Entice

by Rachel Van Dyken

  “Ma.” I choked as Chase held me tighter against him. “Let me go!” I elbowed him in the stomach and tried kicking his shins, but he didn’t release me.

  “Mil.” Nixon looked back at me. “You need to calm down. We’re not untying her yet.”

  Ma’s eyes looked wildly around the room, landing finally near the TV. She kept staring at that point. I followed the direction and gasped.

  A homemade bomb was neatly tied next to the flat screen, right on the bar, as if someone had left it behind by accident. I swallowed the bile in my throat.

  “What type of explosion?” Luca asked as Frank walked over to the small device.

  Frank leaned over and pulled out a pair of spectacles. “Let’s just say it’s a big enough boom to level half this floor.”

  “Trigger?”

  “I don’t see one. If it was the door or on some sort of timer, it would have gone off by now.” Frank’s mouth twisted into a firm line as he leaned in closer. “Believe me, whoever did this would not have wanted to wait for our murder. My guess is it’s a pressure trigger. Not the floor, perhaps an object or—”

  “Person,” Luca finished, looking from my mom to me. “Well, it seems we’re finished here.”

  “No!” I screamed. “We have to get her out.”

  “It’s us or her,” Nixon said quietly, as the room fell into a tense silence. My mom started sobbing all over again, this time nodding her head. So she knew. She knew it was us or her.

  “Do you know who it was? Who did this to you?” I asked. My breathing was so uneven I was afraid I was going to pass out.

  Ma shook her head sadly.

  “Ma—”

  She closed her eyes.

  “Ma!” I yelled

  Her eyes stayed closed.

  “Mil,” Chase said from behind me. “We have to go.”

  “Ma, open your eyes.” My voice sounded so weak, so small. I felt like a little kid again, weak and confused. She opened them.

  “I love you.”

  She nodded and then gasped as her eyes rolled back. Blood began pouring from her chest. She’d been shot. The glass from the window shattered on impact as my mom fell forward.

  “Everyone out!” Nixon yelled pushing us toward the exit.

  Chase yanked me against him and opened the door all within a second. We started running down the hall toward the stairs. I counted to three, and then Chase covered me with his body as the hall exploded, sending us to the floor.

  Alarms rang in the distance, but I couldn’t tell if it was my ears ringing or actual fire alarms. Chase asked if I was okay, or at least it felt like that, but I couldn’t hear him very well. Ringing pounded through my muffled ears. I nodded while he helped me to my feet and pushed me out the door to the stairwell. We didn’t even wait to see if everyone was okay; we just ran down the stairs, down twenty-two flights of stairs. Legs like lead, I was so numb I didn’t even feel the pain or the burn in my muscles. I had to keep going — I had to keep running. When we reached the bottom, Chase turned.

  The rest of the group looked better off than I felt. Most of them were covered in dust with some scrapes and bruises.

  “They’ll evacuate the hotel,” Luca said in a detached voice as people began flooding the stairwell, “I know a place. Grab your things.”

  “Where’s the guy from before? William? And the maid?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer to the question.

  Luca ignored me.

  Which meant one thing. The maid had been caught in the explosion’s line of fire, and they’d left the man they’d tortured earlier behind — to either get implicated or die.

  Chase put his arm around my shoulders and squeezed. “Text directions to everyone, Luca. Make it fast. We need to split up. Now.”

  With a swift nod, he pushed past us and walked into the first floor lobby. Police were already everywhere. People were screaming. It was mass chaos, making it easy for us to slip by unnoticed. Chase gripped my hand and jerked me through the crowd. But it wasn’t lost on me, as I looked at the terrified faces, it had been my fault. The death? On my head.

  On my family’s head.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Nixon

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked for the millionth time while I drew the bath for Trace.

  “Nixon.” Her trembling hands reached out to grab mine. “I’ll be fine. I just need to sit or do something so I don’t completely lose my mind.”

  “Here.” I helped her out of her ripped t-shirt and moved my hands to her jeans, pushing them to the floor so she could step out of them.

