Wicked Games: The Complete Wicked Games Series Box Set

by J. T. Geissinger

  Of course the only thing my brain wants to do is serve up some nice, juicy memories of the American.

  Cursing to myself in four different languages, I rise from the tub, stalk naked into the bedroom, and call room service. I need food, and if I’m ever going to get to sleep, I need something strong to drink. Then I get dressed, lie down on the bed, stare at the ceiling, and count cracks to distract myself.

  When the knock comes, I go to the door and glance through the peephole.

  A guy in a black-and-white uniform stands behind a cart draped in white linen. He’s looking down, fussing over a place setting, so I can’t see his face.

  My fingers curl around the folding blade in my pocket. “Yes?” I call through the door.

  He looks up, smiling. “Room service, madam.”

  He’s no one. Just a hotel employee.

  Or is he?

  “One moment, please. Just getting dressed.” I go to the phone and dial room service. They pick up on the first ring.

  “Good evening, in-room dining, this is Gwendolyn,” says a friendly female voice. “How may I be of service?”

  “Hi, I’m calling from room two-oh-five. The gentleman who delivered my food…” I pretend to think, then mutter, “Shoot. What did he say his name was?”

  “Christopher was sent up with your order, Ms. Lane.”

  Penny Lane is the name I used to check in. And Christopher is the name inscribed on the gold tag on the chest of the man standing outside my door.

  “Oh, yes, that’s it. I just wanted to tell you he was wonderful.”

  I hang up before the woman on the other end of the line can respond.

  I go to the door, unlock the dead bolt, remove the security chain, and stand aside to let Christopher in. “Sorry about the wait.”

  “It’s no problem at all. Shall I set the food out on the table for you, madam?”

  “No, don’t bother. You can just leave it the cart by the desk. I’ll call down when I’m finished.”

  “Very good.” He rolls the cart to where I’m pointing, then produces a receipt for me to sign. On his way out the door, he wishes me a good night.

  An hour later, I’ve got a full stomach and a nice buzz. I recheck the bolt on the door, then turn off the lights and crawl into bed. I’m asleep within minutes.

  I awaken sometime near dawn, my skin prickling with a sixth sense that something is terribly wrong.

  Reaching for the knife I’d stashed under my pillow as soon as I checked in, I quickly glance around the shadowed room.

  Everything looks normal. There are no strange sounds, no odd scents in the air. The security chain is still latched on the door.

  My nervous system isn’t convinced.

  I ease the knife out. It catches a moonbeam spilling through a gap in the curtains and throws a silver flash along the wall.

  “Careful with that. You could cut yourself.”

  The voice, deep and male, comes from the bed beside me.

  I leap from the mattress like it’s on fire. I’m caught midair by a pair of big arms that cinch around me and drag me backward on my heels. I fight, trying to stab my attacker in the thigh, but I can’t get enough leverage because my arms are pinned. I jerk my head back in an attempt to break his nose, but he’s too fast. He dodges my move with an expert countermove and a chuckle.

  “Aw, you don’t seem happy to see me, Angel. My feelin’s are hurt.”

  I freeze. “You!”

  “The one and only, darlin’.” He puts his nose into my hair, inhales, and says in a husky voice, “Don’t stab me. I look better without holes.”

  The relief that washes over me is almost as powerful and unexpected as the surge of joy. I drop the knife, spin around, throw my arms around Ryan’s shoulders, and bury my face into his neck.

  “Oh. Uh…okay. I see we’re changin’ gears.” He sounds surprised, then suspicious. “Or are you about to offer me some orange juice?”

  I shake my head and burrow closer. His arms wind around me again, this time with infinite gentleness.

  Trembling with adrenaline, I blurt, “I’m sorry.”

  The chuckle again. “For what? Lyin’ to me? Usin’ me? Seducin’ me?”

  I answer truthfully. “Everything but the last part.”

  Ryan laughs. He takes my face in his hands. In the shadows, his smiling face is so handsome, my breath catches. He says softly, “Hi.”

