set her off? He stepped closer to her, watching the way her emerald green eyes assessed him. “My name is Isaac Rutler and I’m a great fan of your work.”

  Her expression didn’t give any hint of recognition at his name, hard as stone and just as cold. Perfect.

  Isaac looked down on her small form, inhaling her lemon scent. Even with the ridged scars of her past decorating nearly every inch of her exposed skin, Adelaide Banvard intoxicated him. A gorgeous nightmare.

  She stared at his neck. Hunger lurked in those eyes, a dangerous monster who’d put him at the head of the underground MMA organization.

  A smile crawled across his face as Isaac imagined the possibilities of controlling such a creature. Small steps, he reminded himself. First . . . “Sweetheart, I need you to kill someone.”

  * * *

  No reporters, no cops asking her questions. Nobody trying to kill her.

  For now.

  Torrhent hugged her knees to her chest in the Los Angeles county jail. Her head spun with the possibilities of her arrest. Harrington hadn’t shown, which meant she’d failed. It’d been three hours since her arrest. Isaac would certainly know where she was by now and had most likely sent someone to claim her.

  A small hope she hadn’t been recognized by LAPD registered an hour ago, but faded quickly. The cops were waiting for something, maybe even Isaac himself. God only knew how far his money reached.

  The door at the end of the hall slammed shut, pulling Torrhent from her thoughts.

  They’re here. She jumped to her feet, placing her back against the wall as she waited for someone to come down the hall. Couldn’t very well protect herself sitting down. If Isaac wanted her, he’d have to fight for it. They could be making another deposit. Yet there was only one set of footsteps echoing into her cell.

  Not a deposit.

  Labored breathing caught Torrhent’s attention before a figure rounded the wall and faced the cell. Surprise then relief flooded her system in a single breath. “What are you doing here?”

  “First off, you tried to steal my wallet—” Harrington started.

  She relaxed back against the wall, pressing her skull into the painted cinder blocks. “Is that why you came?”

  “I need you to tell me what you know about Isaac Rutler.” His eyes darted back down the corridor.

  The words made her heartbeat spike and she straightened. Suspicion slithered through her mind as she confronted him at the bars. “How do you know that name?”

  “Listen to me. If you give me what I want, I’ll get you out of here.” Harrington’s agitation radiated off him in waves. According to the way his eyes kept returning to the end of the hallway, he expected police to barge in any second.

  Don’t seem too eager, she hummed to herself. Torrhent stared at him, trying to detect the lie in his words. Men like him couldn’t really be trusted. Their entire lives were made up of lies. “Why?”

  “Does it matter?” His electric blue gaze trembled. “Just make a decision. I don’t exactly have an all-access pass unless I want to be in the cell next to you.”

  She wrapped her fingers around the bars and leaned into them. She kept her voice low. “How do I know you aren’t one of his?”

  “You don’t,” he snapped. “But the FBI is on their way to claim you and I don’t have all day.”

  “What do you want to know?” Torrhent asked, her eyes darting down the long hallway leading to the rest of the station.

  “Who is Nicholas Chesnick?”

  “He’s Isaac’s personal bodyguard, but he does more than that.”

  “Like what?”

  Torrhent knew where this would lead, and unfortunately for Harrington she was smarter than that. She wouldn’t give him anything without compensation. “Get me out of here and I’ll tell you more.”

  “Why is your dad looking for Adelaide Banvard?”

  “He’s not my dad!”

  “Shhh!” He pressed himself against the bars. “Let’s get one thing straight: I’m not willing to go to jail for you. So if you get us caught, you’re on your own.”

  A door slammed down the hallway.

  “I’m not telling you anything else until you get me out of here!” she hissed.

  His attention was diverted toward the end of the hall.

  “Hey! You’re not supposed to be down here.” An officer.

  Torrhent heard the echoes of his keys. She backed away from the bars. Whispers of excitement swam through her consciousness. Wondering how Harrington would handle the situation, she looked forward to the next few minutes.

  “Lie down,” her interrogator whispered.

  “What?”

  “Just do it.” He turned toward the officer as she took her place. “I’m sorry, man, but I just had to see her. We’re supposed to get married tomorrow and here she is . . .” He stepped toward what Torrhent imagined was the approaching officer.

