The Nightingale Trilogy: An Alpha Billionaire Romantic Suspense

by Cynthia Dane

  Nala could never escape the world she now found herself in. There was no retreating to her closet, where the worst she dealt with was cramped legs and the smell of marijuana in the living room. Where her roommates and their friends said stupid shit but were otherwise harmless. Where she came home to eat oatmeal for dinner before lounging in the bath for an hour.

  Instead, she lived with Vincent, the man who started this whole endeavor. The man who made love like a beast unleashed from its cage. The man so broken inside that he would be as likely to admit his feelings for Nala as she would be to confess whatever she felt to him.

  There was no escape there. Everywhere she could possibly turn was infested with proof that her life was now totally, utterly consumed by Xavier Crow.

  Nala held it together until Vincent pulled into his personal parking garage. She held it together until he unsnapped his seatbelt and sat there, waiting for her to say something.

  Not a single word came out of her mouth. Just a long, mournful wail as everything she tried to contain burst forth in a slew of salty tears.

  Nala crumpled into her lap, burying her tear-stained face and attempting – vainly – to stifle the howls and wails she so often kept bottled up inside. Vincent remained sitting in his seat. He wasn’t being disrespectful. Not in Nala’s cloudy eyes. No, he was letting her cry it out while still remaining in her presence. His hands gripped the steering wheel as he looked away. Whenever Nala wiped away her most recent slew of tears, she saw him sitting upright, arms shaking as he too fought back his emotions.

  “What’s wrong?” he finally asked. That deep voice wasn’t the most comforting thing in the world. This wasn’t a man who was about to grab her and tell her everything would be all right. This was a man who was ready to whip the car around and run some poor mother fucker over if it meant Nala would feel better. That’s sort of sweet.

  Nala sniffed up more tears, only moving when Vincent presented her with a handkerchief from his pocket. She snatched it from him and blew her nose, although her biggest problem was the tears staining her face as opposed to any snot accumulating in her nostrils.

  “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

  Vincent shifted in his seat. “You should. I want to know what upset you so badly.”

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me.”

  Nala looked at him through bloodshot eyes. Although his visage was stern, everything else about him was relaxed, almost kindly. Men don’t like seeing a woman cry, I guess. Nala held back her urge to touch him. That way led to too much danger.

  “She was watching us, Vincent. She was watching me blow your dick.”

  “They do that, yeah. I knew she was out there spying on people. Why do you think I was in such a hurry?”

  “I know, but… I feel… I felt… right now I am so disgusted I can’t handle it!”

  Although she tried to hold them back, Nala couldn’t contain the new tears falling from the corners of her eyes. I’m so pathetic. Of course she knew people might watch them fool around. That was the whole point of the club!

  “That man had my sister killed, Vincent. It’s because of him I have to do all of this to begin with. It’s the only way I can possibly get justice, and I don’t know how to do even that!” She slapped her hands against her face, shaking, convulsing as she remembered the way her sister’s killer looked at her as if she were a piece of meat to devour. “What am I doing? What am I doing with you? Do I really think I can do something to get that man taken care of? What chance do we really have? I’m doing things I never thought I would. I left Nevada for this expensive purgatory, and… and…”

  Finally, Vincent reached over and put a hand on her shoulder. “You’re doing what you think you have to do, like I am.”

  “Don’t.” Nala wanted to shrug him off, but his touch was too reassuring. Damn him. “We’re in no way equal. This is your thing anyway. What are you sacrificing? What’s keeping you up at night through all of this?”

  His grip fastened tighter. “I’m seeing you in pain right now. I’m seeing the man who killed the woman I loved more than any other… I’m seeing him hurt someone else now. If you don’t think that makes me burn with rage in my gut, then I don’t know what to tell you, Nala. I don’t express myself well, that’s true. I keep things bottled up and channel that energy into other things. It’s not healthy. I know that, but it’s how I am… and don’t think for two seconds that I don’t care what you’re going through as well. I’m not naïve. I know you’re taking the brunt of it.”

