The Titan Series: Military Romance Boxed Set

by Cristin Harber

  Emilio struggled against Jared’s nasty arm hold and shouted, “You want to know our plans for your girl? She’d have to watch her parents—”

  “Wait,” Sugar barked.

  What the fuck?

  Jared shook the mobster. “Ignore her. Keep talking, asshole, and we might not string you up to an electrical ass probe.”

  “Goddamn it, Jared. Hold the fuck on.” Sugar raised her voice, and they raised eyebrows at the vamped up woman with her too-glossy lips and bubble gum habit.

  “Sugar,” Jared growled. “Get out of here. If you can’t handle—”

  Emilio started in again. “David and I—”

  “Do you not see what’s happening?” Sugar butted in again. Jared dragged Emilio closer to Sugar, most likely to put them both in headlocks. “He’s giving up the details. You need a clean arrest. All of this will get thrown out. Someone fucking arrest him already or else some million dollar an hour mob lawyer will have him out in time for baked ziti and a nice bottle of Chianti.”

  “Get out, Sugar. We’re not the arresting type.”

  “You need this to be legit. You’re going to lose it all. Imagine what Nicola will lose.” She looked to each of them, at their weapons, and threw up her hands. “All this testosterone and muscle, and you all got nothing? No badges?”

  Jared shook Emilio, looking frustrated ten times over. The guy winced, his jacked-up arms reaching toward their breaking points. Jared growled, “You want local blue and white here, be my guest. Call nine-one-one. Try explaining this scene to—”

  “Jesus H. Christ. This is why I shouldn’t give a king rat’s ass about the people I meet.” Sugar slapped her hands on her hips, cracked a bubble, and shook her head. “ATF. Emilio Gianori, you are under arrest for whatever the fuck you’ve done wrong and we can prove. You have the right to remain silent.

  “Anything you say, or Jared All-Brass-No-Brains Westin drags out of you, can be used against you in a court of law, where we’re going to prosecute your mobbed-up ass for every single thing we can find.

  “You have the right to your corrupt attorney who’ll buy a private island somewhere with all the money you’re going to spend on appeals. Said money-making attorney can be present, if your pansy ass requests. If you can’t afford one because Papa Mobster cuts you off for being a moron, one will be provided for you. I’ll make sure you get one of my personal favorites. Keep answering questions if you want. Keep providing us details. It’ll all be used against you. I cross my heart.

  “Do you understand these rights, as I have explained them to you, or do you need me to take a breath and repeat myself?”

  Cash choked on a swallow. “Holy fuckin’ shit.”

  Sugar smirked. “Shut it, cowboy. Jared, you have any bungee cords in that bag of yours?”

  Jared looked stunned at Sugar. Cash understood how he felt. “Cash, cords are bottom of the pack.”

  Cash nodded numbly and went to grab them, his mind spinning. The familiar clack of Sugar’s heels pounded behind him. She beat him to the bag, rifled through Jared’s stuff, and snagged the ties.

  Who is this woman?

  Bungee ties in hand, she glared at Jared. “I assume you don’t have cuffs anywhere either.”

  He smiled, almost as if he took her slam as a dare. “Actually, I do.”

  “Yeah, I bet.” She stepped to Emilio and palmed his wrists, pushing them toward the ground. The man cried out. “Whoopsie, did that hurt?”

  A second later, she wrapped the cord tightly around his wrists, knocked him behind the knees, and let him fall over. Sugar grabbed his ankles, repeating the wrap-and-knot procedure, then looped one last bungee cord, tying his hands and ankles together. Emilio lay on the ground fighting his bindings. Sugar put his thrashing movements to a quick halt with a boot stomp into the mobster’s hip.

  Jared stepped toward her. “If I was ever going to fall in love with a woman, it’d be one who could hogtie a grown man.”

  “You couldn’t handle me, big boy. Don’t worry your pretty head over it.”

  Cash choked back a grin. First Mia. Then Nicola. Now Sugar. Jared had a soft spot for kickass women.