  She was shivering. I pulled her into my arms, not saying anything, just willing the nightmare of our lives to go away. “Hey, it’s going to be fine, Trace…”

  “I know.” Her body relaxed against mine. “I just wish this wasn’t normal.”

  “It’s not,” I argued. “Nothing about strapping a bomb to a person and taking innocent lives is normal. Trace…” How did I explain that the mafia, while it got a bad rap for a lot of things, they weren’t that stupid? Strapping bombs to people? Blowing up a Vegas hotel? Seriously? That was like waving a red flag in the middle of an FBI board meeting and then announcing to the world that you were a terrorist. “This isn’t us,” I argued. “The mafia? The Sicilians? This isn’t how we handle things… Quiet, we like things quiet.”

  “Which means…” she whispered.

  “Someone talked.” I slammed the countertop with my hand, pain radiated from my thumb across my palm. “Either that, or whoever’s responsible for what’s going on is trying to silence every last person involved.”

  “Mil?” she asked.

  “Shit.” I groaned and kissed her head. “I don’t know. I seriously have nothing to go off of. All I know is the minute we put her into power — things have gone to hell.”

  “She needs to talk.” Trace pulled away from me. “You need to make her talk.”

  “Right.” I snorted, stepping away from her long enough to turn the water off. “And say what exactly? Tell me all your repressed secrets or die?”

  “That should work.” Trace crossed her arms. “Or maybe something like, I’ll cut you if you don’t start talking.”

  “I’ll cut you?” I repeated, trying as hard as hell not to laugh out loud. “Who says that?”

  Trace rolled her eyes. “You know, like in prison! They always say things like, I’ll cut you.”

  My eyebrows rose. “Oh? And how do you know that, little miss innocent? Been visiting some of the family in the state pen?”

  She stuck out her tongue and smacked me in the chest. “What you say doesn’t matter, Nixon. You just have to get her to say it.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “What do you mean?” She put her hair in a ponytail and watched me through the mirror.

  “Chase.” I cleared my throat and coughed. “He’ll do it.”

  “Get her to talk?” Trace looked doubtful. “Good luck with that. He’s having issues kissing the girl, let alone using his seduction techniques to get her to talk. That would be like asking Nemo to fight Bruce. Chase officially lost all his bad-assness the minute he got married, leaving him the title of clown fish, and Mil—”

  “Bruce?” I squinted at her. “Who the hell is Bruce?”

  “The shark.” Trace gave me a duh expression. “In Finding Nemo?”

  “You’re comparing their marriage to a Disney movie.”

  “Whatever.” Trace waved me off and grabbed a towel. “The point is. Your chances of getting her to talk are completely diminished if you rely solely on Chase.”

  “Is that what you want?” I asked in a low voice. “For Chase to fail?”

  Trace’s hand paused on the fluffy towels. Without turning around, she answered, “I want him to succeed more than anyone, because I know how badly it sucks to lose the one you love, and I don’t mean losing Chase. I mean thinking I’d lost you. Mil has lost everything. Chase deserves to be that constant person in her life
. God knows he’s done his time, don’t you think?”

  I’d stepped right into that one.

  “Trace, I—”

  “I’m gonna get in the bath.”

  “But—”

  “Alone.”

  “Trace,” I growled, angry that she was pushing me away. “Let me help you—”

  “Out.” She gave me a pitiful smile and ushered me toward the door. “And next time you open your mouth, try not to be such a jackass.”

  The door slammed in my face.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chase

  Nixon: Get her to talk.

  The damn text pissed me off so much I wanted to shoot him in the leg for even thinking about that right now. Mil had just watched her mom die, basically in front of her face, and Nixon wanted me to get her to talk? What was his brilliant plan?

  I groaned and threw my phone onto the bed.

  Mil had been in the bathroom for the past half-hour. We were all supposed to meet at The Golden Nugget in two hours. Luca had said it was safer to stay in old Vegas anyway, at least safer for our kind. Right. Our kind, like we were some sort of fallen angels or messed-up vampires.