  She pushed herself fully to the floor, closing her eyes.

  �
�Drunk off her ass. Look at her.” Harrington led the officer closer to the bars.

  Only blurry shapes formed through her half-closed lids, but as soon as the scuffling noises started, Torrhent couldn’t resist her curiosity.

  The officer hit the bars head-on.

  Torrhent sat up, watching as one of LA’s finest slid to the floor.

  “Get up,” Harrington barked. He reached down toward the unconscious officer.

  She did as she was told, licking her lips as she listened for signs of another officer coming their way. A little slice of fear scrambled up her spine and Torrhent knew she had her man. He’d have to do a lot better than knocking men unconscious to win her favor, but he’d get the job done. Putty in my hands. “Did you have to knock him out?”

  A ring of keys appeared as Harrington straightened. “Do you prefer I kill him?”

  Seconds later, the bars slid aside. Torrhent was free and the tension in her chest eased at the thought of getting out of town as fast as possible. The cops would double their search once they found her missing. She started toward the door at the end of the hallway. “How are we going to get my stuff?”

  “We don’t have time.”

  She froze, cataloguing everything in her pack. “My entire life is in that bag.”

  “Now you get to start a new life. We’ll start with me saving it. Let’s go.”

  “What are you going to do? Walk me through the station and into Isaac’s waiting arms, John?” she asked sarcastically. She doubted he’d used his real name. The smart ones didn’t, but Torrhent hadn’t reached a verdict on just how intelligent Harrington was. Sure, he’d made his way through a police station and even confiscated an officer’s keys, but could he get her out and could he follow orders? If she ended up back in that cell, she’d find another way to make Isaac pay, but if she didn’t . . .

  She felt as if she stood on the edge of an abyss and another tendril of excitement snaked its way through her body. Endless possibilities presented themselves in a matter of seconds. With a hit man at her side, she’d never have to answer to anyone again.

  That’s not why you’re doing this, her mother’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

  Torrhent reminded herself of the matter at hand. Her mother’s bracelet lay at the bottom of that pack, and if LAPD hadn’t catalogued it yet, she could get it back. “I need the bag.”

  Harrington’s attention was focused elsewhere, further down the wall. “See that window?”

  She followed his gaze and chuckled. “Yeah. It’s a little small for you, isn’t it?”

  “I’m not the one going through it.” An amused expression came over his face.

  “We’re three stories up!” she exclaimed.

  “Not my problem. You wanted out. I’m getting you out. Now tell me why Isaac Rutler sent his bodyguard for a woman named Adelaide Banvard.”

  The guard on the floor shifted, moans escaping his throat in small, helpless gasps.

  “Better get moving, sweetheart.” Harrington stared at her expectantly as anxiety clawed up her throat.

  She tried to swallow it down, tried to hold back the tears pressing at the corners of her eyes. That bracelet was the only thing she had left of her mother. She couldn’t just leave it behind. “I’m not leaving without my bag!”

  Just then the door opened again, but it wasn’t the police.

  Torrhent recognized the man from the convenience store and again in the café, her gut sinking with her own stupidity. They weren’t working together at all. The weight of her realization pressed against her chest, making it hard to breathe. She’d picked the wrong hit man.

  She backed toward the window.

  “I think you’re leaving without your bag.” Harrington had already seen the new arrival, his shoulders tensing as he turned to face him. “Get out of here.”

  A gun appeared in the stranger’s hand, aiming straight for her. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Her body wouldn’t obey the commands her mind gave it.

  Harrington yelled at her, but she couldn’t understand a single word.

  Something exploded on the wall next to her, sharpening her senses. Everything suddenly seemed louder. Torrhent threw herself to the floor as a second and third bullet whizzed past. A hand wrapped around her arm, pulling her upright and shoving her against the wall. His grip hurt, but she couldn’t focus on that right now. “Get the hell out of here!”

  The window caught her eye. It offered freedom, and every instinct in her body screamed for her to run. She bolted toward it and, as Torrhent climbed out onto the third-story ledge of the county jail, she left John Harrington to fend for himself.

  Chapter 4

  A bullet ripped through Taigen’s arm as he went for the gun.

  It hurt.

  A lot.