  “Don’t smile, cowboy. I’m not thrilled with either of you for pulling me out of deep cover.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  The hairs on Nicola’s neck prickled, and she pushed as far as possible into the opposite car door. The backseat of this swanky sedan was too small, and she was suffocating in it.

  David snickered to himself, finding humor in something after his near meltdown at the airport hangar he’d demanded to visit. He snickered again. Probably the transmission jammer he’d set up within the last few hours, seeing as her phone had stopped working somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean.

  That also meant the listening bugs were likely not transmitting. Must’ve found one she’d placed in his room or on his clothes. Maybe he’d even found all of them. It had taken him two days to clue in.

  Not a very good spy. David didn’t sweep his hotel room? Who doesn’t do that? Especially since he sold intelligence, his care-and-concern factor seemed dangerously low, or maybe his ego-factor was tremendously high.

  “Nicola, we have one stop before we drop you off. Is that acceptable?”

  Is that acceptable? No, it’s not. But refusing wouldn’t do much in the effort of intel gathering. “Fine. No problem.”

  She wondered if the jammer was on him or in the carry-on bag by his feet. For as nice as that bag was, he was sloppy, leaving the thing everywhere. Helpful for her though.

  David gave the driver the new location. She knew the address. Roughly five minutes away. Not a big deal. Maybe something would come out of it.

  Counting mile markers, Nicola passed the time by ignoring David. Nothing he did was noteworthy, but she didn’t trust the backstabbing fool. Minimally armed, Nic didn’t want to show that her trust quotient bordered on the negative, but she took some comfort that she could get to the subcompact at her ankle.

  She picked at her manicure and smoothed the designer pants. The driver pulled off the highway and into a shopping center.

  “Stop in front of the Starbucks, and unlock the doors,” David directed.

  A shiver sliced up her spine. Unlock the doors?

  David pointed for the driver’s benefit. A tall, well-dressed man waited on the sidewalk facing the storefronts. His shoulders were broad, his stance looked… ready. For what?

  The sedan slowed to a crawl, stopping curbside, and the doors unlocked. The man pivoted around slowly, a sinister smile smeared across his face. Not possible. Her stomach lurched, and she jumped toward the door handle.

  David’s hand clamped down on her elbow, reigniting the distant memory of its sprain. Her exit was blocked anyway, the door shadowed by an impenetrable force. The driver ignored her, even as she yelled and shoved for David to let go.

  She pinched her eyes closed, desperately wanting to wake up. When she opened them, there he stood. Antilla Smooth.

  Alive.

  Angry.

  And so close she could smell her own fear.

  Grinning like the grim reaper at a funeral, Antilla opened the door and squeezed into the backseat, sandwiching her between himself and David. The sedan eased forward after Antilla shut the door, then all the doors locked. The noise reverberated in her ears.

  “Hello, my dear. How I have missed you.” He leaned against her, his cologne overpowering the small area. One cold finger traced her cheekbone as he spoke, ignoring her batting hand.

  “Stop it. Get off me.” She pushed away, but David was on the other side. Shit.

  The sick smile hadn’t faded, all bright and white with perfectly lined teeth, ready for display. Her reaction made his grin more vibrant. Made it sparkle.

  “Speaking of getting off, that never happened between us. Did it? I intend to fix that today. But first, let’s get through introductions. I understand Gabriella isn’t your true name. Nicola, is it? Lovely.”

  Cash had to
be following. She needed to see a familiar vehicle out the window. Her stomach bottomed as she swept a look every which way. Nothing familiar. Antilla’s fingers feathered over her cheek, and she lashed out.

  “Get off me, goddamn it.” The words ground out but did zip to make him stop.

  David laughed close to her ear. She turned, kicking at him, his bag, the door. Anything she could connect with.

  “Now to the warehouse,” David said to the driver, then looked back at her. “Antilla and I have things to work out before our transaction is complete.”

  “Yes, we do.” Antilla ignored her for the first time. He sounded disappointed or disapproving. She couldn’t tell which he leaned toward more. “The second bomb hasn’t done its job, so I’m not ready to discuss—”

  “Second bomb?”