  Some honeymoon.

  “Mil?” I knocked on the door again.

  No answer.

  Worried out of my mind, I tried the door. It was unlocked. Steam billowed out as I pushed it open.

  “Mil?”

  “Here.” Her voice was quiet, worried, so unlike her that my heart clenched in my chest. I pulled back the curtain to the shower. She was huddled in the corner, holding her knees to her chest, fully clothed.

  “Mil.” Her name erupted past my lips like an expletive. I was pissed, not at her but at myself. I’d failed to protect someone she loved. I’d failed again. “Come here.” I stepped into the shower fully clothed and sat down next to her, extending my hand palm up.

  She gripped it like a lifeline.

  We stayed like that for a few minutes before she leaned her head against my shoulder. Hot water ran in streams down my face and arms, soothing my sore body. Even through my jeans and t-shirt, it still felt good.

  “Chase…”

  “Hmm?” I tapped my free hand against the tile to distract me from actually looking Mil in the face. She was too beautiful, too vulnerable, and I didn’t want to be the jackass who ruined everything.

  “What if I don’t want it anymore? What if I want to run away? Run away from everything and abandon my family — does that make me a bad person?”

  “No.” I caressed her hand with my thumb. “It makes you human.”

  “A weak human.” She laughed bitterly.

  “Never weak.” I let go of her hand and reached for her face, unable to keep myself from touching her, from looking into those damning eyes. The same eyes that made me want to say screw the world and just take her as my own. I tilted her chin in my hand as I lifted her face inches away from my mouth. “You are the bravest person I’ve ever met.”

  She closed her eyes.

  I gripped her chin. “Open your damn eyes.”

  She tried to jerk back, so I squeezed harder.

  “You’re going to look at me when I talk to you.”

  Her lips trembled.

  “You’re incredible.” I sighed, my thumb caressed her lower lip. “You’re beautiful, strong, brave — and your mom? She has to be so damn proud of you to take over. Sweetheart, I know that the past isn’t pretty for you. I know by being the leader you’re fighting your own demons of what happened to you. I can only imagine—” I swore, softly as my forehead met hers. “Actually I can’t, because your father was a damn monster. But, just know, that when I think of bravery, I think of you. When I think of a woman who should be president some day, your face comes to mind. When I think of someone I want on my team for capture the flag?” I released my grip and smirked. “You’re it, baby.”

  “Chase.” Mil leaned in so her lower lip grazed my chin.

  “Hmm?” I told my body it wasn’t time. My body refused to listen. Every nerve was on high alert as she moved to straddle me.

  “Kiss me.”

  “Mil.” I backpedaled, hoping that if I kept giving her excuses, I would be the good guy. She was weak, and she’d hate me later for taking advantage of her.

  “I just saw my mom die,” Mil said in a cold voice. “I’m literally on borrowed time myself. I’m straddling you. Wet. In. A. Shower. And I’m your wife. If you don’t kiss me, I’ll find some other guy man enough to make me forget—”

  My mouth crushed against hers with so much force it hurt. But the pain was toxic, beautiful — addictive. She arched her body as my fingers gripped her t-shirt then snuck underneath and dug into the flesh on her back, pulling her toward me. Mil’s hands pressed against the tile on either side of my head as her chest grazed mine. Wincing, I moved my hands to her hips, tugging her closer to my body.

  “Mil—”

  Her hands moved from the wall to the back of my head; her fingers dug into my hair as the friction of our bodies collided. I was fighting a losing battle, one I knew I wanted to be the loser of, because that meant I’d be happily naked with the most aggressive woman I’d ever met.

  “What?” She reared back.

  Wait, had I said something? What the hell? My brain was having a hard time catching up with the rest of my body. I shook my head and stared at her swollen mouth then her eyes. Big blue eyes framed with dark, thick lashes blinked back at me, as if asking for permission to go further. I swallowed, my body still humming from the buzz of her nails, her lips.