  “Hi yourself. How did you find me?”

  “Told you I would. I keep my word. You’ll learn. By the way, do you always sleep fully dressed?”

  The answer is yes, but I ignore the question and ask one of my own. “On a scale of one to ten, how mad are you?”

  “Ninety-four. You got a lotta makin’ up to do.”

  The innuendo in his voice sends a shiver of delight down my spine, but I don’t want to get ahead of myself. He could be about to put me in handcuffs.

  “Are you going to turn me in to the police?”

  “Do I seem like I’m in a big rush to do that?”

  I narrow my eyes and inspect his face, then admit, “Not really.”

  “There you go.”

  We stare at each other. He brushes a knuckle over the rise of my cheek. “So you’re a thief.”

  “And you’re a mercenary.”

  “Not my preferred term, but yes. Gotta say I like your voice even better without the fake French accent. Tell me your real name.”

  “Um…Elizabeth.”

  He sighs.

  “Lauren?”

  He says flatly, “Cut it out.”

  I make a calculated gamble, because I know he’ll be able to tell if I’m lying. Besides, he can’t get far without a last name. There must be millions of women with my first name.

  “Mariana.”

  He examines my expression, then nods. “Pretty. And unusual. Suits you. Mariana what?”

  “Let’s not get carried away, cowboy. This is only our second date.”

  “Yeah, but look how good the first one went.” He adds sourly, “Except the end. That sucked big-time.”

  The staring recommences. I can tell he really wants to kiss me. He also wants to take me over his knee and spank my ass.

  And not in the good way.

  I admit sheepishly, “You have every right to be angry.”

  He cocks an eyebrow, drawls a sarcastic, “You think?”

  “Yes.” I take a steadying breath. “But I’m just so goddamn happy to see you, I hope you can ignore how mad you are for a second while I do this.”

  I stand on tiptoe and kiss him.

  He responds instantly, a low groan rumbling through his chest, a big, rough hand digging into my hair. The other hand grips my bottom, dragging me closer. He drinks deeply from my mouth, pressing me against him so I feel him grow hard.

  He breaks away first, chuckling, and says in a throaty voice, “Guess Tabby was right.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind. Listen. Here’s how this is gonna go. I’m gonna get us both naked. Then I’m gonna make love to you. Sweet this time, not rough, ’cause you gave up the right to dictate terms when you pulled a spider monkey and crawled off the balcony and left me feelin’ like a dipshit. Which is a pet peeve of mine, by the way. Then we’re gonna talk—”

  “Talk?” I repeat, a note of panic in my voice.

  “Talk,” he says firmly. “Like normal people do after sex.”

  I laugh a little breathlessly. “You think we’re normal people?”

  “Shut up. After the talk, you are not gonna dose me with drugs. You are not gonna disappear. What you are gonna do is tell me who did that to your throat so I can kill him.”

  All the air leaves my lungs. We’re eye to eye, so he can see what his words have done to me, how terrified I suddenly am.

  My voice breaking, I say, “I can’t.”

  He growls, “You mean you won’t.”

  I shake my head. “No. I mean I can’t. And that’s not a lie. It’s just…” I blink aw
ay the sudden, awful memory of bloodied bodies lying motionless on burgundy carpet. “It’s just that I work for monsters. One of the cardinal rules of monsters is you’re not allowed to tell anyone they exist. And it’s not only my life that ends if I disobey the rules.”

  He studies my face in silence. “So you’re not a thief by choice.”

  “I’ve been a thief since I was six years old. It’s what I do. It’s who I am.”

  “It’s how you survived, maybe, but it’s not who you are.”

  I try to pull away, but Ryan doesn’t allow it. He holds me in place, gently but firmly, and says, “I can help you.”

  My laugh is short and bitter. “Don’t be a cliché. I’m not a damsel in distress, and you’re no knight in shining armor.”

  “Not to toot my own horn, Angel, but my armor is so fuckin’ shiny, it’d blind the sun. I can help you.”

