Surrender

by Lisa Renee Jones

  “We are not enemies,” Kayden declares, tearing his mouth from mine, repeating the words he’d spoken before the kiss as if he’s tasted the doubt on my lips, as if he’s willing me to let it go, when I have tasted it on his as well. But I have never wanted to surrender to anyone else’s will—or to anyone—more than I do to his and him, right now. But it isn’t that simple and we both know it, no matter how we might reject that fact.

  “In this moment,” I say, “and in every moment since you found me in that alleyway, no. But if I am CIA—”

  “You were never my enemy, Ella.” He turns over his arm, exposing the hawk tattoo on his wrist, the mark of a leader in The Underground, in his case over all of France and Italy. “This represents me having the right to make choices for my organization that will never put me at odds with you or the CIA.”

  “Not by choice,” I say, my hand flattening on the hard wall of his T-shirt-covered chest, knowing everything about him is strength and power. “But sometimes you’re forced into situations.”

  “That I manage, and manage well.”

  “Yes,” I agree, recognizing not arrogance in his words but rather confidence and character. “I know that. I’ve seen it. And I feel it when I’m with you.”

  “But you’re not convinced that doesn’t leave us at odds.”

  “I want to be convinced. I do.”

  He takes my hand and turns it over to reveal the newly inked hawk on my wrist, a perfect match for his except for the pink-etched wings. “This says that I will always put you first. It says you will never be my enemy.” He joins our hands and connects our wrists, our hawks. “You are a part of me now.”

  “As you are of me,” I say, my voice raspy with love for this man who has seen my worst and barely knows my best, and yet I know he would die for me. That thought brings worries to mind that he doesn’t give me time to express, lacing his fingers with mine.

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  “What about Blake Walker and his wife?” I ask, reminded of Walker Security, the team Sara had hired to find me. “Did they disappear as quickly as they showed up?”

  “They know you’re safe now,” he says. “And at this point, any further conversation needs to come after I’ve had time to check them out. Your friend might trust him, but I also need to trust him, and so do you.”

  “Agreed,” I say, and I do not miss the way he makes this about us, not him, never throwing his role of Hawk in my face unless it concerns someone’s safety. “How did he react to you questioning him?”

  “He offered me references that he’s sending by email, but what I care about most is what he won’t willingly hand over.”

  “The stuff Matteo can find by hacking.”

  “Exactly,” he confirms. “I’ve already called him, but my gut feeling is that Blake Walker is legit, right along with Sara’s new husband, Chris Merit.”

  “Please tell me you don’t think he’s after the necklace? That can’t be. It can’t. He came into her life after I left.” Yet as surely as I say the words, I know that might not matter.

  “I’m just being safe, sweetheart.”

  “Right. That’s good. And Blake Walker hiring The Jackals to help find me? How bad is their involvement?”

  “It’s not good,” he says, holding nothing back, which I appreciate. “Their leader, Alessandro, is a low-life scum who has no loyalty to any client. He’ll pass the same information he gave Blake on to another paying client if he becomes aware you’re being looked for.”

  “As in Garner Neuville,” I supply, now knowing exactly who the man in my flashbacks is. No. The monster in my flashbacks. He is no man. “You can say his name,” I add. “He won’t make me cower, Kayden. I won’t give him that power.”

  His eyes warm with obvious pride and he cups my head, kissing my forehead. “Of that, sweetheart, I have no doubt.” He inches back to look at me, his hands settling at my waist. “I’ll handle Alessandro. You have my word.”

  “Handle him how?”

  “Depends on how dirty he plays—which means I have plans to make, and we need to get out of here.” He folds my arm at the elbow and settles our joined hands between us. “I sent Giada home,” he says, reminding me I was playing big sister to Adriel’s sister when all this happened.

  “I’m going to have to make this up to her,” I say, “but getting out of here and forming a plan both sound good to me.”

  “Giada will get over it,” he assures me. “I have a car waiting for us.”