  “Chase—”

  I held my breath.

  Mil carefully got to her feet and held out her hand. So apparently that was it. I waved goodbye to the moment of hyped emotions and sexual tension as it flew out the door and mentally kicked myself for thinking it had been anything more than that. She’d needed comfort.

  And I’d given it to her.

  I was that guy.

  If you asked me — it was worse than the friend zone. I’d had the same exact issue with Trace.

  I was convenient.

  The guy you wanted on your team, just in case the star player didn’t show up for practice or died during a game.

  Second best.

  Right-hand man.

  The fixer.

  So basically, I was nobody.

  I could kiss her tears away. I could offer her my money, my body, all earthly possessions, and in the end, I would still be the one wanting more. Because I was already falling for pieces of her. Correction, I was becoming borderline obsessed with those jagged little pieces. Like a kid being told not to touch sharp glass lying shattered on the floor. But I was too damn curious not to touch, and the minute I did, I was addicted to the way the broken edges bit into the soft pads of my hands. Addicted to the difference between the cold smooth surface of the glass and my own reflection in it.

  “Chase, I’m—” Mil put her hands on her hips and refused to look at me. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair.”

  “Fair?” I choked.

  Mil’s eyes finally met mine. Sadness dripped from every single plane on her face. There was no crevice, no piece of her that looked whole. Broken. She was so broken that I hated myself for being selfish — for only thinking about my part of our partnership.

  “To you,” Mil continued. “When it happens—”

  I shook my head interrupting her. “Mil, don’t do this.”

  She kept talking, damn her. “When it happens, it should be because both of us are in the same mindset you know? It should—”

  “Mil, really. I’m a big boy.” I fake-laughed. “It’s fine.”

  “Damn it!” Mil charged toward me and slammed my body against the tile wall. “Stop interrupting me, you jackass. I’m trying to share my emotions here, and you’re bleeding like a damn martyr in the middle of a coliseum!”

  Stunned, my mouth dropped open. My body hummed to life with pleasure at being scolded. Nobody scolded me. There was never a need to. I’d nev
er had a girl actually yell at me before — I didn’t count Trace because she was taken.

  “You.” Mil pointed her finger in my face. “Are. Mine.”

  I opened my mouth to speak.

  And received a hard slap across my left cheek.

  “I’m sorry!” Mil gasped, putting her hands over her mouth. “I just didn’t want you interrupting me again!”

  “So you slapped me?” I winced, rubbing my cheek. “Seriously?”

  She glared. “I could have pulled a gun.”

  “Point taken.” I cracked my jaw and crossed my arms. “So talk.”

  “Well, now you’ve got me all nervous, and I forgot my entire speech.”

  “So? You want me to piss you off again? Would that help?” I teased, slowly pushing away from the wall.

  “You being an ass never helps, Chase. If you don’t remember anything from this little conversation, remember that.”

  I smirked, unable to help my body’s physical reaction to every damn thing that came from her hot-as-hell mouth. I took a few more steps, backing her into the corner where the shower was still running. I stopped when she was underneath the showerhead.

  “Tilt back,” I whispered.

  “What?”

  “Do it, Mil.”

  She rolled her eyes but complied. I lifted her t-shirt from her body, exposing a black silky bra, and fought the curse rising up in my throat as water dripped between her breasts. Next, I tugged her already wet jeans down to her ankles. Mil hesitated then stepped out.

  Matching.

  Black bra. Black lace panties? I had trouble focusing for a mere second before re-purposing myself to do my job — make her feel safe.

  I washed her hair, letting the pieces of black silk slip through my fingers like it was the most precious thing I’d ever felt. When I was done, I kissed her on the cheek and removed my clothes. I grabbed a towel on the way out of the shower so she only saw my ass cheek at most.

  “Chase!” My body responded to her yell like I’d just stepped on a live wire.

  “Hmm?” I didn’t turn around.

  “Thank you.”

  “Anytime.”

  “I’m sorry I attacked you.”