  This conversation is making me emotional, something I detest more than men who wear argyle socks. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

  “Tough shit,” he replies, and swings me up into his arms. Then he deposits me on the bed and lies on top of me.

  If I didn’t like it so much, I’d fish the other knife from the under the pillow and aerate him.

  “Now look,” he says, sounding reasonable. He braces his elbows on either side of my shoulders and props his chin on his hands. “You don’t know about me, but I’m kinda the shit.”

  When I make a face, he smiles. I close my eyes and mutter, “Unbelievable.”

  “Ahem. As I was saying—I’m kinda the shit. I don’t have my bio with me, but you’ll just have to take my word that it’s real impressive—”

  “Oh. My. God.”

  “—and my major spec-i-al-i-ty—”

  “That word doesn’t have five syllables.”

  “—is rescuin’ people from bad situations.”

  I think for a moment. “Like the Karpov situation?”

  His eyes narrow. “You know him?”

  “No. You mentioned him the night we had dinner with your friends at the resort restaurant.”

  Ryan looks pleased. “You were payin’ attention.”

  Like a big baby, I hide my face under his forearm. “I paid attention to everything you said.”

  “Yeah?” he murmurs, his voice warm. “And why’s that, Angel?”

  I don’t reply. What can I say? Because everything you said was interesting? Because I was infatuated with you from the moment I laid eyes on you? Because you’re beautiful and sexy and so adorable, it melts my black heart?

  No. Obviously I’m not saying any of that.

  Ryan dips his head and nuzzles my ear. “Just admit it. I dazzle you,” he whispers, then softly laughs.

  “Shut up.”

  “Make me.”

  “Take off your clothes.”

  “Bossy!”

  “We’ve already established that you like that, so do as you’re told and get naked, cowboy. This room is only rented for one night.”

  There’s a wicked gleam in his eyes that hints at secret plans. But he’s not the only one with plans. He might be a good bloodhound, but I’m an even better escape artist. No matter what he’s got planned for me, I’ll be gone before he can play it out.

  I don’t want to go, but doing what I want is a luxury I don’t have. I’ve got the world’s largest blue diamond to steal within ten days. Time’s a wastin’.

  “I think you should take off my clothes,” says Ryan, “since you have so much makin’ up to do and all.”

  “If I do, will you tell me how you found me?”

  “No. Duh.” He pauses. “But I will if you leave with me tonight.”

  “Leave? What do you mean, leave?”

  “You’ve got a nice big vocab, Angel, I think you know the meanin’ of the word.”

  My heart thuds at a thunderous volume, like a fat person clomping down stairs. Is he saying what I think he’s saying? “So…just to clarify…”

  “You come back to New York with me and let me take care of your situation so we can get started on our happily ever after.”

  My mouth is open. I can’t get it to close. I can’t get any words to come out of it, either. I just stare up at him in disbelief while he smiles calmly down at me like he’s just suggested we order in for pizza.

  “You’re cute when you’re speechless, Angel. Can’t wait to see what happens when I get down on a knee and—”

  “Stop it! And stop calling me Angel! Get off me!”

  “No, no, and no.” He refuses to budge as I try to wrestle him off. The damn man is too big, too strong, and too stubborn to move an inch.

  In that maddeningly reasonable way he has, he says, “You think this kinda shit happens every day? You think two people meet and have thermonuclear chemistry and make each other laugh and have mind-blowing sex, and then one of them steals a fifteen-million-dollar necklace and disappears and the other one finds the first one within a few days and breaks into her hotel room and almost gets stabbed but ends up on top of her in bed?”

  When I don’t respond because I’m too mind-fucked to answer, Ryan says, “The answer to all that is no. Now get on board, Angel, because this train has already left the station.”

  After a long time, I manage to say, “Who told you how much the necklace was worth?”

  He sighs like I’m the biggest idiot who’s ever lived. “You have a bad habit of focusing on all the wrong things, you know that?”

  I blow out a breath and close my eyes because my clomping heart is making me dizzy. I say in a strangled voice, “That’s an amazing offer, cowboy, but I can’t leave with you. It would be a death sentence for someone I love.”

