Impatience made Luke want to explode into the storage area, to get Ophelia safe faster, but he knew it was a bad idea.
“Let us go in first and try to talk some sense into him,” Lurch murmured. “If he sees you he’s going to get hostile.”
Atlas clamped a staying hand down on Luke’s shoulder as the two men eased the door open and slipped inside. Luke felt like his heart was going to jump out of his chest. She was just on the other side of the door. They were almost there. He forced his breathing to slow and deepen as angry adrenaline snapped along his brain. He gripped his pocketknife, wishing he could just storm in and slit Vander’s fucking throat.
There was a long moment of silence.
He heard Ophelia’s cry of alarm.
Luke ducked out of Atlas’s grasp and he rushed into the storage area, his cousins on his heels.
Ophelia was alive. Eyes wide with fear, arms tied to a pole behind her back, hair mussed and trailing over her face. The sight of her made him weak with relief. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to beat the shit out of Vander and cut him into little fucking pieces.
But vengeance could wait. Ophelia needed him first.
She hadn’t noticed him yet and was watching Lurch and Rick check on Vander, who seemed to be out cold on the floor.
“They’re here to help us,” Luke told her, realizing she might think she was still in danger.
“Luke?” She tilted her head as if she didn’t believe it was him.
She looked so tiny, so vulnerable. “Yes, it’s me.” He got down next to her, flipped open his pocketknife and cut the zip ties.
Her body fell forward before she caught herself. He pulled her into his arms, holding her head against his chest and rocking her gently.
“Are you okay? God, I’m so sorry, Ophelia. Are you okay?” He felt like shit. What kind of man put the woman he loved in danger? He needed to touch her and make sure she was in one piece—wanted to get her somewhere quiet where he could check her over. But even as scared as she must be, he knew there’d be anger too. Fuck, he was so angry at himself he wasn’t even sure how to process it.
“I’m fine,” she said, planting a hand on his chest. “You’re hurting my head.”
Immediately, he eased back. He spotted the big lump on her forehead and rage overcame him. He brushed her hair back to get a better look. “What did he do to you?”
“Uhh,” Rick said from behind him. “I think you need to be asking what she did to him.”
Luke turned to the body a few feet behind him. He looked from Vander to Ophelia and back again. “You did that?”
She moved to nod but stopped abruptly. “Yeah, but now my head hurts.”
He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry in relief, to be impressed with what she’d done or horrified at the risk. So much for being a damsel in distress. His princess was a warrior, too.
“Are you hurt, other than your head?” he asked her, shifting her so he could look her over.
“No.” She pushed his chest weakly, making him release her. “I’m fine. Just . . . I want to go home.”
He reached out, hovering, wanting to touch her, but she didn’t seem ready for that. He needed to hold her, but what she needed was more important.
This was all his fault and they both knew it.
“Of course.” He wanted to pull her back into his arms and never let her go. But she was holding herself stiffly and wouldn’t meet his gaze. “I’ll take you home.”
At that, her eyes widened with . . . fear. She was afraid. Of him. She held up a staying hand.
“No,” she said, her voice strained. “No. Someone else can take me. I’ll call a cab.”
“Why?” He’d anticipated anger. But fear? He’d expected her to fear Vander, or maybe even men in general, but she’d shifted closer to Atlas. It ripped his heart out. A stranger made her feel safer than he did. “I could take you,” he said gently.
She shook her head, then swayed. “I don’t want you to . . . I just need space.” Seeming to gather courage, she stood. Her glance at Vander’s prone form was brief, and when she finally looked at Luke there was an array of emotions in her expression—terror, rage, betrayal. “I can’t do this right now. I can’t be around you. I can’t be here.” Her voice had gone from calm to high-pitched. Shock was setting in. Her whole body trembled. “Oh my god. Oh my god.”
“Ophelia . . .” He made a move toward her but she stumbled back, eyes wide. “You’re scared and you’re pissed and you have every right to be. But you don’t have to be afraid of me, I’m not the enemy.”