  “Not that it’s your business, but yes, Gabri—I mean, Nicola. Second bomb. Addressed to Janet and Rick—”

  Nicola slammed her fist into his face, elbowing David as he tried to pull her back. Blood trickled out of Antilla’s nose, and he took a cloth from his breast pocket to dab at it.

  “You will pay for that, you little bitch.”

  “There isn’t a second bomb,” she challenged him. “Leave my parents alone.”

  “There isn’t a second bomb, just like I’m dead, darling.”

  David spoke up. “We should enlighten her.” He turned to her. “Nicola, I was confused at first also. This is a very interesting story, so listen, and it will all make sense.”

  “Leave my family alone.”

  They drove past a warehouse with boarded up windows and no signs of life except for the hip-high weeds littering the parking lot. Trees lined both sides of what looked like an electrified fence. Parts of it were rusted out. The building looked ready to be condemned.

  “Leave your family alone? Now why would I do that?” Antilla asked. “I won’t walk away from this opportunity. The CIA killed my brother. In return, I’ll kill your family. David was smart enough to out himself as CIA and to try to protect the Smooth family. You remained one of the infidels, part of the organization—”

  Nothing made sense. “You were shot. I saw you.”

  “Wrong again. Welcome to the Smooth family secret. Not even David knew the truth until after the incident, but there were two of us. My identical twin brother was named Fernando. My father, a businessman, raised us as if only one child existed. It was a strategy of sorts. We were to take on his empire, which we did successfully. My name is not Antilla. Antilla is our name, the joint name my late brother and I embodied in the public eye. My name is Javier. He and I were perfect replicas. We spoke the same, fucked the same. No one knew the difference. Not our business partners. Not our whores. You never knew.”

  “And I never fucked you. Either of you, so I wouldn’t know,” Nicola spat.

  “Like I said, that will change tonight. Willing or not.”

  The driver stopped the sedan in front of an abandoned building, smaller than the first ones they’d passed. She studied it. The door had new locks and hinges that gleamed in summer’s early evening light. Three car doors opened, and the men got out. David and Antilla walked a few steps away, and the driver trained a subcompact machine gun on her. This driver was a real winner.

  “Give me your purse,” the driver said.

  Of course she’d lose the purse. It was Louis Vuitton. She always lost the good stuff.

  David’s bag was on the floorboard.

  The driver motioned with his baby machine gun. “Now get out.”

  He wouldn’t shoot her yet, right? “No.”

  She stomped her feet like a child readying for a terrible two throw down.

  “Listen, lady, out.”

  Stomp. Kick. Stomp, stomp. “No!”

  Grabbing at her, the driver pulled her from the backseat, but not before she tried to do serious damage to David’s bag. The jammer had to be in there. It wouldn’t have worked in the plane if had it been in their luggage. Hoping to hell she did enough damage to the sensitive piece of equipment, Nicola relented and finished exiting on her own.

  “Can you just search my purse and give it back to me? I’ve got gum and lip gloss that I need.”

  David shrugged. “Christ, yes. Search her stupid bag. Take anything with a bullet or blade. Just stop whining. How are you so stupid?”

  Moron, the better question is, how are you this dumb?

  Nicola picked up her purse, grabbed the lip gloss listening device, and smoothed on a fresh layer of Berry Cherry shine. She powdered her nose, slipping on a geographical tracking tag that dissolved immediately on contact with her skin. “Thank you.”

  “Whatever.” David seemed frustrated. Maybe not just at her.

  “Trouble between criminals?” she asked.

  “Destroy her phone,” Antilla, or Javier, or whoever he was demanded.

  “No problem.” She handed it to the driver, knowing it was her burner phone. If she had a fighting chance of Cash hearing or locating them, it had nothing to do with her phone.

  “We’re not transmitting out here anyway,” David offered. “I set up a portable jammer after she ineffectually planted a listening device on me.”

  A listening device? As in one? That was good news.

  She was fifteen minutes shy of a check-in with Beth. Someone would wonder about her whereabouts, and Cash was out there somewhere, as her backup. No way he’d leave her hanging, though no doubt he was sweating their loss of communication.

  She had a few minutes until they realized the jammer was out. If one of their phones rang, the jig was up. No time like the present to go after the dirt. “Antilla.”