  He’s quiet for a moment, stroking a thumb over my earlobe, then he presses the softest of kisses to my jaw. “Mariana, I can help you. That isn’t bullshit. It isn’t ego. It’s the truth. I’ve got a team of badass motherfuckers trained by the United States military in heroics and general mayhem who can be here within hours to back me up. We’ll get your people, and then we’ll get the fuck outta Dodge.”

  “There’s nowhere I can run! They’ll find me!”

  “Who will?”

  I open my eyes. Ryan stares down at me with dangerous intensity burning in his gaze. It breaks my heart how serious he is about helping me.

  He doesn’t realize I’m a lost cause, or that I’ve already got one foot out the window.

  “The monsters.”

  “Not if I get them first.”

  I want to scream in frustration. “You don’t understand—”

  “So educate me.”

  “I can’t!”

  “You keep sayin’ that word. Like you forgot you have somethin’ called free will.”

  I say bitterly, “Free will is for people who haven’t sworn blood oaths to—”

  The words die in my mouth. Horror at my blunder rises up in their place. When I look up at Ryan, a wolf is looking back down at me.

  “Blood oath?” he repeats, deadly soft. “We talkin’ Cosa Nostra? The Sicilian mob?”

  My entire body breaks out in goose bumps. I say firmly, “No.”

  His laugh is short and dark. “Oh, okay. Sure. That was totally believable.”

  I turn my face to his arm and close my eyes again, cursing myself for my stupidity and him for seeing through me like a pane of clear glass, which no one—with the possible exception of Reynard—ever does.

  Ryan says, “So this is good. We’re makin’ progress! Now all you gotta do is tell me who else we’re takin’ with us and—”

  “Please don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  I swallow a sob. “Make it sound like a hypothetical. Like it could actually happen. I stopped believing in fairy tales a long time ago.”

  Ryan takes my face in his hands. He says softly, “Maybe they didn’t stop believin’ in you.”

  When he kisses me, it’s like a promise. Like he’s making a blood oath of his own.

  This man is going
to be the death of me.

  I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him back with everything I have, my heart shattering into a million jagged pieces.

  Because his kiss is a promise, but mine is a goodbye.

  14

  Ryan

  Just when I’m about to rip off all her clothes, Mariana breaks the kiss and looks away. Sounding embarrassed, she says, “Um. I have to…before we…I have to go to the bathroom.”

  “I really don’t care if you shaved your legs or not, sweetheart.”

  “I have to pee!”

  “Well, why didn’t you just say so?” I sit up, help her sit up, and grin at her, because she’s wearing a look like she can’t decide whether or not to smack me or start kissing me again.

  Then I catch sight of her neck, mottled with bruises above the collar of the hideous turd-colored sweater she’s wearing, and my grin dies a quick death.

  Whoever the bastard is that did that to her, he’s gonna have to answer to me.

  And then he’s gonna wish he’d never been born.

  “It looks worse than it is,” she mutters, covering her throat with her hand. Before I can say anything, she goes into to the bathroom and closes the door. The water turns on. I picture her standing at the mirror looking at her bruised neck with those big, beautiful eyes, and I want to break all the furniture in the room with my bare hands.

  I blow out a hard breath and stand, turning on the bedside lamp. I can’t stay in one place, so I start to pace. I remove my leather jacket, toss it onto a chair, and listen to the sound of the toilet flushing.

  There’s nowhere I can run. They’ll find me. It would be a death sentence for someone I love.

  Whatever shit she’s mixed up in, it’s bad. And if it’s really Cosa Nostra, it’s pretty much the worst it could be. The real Italian Mafia makes The Sopranos look like Sesame Street.

  Thinking about it makes me antsy. I go to the sliding-glass door of the balcony and step out into the cool, misty night. The fresh air is bracing. Even at this hour, the sounds of taxis honking and people talking drift up from the street below. Like New York, London is a city that never sleeps.