  Nala shook her head. “I hate this. I want it to stop. I want… I wanna go home, wherever that is.”

  “Home is where that man can’t haunt you anymore.”

  Her lips vibrated in the need to cry even more.

  “Come here.” Every time he said that, Nala felt more secure. That was becoming code for “let me hold you” or “let me take you to a place that will blow your fucking mind.” Right now it was the former, his arms encircling her as his chest came for her cheek. Nala melted right into his embrace, clutching him, crying into his silk shirt and wishing there was a way to have Vincent and none of the crap hanging over their heads, lurking in the shadows, or breathing down their necks.

  Nala clung harder, the stick shift of the car separating them, but not enough to keep her out of his hold.

  “I’m sorry, Nala,” Vincent said softly. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this. I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you feel uncomfortable. I’m sorry for what he’s done to your life.”

  He took away the one person I loved the most. Vincent was right when he said that earlier – Nala felt the same. They thought of two very different people, but just because they were different didn’t mean they were any less deserving of their love and admiration. Vincent lost the love of his young life. A brilliant tech mind who could have created the next great wave of personal aids. Nala? She lost her big sister, her caretaker, the one person she could count on to make her smile and understand what she went through growing up without a father and a mother who slipped further and further away from reality.

  “You don’t have to be sorry,” she said. “I made the choice to pursue this. You’ve never made me do anything I didn’t want to do or understand why we had to do it. Anything we’ve done in private… I wanted to do it, Vincent. Don’t ask me why. I just did.”

  His fingers pulled hair back from her sticky face, and… were those his lips brushing against her forehead? “I’m not the best man in the world when it comes to helping other people feel better. I admit I don’t really know what to do, but I want you to know that I’m sorry you’re in so much pain right now, Nala.”

  “You dumbass,” she muttered against his chest. “That’s all you have to say. You’ve got it down pat.”

  He kissed the space between her ear and cheek, easing himself back and pulling his seatbelt on again. When the car started once more, Nala got the hint and sat up in her seat, seatbelt still strapped against her chest. “Maybe it’s all I have to say, but there are a few things I can do. Hold on. Let’s escape for a while.”

  Chapter 10

  “Eat the damned curry already.”

  Nala stared at the plate of rice and brownish sauce stuffed with carrots and onions. An unknown scent claimed her, and she wasn’t sure she liked the foreign spice or not. “Except what if it’s too hot? What if I cry again because my mouth is on fire?”

  “That’s why I got the mildest one available. I’m pretty sure they’re laughing about us in the kitchen.”

  “Oh, excuse me, my PNW sensibilities…”

  “You mean your inability to eat anything slightly spicy?”

  “Okay, Mr. Fresno.”

  “Being able to withstand the hottest spices is a time-honored Californian tradition. Don’t let the yuppies tell you otherwise.”

  “I can’t believe I’m sleeping with a Californian. I’m losing all of my street-cred.”

  Vincent reached across the table and latched on
to her wrist. “I may have upped the property taxes when I bought my loft, but at least I live there and am contributing financially and socially to my immediate community.”

  “Holy shit. You know how to spear an Oregonian right in the heart.”

  “Baby, we are the Romeo and Juliet of House Bear and House Beaver. Together we can accomplish anything between our rivaling families.”

  “Must I remind you that they died in the end?”

  “Eat the damned curry already.”

  Nala shook his hand off her and leaned back in her booth, picking up a large spoon and dipping it into the curry. I hope I don’t regret this. Under Vincent’s watchful gaze, Nala put a small amount in her mouth, swallowing it as quickly as possible.

  “See? It’s not that spi…”

  “Fuck!” Nala nearly knocked over Vincent’s water glass as she grabbed her own, downing it in record time. When she polished that off, her tongue continued to burn, forcing her to grab his water and make short work of it too. “Fuuuck.”