  “Javier.”

  “Whatever. Seen one twin, seen them all. Same person, right? I had no idea you were so good with bombs. Your daddy taught you that in your gun running education?”

  He laughed, harsh and sarcastic. “Nicola. I delegate. You should know that about me. You did spend months by my side, though it should have been between my knees.”

  She ignored that and pointed to David. “You delegated to this guy? I’ve learned a lot about him recently. You should really pick better team members.”

  “Shut up,” David snapped.

  “Seriously. I can tell you that one bomb didn’t do shit, because I spoke to the man whose truck blew. And my parents? Trust me, if you went after my parents, someone’s already on it. Two dud bombs. And to top that off, you did a piss poor job of entering the local arms market. I’m telling you, Antilla, I didn’t expect you to pull the door-to-door salesman routine after your network was disrupted. I expected you to run off to South America or the Middle East to reassure your best clients. Virginia good ole boys seem so beneath you.”

  “Shut up!” David yelled.

  “What are you speaking of? Of course, I’m reorganizing after this CIA disaster.”

  “You’re not moving product?”

  “No. To local Americans? Not at all.”

  Wait a minute. Smooth didn’t sell the ammo. David’s face wore a splash of dread. “It couldn’t be this simple.”

  “Shut up!” David yelled again. “Stupid woman can’t keep her mouth shut.”

  Antilla glanced at David but spoke to Nic. “What do you mean simple?”

  “I saw Smooth ammo. Only days ago. Your emblem, .50 cal, tracer, incendiary tipped. It was purchased by some yahoos in somewheresville, Virginia. I had thought,” she pointed at Antilla, then moved her finger toward David, “…but, I wouldn’t put it past this smarmy dude—”

  David smacked her silent. The sting roared from cheek to chest, fireworks exploding behind her eyelids. God, that hurts.

  Nicola blinked fast, tears welling, then looked down. Her feet were planted on the weed-pocked parking lot. She was still standing. Small accomplishments were amazing at times like this. The stars faded from her watering eyes just in time to focus on Antilla. Rage boiled across his face.

  “No. No. No.” David lifted his hands. “It wasn’t me. I told you I wo
rked with the Gianori—”

  “The Gianori mob doesn’t need my ammunition or arms. I do not sell to them. They do not move my product.” Antilla took a step toward David, who shrank into himself. “Tell me again about the Gianori mob.”

  “Sorry. S-orr-y.” David’s voice shook. “I meant to say that I hired them to build and plant the bombs.”

  “And why would they do that for you, David? Give me a logical reason why,” Antilla growled. “Now.”

  “Because…”

  “Because they also wanted Nicola. Am I correct? You mentioned she could be leverage for another project. The Gianori mob wants her? You had no intention of leaving her with me?”

  “I, uh… I figured if you finished with her, they could have a go at her. Both of you wanted retribution. Offing her family would do that…” David’s teeth chattered as he stammered in rhetorical circles.

  “Am I stupid, David?”

  “No, sir.”

  “But you played games with me?”

  “Not games. But I thought you’d appreciate the Gianoris taking out her family. You always say bloodshed requires equal or more blood. Her parents for your brother.”

  “And you stole from me?”

  “I didn’t. It wasn’t much. Throwaways. Please. Please, let me explain.”

  “But above all, you thought you could deceive me?” Antilla laughed loudly and evilly. He looked at the driver. “Shoot him.”

  David fumbled for his concealed, wetting himself and moaning more explanations. A single pop and David coughed up blood. That throat shot would take several seconds to finish him off. Nicola watched blood gurgle and sputter as his hands tried to close off the wound.

  Seconds later, it was over. David’s crimson-lacquered fingers remained near his neck.

  “Check her for concealeds,” Antilla directed the driver, who was quickly proving to be very adept at several things: chauffeuring, bleed outs, and pat downs. Her ankle-holstered .38 was removed as well as the knife tucked into the back of her pants. “And get her inside.”

  The driver manhandled her through the door. If Cash’d seen that subcompact at her back and the unfriendly shove, there was a solid chance the driver was going to die tonight.