Mouth thinned with displeasure, he slips his arm under my knees and stands. “Hey. Put me down.” I’ve been carried around more today than I’ve been since I was a toddler. It’s embarrassing. He moves down the hall and into the bedroom. I take in the rumpled sheets and bunched pillows. Did he sleep there last night?
Where is he going to sleep tonight?
“Seriously, Nick, you can put me down. I’m capable of walking. I just need to sleep.” Well, first I need to wash my hair. I’m not sleeping when I can get dried blood on my pillow.
He releases my legs, letting me slide down his body, and I swear he’s done it on purpose to torment us both. Pressed close to him, his hands splayed across my back, one hand wrapped around my ponytail, he holds me a while longer, his gaze intent on my mouth.
My body’s out of control. It wants kisses and sleep and to be free of pain. More than kisses, it wants to be fucked. Hard. Hard and long. It wants sweetness and dirty words, and it wants the skilled hands only someone with experience would have. Lots of experience.
Someone like Nick.
I like sex. A lot. I like everything about it—the connection, the exploration, the dizzying highs and the mellow lows.
The flip side, the darker side, where it’s boring and too fast and unenjoyable or followed by a “Thanks, babe, I’ll call you,” I can do without, thank you very much.
I think, if I wasn’t so tired, I could talk Nick into fucking my brains out. I also think, given the war his brain is currently waging, it will end in a “Thanks, babe, I’ll call you.” Not something I want if I’m going to be staying with him for a while.
On cue, my jaw cracks in a huge yawn. I push at his chest. “Go. I need to wash my hair and go to bed.”
“Right.” He releases me and rubs a hand over his face. “Why don’t you just go to bed?”
“There’s blood in my hair.” I tug the end of my ponytail forward to show him the crusted strands.
“You’re limited to sponge baths for a few days. The wound on your neck needs to stay dry.”
I slump onto the bed. “Fine. I’ll just…bend over the tub or something. Is the showerhead detachable?”
He takes my hand and pulls me to my feet. “C’mon. The sooner you get it washed, the sooner you can sleep.”
“Wait. What are you doing?”
The showerhead is, indeed, detachable. He ignores the question and digs out a couple towels from the linen cupboard, then throws them on the floor. “Ass on the towels.”
Too worn out to argue, I sit, slouching so my head tips over the rim of the tub with minimal difficulty.
You’d think having a big, strong, sexy as hell man wash my hair would be amazingly romantic, but it’s actually pretty weird. We don’t talk; Nick seems more concerned with getting my hair free of blood as quickly as possible. Five minutes later, he’s rubbing it with a towel, and my swollen eyes are getting heavier by the second. Not being able to sleep off the rest of the anesthesia didn’t do me any favors.
He helps me to my feet. Resting a hand at the small of my back, he guides me into the bedroom. I get rid of my jeans and crawl onto the bed. My eyes droop shut as my head hits the pillow.
“Cass?”
With effort, I open one eye. “What?” I mumble.
“What did the guy who assaulted you say again?”
I search my muddled brain, pushing at the edges of sleep. “Something about how I wasn’t tricky to find. Oh! I took a picture. It’s on my phone.”
He stares, then shakes his head. “You took a picture.” The bag’s on the floor near the door; he must have tossed it there earlier. “You mind?” He jerks his head toward the bag.
If it means I get to sleep, he can do whatever he wants. “Be my guest.” I shut my eye and snuggle deeper into the blankets to the sounds of Nick going through my bag. The phone chimes as it powers on.
“Fuck.”
Nick’s curse is loud enough to jolt me out of twilight sleep. “Now what?”
He shoves the phone under my nose. “He’s one of mine.”
Chapter 13
I screw my eyes shut. This couldn’t have waited until tomorrow? When I was awake and had the energy to deal with it? “That’s nice,” I mumble. In the back of my brain, it registers that this is a big fucking deal, that someone in his family tried to kill me, and it’ll just add to all the issues Nick’s currently piling on himself.