  “Amazing.” Vincent scooped some curry in her spoon and ate the whole thing in one bite. He didn’t even wince, let alone take more than one sip of water remaining in his glass. “It’s barely spicy at all, and yet here you are.”

  “Shut uuuuup.” Nala yanked her spoon back and scooped up plain rice, hoping the bland taste of it would take over any spice left in her mouth. “I do not want to hear it.”

  “You know, I had some Russian food once. It was fairly spicy, even by my standards.”

  “Shut up. Shut up!” Nala collapsed across her leather bench, rousing the attention of a group of friends dining out late nearby. One of them began to laugh. Probably because Nala’s breasts were about to spill from the top of her corset. Vincent’s baggy jacket could only cover so much from this angle. “My mother cooked the blandest Russian food in the universe. My father was always dumping stuff in it at the dinner table.”

  “I’m sure.”

  Nala sat back up. When Vincent pulled up to this late-night eatery on Burnside, she did not expect to be dying on the bench – from food that was too spicy, no less. Yet when Vincent insisted that she try some traditional Indian cuisine offered at the restaurant, she didn’t want to say no. After all, she was Nala Nazarov, a woman who never said no to a challenge. Not usually. Vincent’s food challenges may be too much for her.

  “Dare I ask you to take me to a Mexican restaurant one day?”

  “Only if you can handle real Mexican food.”

  “I might surprise you.”

  “Doubtful.”

  He said it with a shit-eating grin that Nala didn’t often see on his face. She picked up her napkin and tossed it at him. Naturally, it only made it halfway across the table before dying an honorable death on top of the curry.

  “Aw,” Vincent said, plucking it off so he could eat more food. “Should I get you something else? I’m sure they have crackers for a palate as delicate as yours.”

  She didn’t take his bait this time. “I want another beer.” She pointed to her empty glass. “The only calories I need right now.”

  Vincent tracked down a waiter and got Nala her refill. This interruption to their good time meant she had a few seconds to regroup and think back on the past hour. Vincent brought them here, a hole in the wall by billionaire standards, but he was familiar enough with the menu that he was probably coming here to eat by himself long before he became an official billionaire. There was something endearing about his continued patronage.

  Once her refill came, Nala put on her serious face and pulled out her cell phone. Vincent took an immediate interest, returning his countenance to his usual grim features. Is it bad that I think both sides of him are hot? “Here,” she said. “These are the pics I took in his office. I’m gonna show you now before I forget later and you’re at work or something.”

  Vincent glanced around the sparse restaurant before taking her phone and swiping through her gallery. His brows furrowed as he stared at the paper Nala uncovered and the various pictures hanging on the wall. “Not surprising, but weird. That guy is weird.”

  “At least now we’ll know what he’s doing if he wants a picture of us next time.”

  “Indeed.” Vincent forwarded the pics to himself before handing the phone back. His own phone buzzed with a message in his pocket, which made Nala stifle a tipsy giggle to rival one of Robin’s. “Speaking of next time, I have it on a few of the guys’ authority that we’re going to Mexico for a weekend. You better clear your schedule.”

  “Mexico? Holy fuck, dude, I ain’t got a passport!”

  “I know. You need to apply for one tomorrow.”

  “Don’t those things take like… six months to process?”

  “Turns out that Sebastian is wrapped up in that sort of thing. I talked to him about it, and he said if I use his name when I call up the department to talk about your application, they can put you at the top of the processing list.”

  Nala frowned. “Is it wrong that I kinda wish I couldn’t get a passport in time so we wouldn’t have to go?” Nothing sounded worse than dealing with The Aviary in the air… and in a foreign country, even if it would be a billionaire’s cocoon. Nala would officially feel trapped, and there was almost no worse feeling than that. I would really be a bird in a cage. She ran her fingers along the collar around her neck, searching for the security the nightingale pendant provided.

  “It’s not wrong, but it won’t help us any. If we have to bow out because of something like that… it would look suspicious.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Crow might wonder why I’ve never taken you abroad, especially if we’ve been dating over six months now. We have to keep our lies in order.”