“You brought . . .” She jabbed a finger at Vander. “You brought the enemy!” Her willowy body was tense and ready to snap. “You led him right to me! Because of you this asshole grabbed me off of my own fucking street. You think you can just give me a hug and I’ll forget about it?” She was toe-to-toe with him then. “I’m not stupid. I know you won’t call the cops. I know how this works. He’ll get away with it and then what do I get? I get to be afraid for the rest of my fucking life!”
It was all true.
He’d always known he was bad for her, but somehow he’d never foreseen this—not this kind of danger. So fucking naïve of him. Fucking stupid. Marcel’s guys had busted up their friend Jimmy’s garage, had broken Carlos’s leg, and then had tried to kill Fox. Why had he thought Ophelia would be safe? This life wasn’t safe for any of them, and he’d be damned if he’d let her get hurt again because of him.
“We’ll keep you safe,” he vowed.
She scowled at Vander, clenching her hands. “How? They have guns. They’re dangerous and you’re just . . . thieves.” Her hands were clenched so hard, her nails had to be digging in. “How am I supposed to feel safe?”
“I’m getting you trained bodyguards,” Luke said firmly. She needed them anyway. Should have had them all along, even before they’d met.
“He told me you killed Marcel. Is that true?”
Lurch barked a laugh. “No, honey. Marcel was an idiot and crashed into a guardrail while he was trying to kill Fox. That wasn’t your boyfriend’s fault.”
She sighed, her body sagging with exhaustion. “Please, Luke. I need to leave. Just let me go.”
Not sure what else to do, Luke urged her toward the office. Should he let her leave alone in a cab? It felt all wrong. She shouldn’t be alone. Maybe he could send Addison with her.
A click echoed loudly in the room. Everyone froze.
Fuck.
Luke pulled Ophelia down to the floor and rolled on top of her. Fox and Atlas were suddenly between them and the others.
“What the fuck?” Vander’s slurred cry was full of rage. Luke glanced back even though he knew damn well he had a gun. He was waving the revolver around like a drunken cowboy in a John Wayne movie. Hadn’t anyone bothered patting him down, or had he grabbed it from someone else? “Lurch, you brought these assholes here to save that little bitch?”
Lurch drew on him. “Drop it, Vander!” Rick was aiming at him too, but neither of them looked like they were in a hurry to shoot. Did they think he was bluffing?
Vander staggered toward Fox and Atlas, but he was looking at Luke and Ophelia. “I thought I wanted these guys dead. I’d have settled for them leaving town. Now I want her.” Vander tried to line up a shot, but Fox and Atlas kept moving.
Should he wrestle Vander for the gun? That would leave Ophelia unshielded, but would it distract Vander long enough for her to get away?
“Back away, Van.” Lurch growled, gesturing with his Beretta. “It’s over. Let them go. You know you can’t run around playing vigilante. We need to focus on the work and quit pursuing this stupid vendetta.”
“We own this fucking city!” Vander shot back. “I know it. Marcel knew it. If you’re just going to let anyone waltz in and steal a piece of the action, we might as well close up shop. No one respec
ts a business that can’t protect its interests. We can’t let them take over and act like it’s no big deal. You want me to drop it? Fox killed my fucking cousin, for fucksakes! It’s only fair I kill him and his.”
“No,” Lurch said calmly—much more calmly than he should have sounded, considering Vander had swung around to point the gun at him. “Marcel lost his shit. He used his car as a weapon and he met his maker. That’s all on him, not Fox. We all agreed.”
“No!” Vander bellowed in unsuppressed rage. “No. You and your fucking minions agreed. Stephane left and moved back to New Orleans, remember? And John helped me with this, then fucked off to hook up with the group in D.C. He hates that we wimped out on this, and has no respect for either of you. That doesn’t mean we all agreed. That means you got your way.”
“We’re not mercenaries, we’re thieves,” Rick spat. “Get your fucking head on straight.”
Vander waved the gun at Rick. “Oh, my head is on straight. It’s you two who are fucked up.”