But I’ve been stabbed. I’d really like to go to sleep.
I roll onto my back and open my eyes. “Who is he?”
Nick’s pacing the floor now, one end of the bed to the other. “His name is Josef.” He pauses, glances over at me. “I’ve used him on occasion. For deals.”
“As in, you use him to ensure you get what you want?”
He shoots me a glare before he resumes pacing. “You got lucky. Extremely lucky. If he’s given an order to kill, he follows through, and he’s not worried about being subtle. He likes it bloody.”
I rub my hands over my face. “I think I just pissed him off. I threw a couple of pillows at him. He didn’t seem to like that.” I peek through my fingers. “Could you stop with the pacing?”
He does, only to sit on the edge of the bed next to my hip. “Pillows?”
I yawn widely enough to bring tears to my burning eyes, and I shift onto my side, facing him, cuddling deeper into the pillow. “I needed to distract him. We were in my bedroom, so I threw a pillow at him. It hit him in the face. He got my arm when I bent to pick up a shoe to throw at him. I guess he got tired of having things thrown at him.”
A strand of hair slips over my cheek, and he pushes it back, fingers trailing along my skin. “Why aren’t you trained in hand to hand combat? Thought that was standard protocol for assassins.”
His touch feels good, too good, good enough to loosen my tongue and say things I probably shouldn’t. “Some might be. I used to practice Wushu, but my skill lies in stealth, not brute force, like I told you. It’s more effective for me to take someone by surprise. Crowds are good. Easy to conceal your actions.” A wandering thumb rubs along my jaw, fingers tangling in my hair. “Stop it.”
“Can’t,” he murmurs. “I can’t figure you out.”
I can’t figure him out, either. Can’t figure out why he’s so bent on torturing us both. “Josef?” I prompt.
He withdraws his hand. “He’s a member of the family, not someone on the outside we might bring in. Probably need to apply that question you asked me to yourself. Who have you pissed off in the last few years?”
My head starts to pound. “Don’ know. Never knew their names.” Their faces are buried under layers of memory, shrouded over and locked tight. I doubt they’ll remain that way for long. “Are they going to try again?”
“You’re still breathing. They’ll keep trying until you aren’t.”
A lance of pain spears my left temple, and I wince, lifting my hand to rub it. “Great.” Turning my head a little, I squint up at him. “I’m sorry, Nick. I know we need to talk about this, but I’m falling asleep.”
Gaze intent, he combs his fingers through my damp hair a few more times. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”
“Goody,” I murmur, already halfway to dreamland. Not even the touch of his lips to mine can bring me back, though it does make me smile. And have uncomfortably erotic dreams of Nick doing more than giving me chaste kisses.
A rumble of voices wakes me the next morning, the sound too muted to make out the individual words. I push my hair behind my ears, stumble out of bed, and shamble for the door like a zombie. Coffee. I need coffee. Possibly breakfast, but definitely coffee, followed closely by painkillers.
Mind focused on a huge cup of bitter, life-giving caffeine, I don’t notice the voices are louder and more distinct, forming actual words, until my nose is buried in a mug, coffee scalding my tongue.
I lower the mug. Nick and someone I’ve never seen before are watching me, Nick’s ex
pression furious, the other guy amused. And appreciative.
Oh fuck me, I’m not wearing any pants.
Cheeks and ears burning, I mumble a greeting and hurry back to the bedroom and retrieve a pair of pants. Instead of putting them on, though, I sit on the bed and wait for my skin to return to normal while I sip my coffee.
I pull on my pants and find the bottle of aspirin Nick left for my hangover. I pop three and carry my half-empty cup out to the kitchen for a refill. Nick and his friend are no longer in the living room, so I wander over to the French doors and push them open before stepping onto the deck and squinting into the sun. The morning carries some of the chill from last night, and I shiver, wrapping my fingers around the mug for warmth.