  “I guess.”

  “Besides…” Vincent took out his phone and looked at the photos he sent himself. “This must be the couple who moved abroad and had to quit The Aviary because of that. The ones mentioned in that paper you grabbed.”

  “Yeah. Looks like they moved to Germany.”

  “That’s not weird in itself. What’s weird is Crow and whoever he’s corresponding with talking like this.”

  “What does it mean?”

  Vincent squinted, as if that would help him decipher the words better. “I don’t know, but if I read between the lines, it sounds like Crow instigated the move himself. The funds could refer to the couple’s payoff to give Crow a wide berth, but it seems awfully low for people as rich as them. I am more inclined to believe the money is for the person he’s talking to in this letter. Who is probably a…”

  He didn’t say it. He didn’t have to. Nala was frozen in her seat, beer hovering against her lips. An assassin. The same person he paid to kill Desirée? Tasha? Any other number of people? Or did he have a network of assassins? How did that even work?

  “Let’s not talk about this right now.” Vincent took her hand and rubbed his thumb on top of hers. “I brought you out here to help you cheer up. Is it working at all?”

  Nala shrugged. “Well enough. Thanks. Beer always helps.”

  She said that, and yet the thing helping her most was Vincent’s casual presence. Spoiling her. Cracking jokes that were so unlike him. Doing everything he could to take her mind off things – and probably his too. I guess we do need each other like that. The more they came to depend on each other, the more Nala worried things were growing deeper between them.

  “So I have a question,” Vincent said, folding his napkin ala origami. “Your last name is Nazarov. Shouldn’t it be Nazarova?”

  “Ugh.” Not the first time Nala had been asked that. She pushed her hair behind her ears and pretended that she wasn’t annoyed. “Yes, but when my parents immigrated they decided to standardize their last names to keep the US government happy. When my mother left the Motherland, her last name was Volkova. When she signed documents in America, however, she suddenly had the same last name as her husband. Well, almost. She still goes by Nazarova because Nazarov was too weird for her. She would rather
see herself as her father-in-law’s daughter than a man. Or something. Whenever she ranted about it, it was in Russian and I didn’t really understand it.”

  “And you and your sister?”

  “We didn’t have those preconceived gender and naming notions when we were born, right? So I was a Nazarov from birth and my sister’s A was dropped from her last name when she was brought over. She only remembered Nazarov.”

  “Fascinating.”

  “I guess.” Nala shrugged. “I guess I should be impressed from a feminist perspective, but it’s still your father’s name and patriarchal. Plus, I’m glad my mother almost had the same last name as me. She had a hard enough time communicating with school admins when I was a kid. My father was fluent in English when they came over, but she had to learn almost from scratch.”

  “My parents are the most Anglo-Saxon you can get. Although I hear Koreans use similar naming conventions in their culture.”

  “I honestly have no idea.” Nala had heard that before. Because people always mentioned that as a way to sound smart. She wanted them to drop this nonsense right now – she was too tired, and now too tipsy to deal with it.

  “Never mind then.” Vincent put his hand on her again, this time stroking the top of her knuckles. Was that supposed to calm her? Maybe… “I’m taking a day off two days from now. I’ll be between projects and I like to take even a small break to reset my brain. I was thinking… why don’t we do something together?”

  “You mean like a date?”

  “Sure. Nothing fancy… well, nothing fancier than going to the Japanese gardens the other day.”

  “I, well…” Nala stared at the crane Vincent created from a paper napkin. “Why do you want to go on a date with me? I thought we weren’t serious like that.”

  “Who said a date is serious? Okay, don’t think of it as a date. Think of it as hanging out for a day.”

  “While you pay for everything, I’m sure.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  Because you’re still paying me a grand a week to be with you. Nala wasn’t super into blurring their lines. It made her feel less like a partner in crime, and more like an escort. A prostitute, if she wasn’t mincing words. “Sure. I guess. Nothing fancy, though. Hanging out. I have that day off.”