The muzzle of the gun drifted toward where Luke was, shielding Ophelia who lay quietly beneath him. He tensed, knowing what was coming, hoping he was big enough to shield Ophelia from the worst of the damage.
He stared Vander down as his finger flexed to squeeze the trigger.
Fox and Atlas both rushed him, grabbing for his arm. A shot went off. The revolver was abruptly pointed at the ceiling. Vander was trying to push them away, but they wrestled him for the gun. The three of them hit the floor, grappling for it.
Using the distraction, Luke urged Ophelia up and shoved her toward the door. She ran, but caught his hand and dragged him along behind her. Luke could barely hear past the pounding of his heart.
A shot cracked through the warehouse. Another.
Luke pushed Ophelia through the doorway. Shut her in. Turned back to help.
Fox and Atlas were up, spattered in blood. Vander was lying on the floor, blood already pooling around his body.
Oh shit. What the hell were they going to do now?
Lurch stared down at Vander for a moment then rubbed a hand over his face. “Fuck!”
“He pulled the trigger.” Rick got down on his knees and checked for vitals, but shook his head. “I saw it happen. He fucking shot himself thinking he was going to get Fox.”
“I wanted to wing him,” Lurch said, sounding frustrated. “I thought maybe he’d stop and think about what he was doing if I did, but I couldn’t get a shot off without hitting Fox or Atlas.”
“I didn’t have a shot either,” Rick replied. “If the guys hadn’t grabbed him though, I don’t know if I would have been fast enough.”
When Luke got closer, he saw the bullet had gone through Vander’s eye. Bits of bone and gray gore dotted the macabre blood splatter that oozed and spread across the dirty concrete. Vander’s dead face looked surprised.
Luke bit back the bile at the back of his throat. He’d wanted to kill Vander himself only a few minutes ago—rage still pulsed through him—but seeing his brains sprayed across the floor was horrific and frustrating and sickening.
The office door sprang open and Addison was there first, trying to stop Ophelia from coming back in.
“Fuck.” Luke turned away from Vander, and moved back toward the office door. The blood stench was overwhelming.
“Shit,” Atlas breathed. “What the fuck are we supposed to do?”
Luke heard Ophelia sob, and he got to her and urged her back. This time she clung to him. He wrapped his arms around her small, shaking shoulders, and held her close. Afraid. Relieved. Feeling hollow.
Thank god Vander had missed. Any of them could have died tonight—they all might have. But his cousins hadn’t died. Ophelia was safe.
He tried to feel bad about Vander but he was only relieved he was dead.
“Just go,” Lurch murmured into the quiet. “We’ll take care of it.”
Chapter 19
Ophelia tapped her pen on the desk while she waited for her mom’s reaction. She’d given her spiel, staying calm and assertive, and now she braced herself for the blowup.
Sitting behind her father’s massive desk had done strange things to her ego. At first, she’d felt so small and inexperienced, but wearing the power suit and heels Chloe had picked out with her, and raising the chair a bit, helped. Now she focused on the feeling of strength and power that imbued her father’s spot. She remembered the years he’d spent there, working all hours to provide for his family and uphold the values he’d built his company on. He wasn’t all about the money.
The company provided blankets to the city homeless shelters, it gave employees paid extended parental leave and excellent benefits, it funded summer camp for disadvantaged youth. She couldn’t let that go. Everyone the company served needed her and she wasn’t going to let them down. If she’d sold the company, would the new owners have been as benevolent and giving as her dad? Maybe not, and it would have been her fault their employees suffered for it.
Lorna, sitting in the chair on the other side of the desk, huffed and smoothed back her hair before she spoke. “Well . . . If that’s really what you want to do, I guess I can’t stop you.”
Finally, she was coming around. Money talked.
“Okay,” Ophelia said, trying to sound confident instead of as nervous and uncertain as she felt. “I’ll have the lawyer draw up the paperwork.”
She’d told her mom she wasn’t selling the company, but planned to run it herself, with help from trusted advisors. And then she’d offered her mom a large settlement if she agreed to stay out of things. Basically, she was paying her to shut up.