Sunlight dances over the streets, shadows retreating, kids shouting to one another as they wait for the school bus. The balcony is my little window into the world I can’t inhabit. I wish balconies weren’t so dangerous.
I wish it faced the ocean. I want to see it waking up.
“Cass.”
Shivering for an entirely different reason, I glance over my shoulder. Nick no longer looks furious, but from the tight line of his jaw, he’s definitely still angry. He’s wound too tight over this age difference. Who cares that he’s ten years older than I am? It’s not like I want to marry him or have his babies or anything.
He just needs to get used to me.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I walk up to him and give him a quick kiss. “Morning. Sorry about”—I wave my mug around—“earlier. I thought the TV was on.” Wait. “Who is that guy, and what is he doing here? I thought you said no one knew about this place?”
Nick’s eying my mouth as if it’s the best dessert he’s ever tasted and he’s just been told he can’t have any more. “Constantine. He’s one of my cousins. And no one knows. I told him the address this morning.” He snakes an arm around my waist and dips his head, stopping an inch from my mouth. “If you’re going to kiss me, do it right.”
Coffee breath. Morning breath. Neither are conducive for the kind of kiss I want. I close the distance anyway and fit my mouth to his, his hand splayed over my lower back, pressing me to him. Heat flares and travels from my mouth to my belly, igniting everything in its path. The man is a fantastic kisser. Makes me forget I’m the one in charge.
Who am I kidding? He is in charge. The moment his mouth met mine, I relinquished control.
But I yank it back when he tries to deepen the kiss. His dark eyes burn into mine, and I can’t help it—I shiver. Again. “Don’t make promises you aren’t able to follow through on,” I warn. I want him naked, but I want him naked without reservations, and I need to keep my head. Quick kisses aside, I’m not letting him drive this anymore.
His mouth quirks up in a wry smile. “You sure you’re only twenty-one?”
“Yup. I’ll be twenty-two in December if it makes you feel any better.” I edge around him and head for the kitchen. Now that my brain’s mostly awake, my stomach’s coming through loud and clear, and it’s saying feed me. I slip a couple of pieces of bread in the toaster and start going through the cupboards. “Did you move the peanut butter?”
“I didn’t put any of the groceries away. You did. No, I didn’t move the peanut butter.” He comes up behind me and reaches over my head into the cupboard. Metal and glass clank together as he shifts things around, then withdraws his hand and passes me the jar of peanut butter. “Need to work on your observation skills.”
I stick my tongue out at him and unscrew the cap. “So Constantine.” He wouldn’t be here if Nick didn’t trust him. That doesn’t mean I should trust him.
“Get your breakfast and join us.” He pours himself another cup of coffee and walks out of the kitchen.
I take my time spreading peanut butter on my toast, fill a glass with water, and carry everything into the office. There’s no place to sit; Constantine has commandeered the single chair. Nick’s standing to one side, legs spread, arms across his chest. I take a bite of toast, smearing peanut butter across my lip.
They ignore me, arguing about one person or another. It gives me a chance to watch them together. Their back and forth rings of years of collaboration, picking up threads and nuances, finishing thoughts. A partnership, a friendship with that much depth, helps me trust Constantine more than Nick’s assertions ever could.
Finally Nick’s frustration gets the better of him. “I need more coffee,” he growls and stalks out of the room. I drain my glass of water and put the half-finished piece of toast aside.
Constantine spins the chair around. “We haven’t been introduced. Constantine.” He holds out a hand, and I get to my feet to take it.
“Cass.” I blush as he lifts my hand to his mouth, a sly smile playing over his lips. “Nice.”
“You’re unexpected. Younger than Dom’s usual women.” He tightens his grip on my hand when I try to tug it free.
“He’s pointed that out numerous times. And I’m not his woman.” Wasn’t sure I wanted to be.
Constantine studies me a moment longer, his mouth staying shut. He releases my hand and turns back to the monitor. “Dom mentioned one of the family attempted to kill you yesterday. He seems to think you’ve angered someone. Why would he think that?”