  Slamming his elbow into the shooter’s face, Taigen wrenched the gun from the guy’s hand. The gun flew across the floor, lost but not forgotten. His old life returned with each blow delivered and it felt good. Years of training flowed through his veins freely as adrenaline pushed his heart rate higher. Automatic reflexes took over, small at first. He blocked an oncoming attack to his kidneys, but failed to protect his face.

  The pain splintering from temple to jaw pulled a growl from his throat, but awakened the assassin he’d buried. The secret side he’d kept caged reared its ugly head, lingering just beneath his skin. He hated what he’d become and had worked night and day to control his disease.

  Until now.

  Like pulling off a jacket, his body sank into the familiar motions. With a single swipe behind his attacker’s knee, Taigen put his attacker on the floor. He finished him off with a downward hit to the face. Then another. God, he missed being in control.

  The fight ended and he stood above the incapacitated shooter as he struggled to put the inner hit man back in its cage. His sister had never been able to master the expulsion of her demon, but he’d become an expert over the years. Then again, his abilities landed on the mild side compared to Adelaide’s. Inhaling slowly, Taigen focused on saving his twin rather than what he could do with his bare hands. “You work for Rutler.”

  It was the only explanation.

  “I won’t tell you shit.”

  Taigen squatted in front of his attacker, his knees cracking under the pressure. “You don’t have to.” He clenched his fingers into the man’s clothing, ripping him off the floor. The officer who’d intervened earlier lay motionless. A puddle of blood pooled beneath his body, and Taigen hoped they found him soon. “You don’t seem to understand the situation. If I don’t find him, nobody will get out of this alive. So I’m going to ask nicely—”

  The door at the end of the hall burst open. “Freeze!”

  Taigen kept his hands around the shooter, avoiding any sudden movements. “Agent Trullio,” he greeted, recognizing her from her interviews. “I wondered when you’d show up.”

  She walked toward him slowly, gun drawn, aimed at his head. Trullio pushed long blonde hair out of her face. Thin, somewhat pretty, Agent Trullio was all business. The hard edge in her expression and the fiery look in her eyes told Taigen she wouldn’t make this easy. This one had a few more years on her than most recruits her age.

  “Release him and step away.” She bent to the floor carefully, keeping her eyes and gun trained on them as she collected the shooter’s gun. Two officers followed in after the agent. LAPD.

  He did as he was told, his fingers cramping from the grip he had on the shooter.

  Agent Trullio stood only five feet away. “Mr. Pelt,” she greeted the shooter. “You’ve been on our watch list for a long time. But you”—the gun moved with her address toward Taigen—“I don’t know you.”

  Taigen didn’t answer.

  “Playing the strong, silent type won’t get you anywhere with me,” she said. “What’s your name?”

  The two LAPD officers moved behind him. One took his attacker’s wrists behind his back and Taigen let the other manhandle him into a pair of cu
ffs. The click of the metal locking in place rang in his ears. He’d been arrested before. No surprises there. He tested the cuffs’ strength. Designed as temporary restraints, they weren’t impossible to escape from, but Taigen would play nice for now. Agent Trullio could help him in the long run.

  “John Harrington.” The alias was clean and he didn’t mind burning through it. John Harrington had done his job. He’d let her have fun with the name for a while. In the meantime, he’d keep himself in check and gather as much information from her as he could.

  “Well, Mr. Harrington, you’re under arrest.”

  “What for?”

  “To start with,” she said, her eyes gazing into the cell beside them, “I have a convicted felon missing and you two are my only witnesses.” A closed-lipped smile crept across her face. “Let’s go.”

  * * *

  Agent Trullio hadn’t said a word in thirty minutes. He assumed she wanted him to talk first, but he’d had more practice with the silent game than she ever could. Learning to wait came with having a troubled sister.

  “How long are we going to sit here until you tell me your side of the story, Mr. Harrington?” She’d broken first, but Taigen didn’t feel the victory yet. “But that’s not your real name, is it?”

  “You tell me.”

  Her soft chuckle barely echoed around one of LA county jail’s many interrogation rooms. The cinder-block walls, concrete floor, single table and two chairs making up the small space weren’t meant to be comfortable. Most suspects and witnesses didn’t stay more than a couple hours on any given day.

  Taigen would stay even less.