But apparently, the idea worked for her.
Lorna cracked a small smile and straightened her shoulders. “Sweetheart . . .” Her face pinched like what she was about to say pained her. “I hope you don’t take any of this personally. It’s just . . . business.”
Ophelia snorted to herself. Sweetheart? So someone was having a little crisis of conscience. Good. If she acted like a mom instead of a gold digger, maybe they could actually have a relationship.
“Just take your time with the paperwork,” she continued, smoothing her skirt. “And if you need anything, let me know. I’m here for you.”
If only that were true. She wished her dad were here right now, even if only for one last talk. She had so many questions for him. The advisors were helpful, but nobody knew business like her dad.
Lately, she’d been sounding more and more like him. She’d taken on his tone and mannerisms, completely by accident. The company accountant had pointed it out, and it’d simultaneously made her proud and heartsick for him.
What would he think if he could see her now?
Her mother stood and turned to leave. Ophelia moved around the desk to walk her to the door. The plush carpet made balancing on heels difficult. The dark oak bookcases that covered the walls on either side of them held law books, business books, and some of her father’s favorite literature. She wasn’t sure if the dark colors and wood were meant to seem ominous, but they had that effect on her. Maybe it fed into the whole powerful-executive thing. For now, she left things as they were. Changing anything—even the outdated family portrait from fifteen years ago—was too hard to bear. It would have felt like she was erasing her father’s memory.
At the door, her mom paused and looked her over. She wrapped her arms stiffly around Ophelia. With a quick pat on the back, the world’s most awkward hug was over.
Ophelia couldn’t remember the last time her mom had hugged her. She assumed it’d happened when she was a baby, or toddler, but not in the last ten years, at least. Did money mean that much to her? Suddenly it made her daughter of the year?
As her mom stepped outside the office, Ophelia spotted Luke waiting by the reception desk.
Her heart skipped a beat.
It had been weeks. She hadn’t seen him since the
kidnapping—something she was desperately trying to forget. Yet there he stood in her office foyer, without so much as a text to warn her.
She’d thought seeing him again would bring back the awful memories of that night, which was why she’d been avoiding him. At first she’d been pissed too. But now part of her missed him so much it hurt. At night, she laid awake thinking about silly things like his laugh, or the way he furrowed his brow when he was concentrating. She’d been too chicken to text him to meet up.
But seeing him now didn’t remind her of that nightmare at all. Having him near made her feel warm and protected, as she had always felt with him.
When they locked gazes, she almost lost her breath. The way he looked at her—like she was his world—made her want to forget everything else and run into his arms. But she was a CEO now. Not only did that force her to be more composed, but it also meant she had big responsibilities. She couldn’t take risks with her life. And Luke was most certainly a risk.
“Sorry to show up unannounced,” he said, eyeing her mom warily as she left. “Do you have a minute? If not, I can wait. Or come back later.”
“No. It’s fine.” She smiled slightly. “Come in.”
He followed her into the office, shut the door behind them, then looked around. “Wow. Nice office.”
Chuckling, she turned to him in the middle of the room. For some reason, sitting behind the huge desk just felt wrong with him. “It’s a little much, but it was my dad’s so . . .”
He nodded. “I’m sure you’re filling his shoes well.”
She wasn’t so sure about that.
Luke watched her, seeming at a loss for words. She didn’t know what to say either. There was a lot to sort through. Where did they even start?
“How are you?” he finally asked. “How’s everything going? Are you . . . doing okay?”
After that night with Vander, she’d blown off every text he’d sent checking on her. She’d given short answers that distanced him even more. Part of her felt guilty, but it’d just been too much to wrap her head around. Between that and deciding to go for it with her father’s company, life had suddenly overwhelmed her. The urge to beg him to come over had been strong, but she’d resisted, positive she’d be better off with some space, and scared she’d only ever see him as a violent criminal. It was irrational, but the vision of Vander, dead, had been haunting her.
Fueling His Hunger Page 22