“Don’t know,” I lie, the words flowing off my tongue. “He didn’t explain that thought to me, either.”
He shoots me a look that says he knows I’m lying through my teeth, but lets it go. “This is the list Nick’s put together. I’ve added some names. Figure we can start here, see if there’s any that cross over to you. Any of them ring a bell? ”
I lean over his shoulder for a closer look. “Are they all still living?”
“Why would a dead man want you dead?”
Why didn’t Nick think of this himself? I deal with dead people, not live ones. I don’t have any way of tying the people on the list to my hits. “Excuse me a minute.” I pick up my glass and half-finished toast and escape to the kitchen.
Nick’s out on the balcony, mug in hand. He doesn’t look at me when I join him. “We have a problem,” I tell him, keeping my voice low.
“We have several. Which one are you referring to?”
“The one where Constantine doesn’t know who I am or my SOP.”
“I know who you are.” Constantine’s in the doorway, leaning on the doorjamb. “Not your standard operating procedure. Dom didn’t get that far.”
It would have been nice if someone had clued me in before we got started this morning. I rub my arms, the chill hanging in the air pricking my skin. “Pictures. I don’t do names. I get pictures and basic schedules.”
Constantine’s brows come together. “Shit.”
I don’t want this. Don’t want to dredge up those locked down images, don’t want to open myself to the deluge of guilt and remorse and whys each of those hits will bring. If they stay battened down, I’m fine.
I can live with it as long as it doesn’t come back to smack me in the face. I chew on my lower lip.
“Cassidy.” Nick’s gone all cold and blank on me again. “If you’ve got an idea, say it.”
Is that how he wants to play it? Fine. “You’re going to need to make a second list. Everyone in your organization who’s died in the past five years. You can eliminate anyone who was killed in the last eleven months.” I brush past Constantine. “I’m going to take a shower.”
“Sponge bath,” Nick calls out.
Right. Can’t shower yet, not with my wounds still healing. I make my way to the bedroom and gather up clean clothes, then lock myself in the bathroom. Thanks to the wounds on my legs, a bath is out of the question. I turn on the tap anyway and root around for a clean washcloth, pin up my hair, and step into the tub.
Taking a sponge bath is an unpleasant experience. My skin doesn’t stay wet, and the bubbles from my body wash make my skin itch. It takes a while, much longer than a shower, and the end result is I’m clean but cranky.<
br />
Dressed, I brush out my hair and twist it into a braid to keep it out of my face, slap on a little makeup, and steel myself for what comes next.
Nick’s still in cool and distant mode when I emerge from the bathroom. “You ready?”
No. I’ll never be ready for this. I don’t have a choice, not if I want this to end. “Whenever you are.”
When Constantine rolls his chair over a few inches, I tuck my hands into my back pockets and step forward, the sins of my past waiting for me in full color.
Chapter 14
“No.” Click. “No.” Click. “No.” Click. “Just how many people in your family have died over the last five years? No.”
Constantine shoves the keyboard away. “Babe, you’re not doing us much good right now.”
I squash the relief blooming in my chest. None of the pictures he’s brought up so far are familiar. Key words being so far. There are more to go. “Nick’s filled your head with bullshit. My hit list isn’t that long.”
“Dom hasn’t said much of anything about your illustrious career.” He flicks the screen to the next picture. “Want to fill me in?”
I study him for a moment, picking my words. There’s nothing about him that outright says he’s not to be trusted. But there’s something about him that says I need to be careful. I just can’t figure out what it is.
There’s always a first time for my instincts to be wrong. I lick my lips. “There isn’t much to tell. I was trained by my dad. It’s a family thing. About a year ago, I started thinking maybe this wasn’t for me. I stopped taking jobs while I tried to figure it out. Nick was my first job in almost a year.”
“Hmm.” He clicks to the next picture.
Game of Shadows Page 10