  I nod, and eagerly let him guide me into the hallway and down the stairs. I want a plan. I want control. I want all these holes in my memories filled in and I need to do whatever is necessary to ensure that happens, and standing in place isn’t the answer. We exit into the hallway and Kayden leads me down the stairs, and while the way our hands meld together so easily speaks of how connected we are, I can’t help but feel that we could be ripped apart at any given moment. And he feels it, too. It’s in the hard lines of his body, in the slight tightening of his grip on mine, as he leads me through the retail area of the shooting range, where he gives several people waves but doesn’t stop walking.

  We pause at the exit, where a man hands Kayden his gray and black biker jacket, which he slips on before helping me with my black Chanel trench coat I don’t even remember removing. How very non-CIA of me, I think. But the amnesia and flashbacks of my past seem to remove me from the present, a problem I’m hopeful that I’m close to removing from my life, and Kayden’s. I’m so close to having me back, minus my red hair that will remain dark brown as long as Garner Neuville lives. I want to kill him. Another very non-CIA feeling. But if I am CIA, where were they when I was lying in that alleyway where Kayden saved me? Where were they when I was tied between two poles, being beaten by a whip? But then, maybe I didn’t want to be saved. Maybe I just wanted that monster behind bars. And yet . . . why would the CIA be involved with the mob? The FBI prefers to take the lead on mob activity, despite some crossover. And how do I know that if I’m not CIA?

  Kayden grabs the door for me and I exit into the chilly February air of Rome, still trying to make sense of where I fit into that picture. Kayden’s next to me in an instant, his arm draping my shoulders, his big body sheltering me from an early-evening wind, while tourists bustle in the shopping area neighboring the Spanish Steps. He motions forward and to the cobblestone street to our left, where I spot a black Mercedes. Adriel exits the driver’s door facing us, running fingers through his dark hair, and I’d bet he’s hiding a weapon under his sleek, fitted brown leather jacket and another at his ankle.

  We’re almost to the car when a limo pulls to the curb in front of the Mercedes, and I immediately know who it is. “Niccolo,” I say as two goons in trench coats exit from either side of the car, a chill of foreboding running down my spine.

  “Yes,” Kayden agrees, his hand slipping away from my shoulder, no doubt to free it for his weapon. “He uses impromptu meetings as a way to ensure he’s in control, and that everyone else is unsteady.”

  In turn, my hand has settled under my coat where my purse rests at my hip, my fingers tugging the zipper open, then discreetly finding the cold steel handle of “Annie.” Adriel steps to my opposite side from Kayden at the same moment, and one of the men stops a foot in front of us and center, which means directly in line with me, but he looks at Kayden.

  “Niccolo would like to talk with you a moment,” he says, but his gaze then flicks to me. “And you.”

  “Come with me, Ella,” Adriel orders, his hand going to my arm.

  “Ella stays with me,” Kayden says, and I can feel the instant, silent resistance in Adriel. He knows nothing of my involvement with the necklace they all hunt, and Niccolo wants to find it before anyone else. But Niccolo knows, and should I avoid him now, it will look as if I have remembered where it is but wish to hide it from him. The reality is that I have no
t remembered. And while I would never hand it over to Niccolo, at present I am not hiding it from him, and at least for now, that message is one I can look him in the eye and deliver. A message that this meeting allows me to deliver—and, in fact, buys us time to find the necklace and ensure he never gets his criminal hands on it.

  I step forward, aligning my boots with Kayden’s, silently offering my agreement, though it’s not needed. Niccolo’s goon has already taken Kayden’s word as gold, and is now walking back toward the limo. Kayden doesn’t look at me, nor me at him, both of us focused on the back door of the limo. We step forward in unison, connected in ways that go beyond our personal bond that I understand now, but hadn’t before; nor, I suspect, had he. We both know danger. We both know the importance of keeping our eyes on the danger ahead, along with who and what awaits us is in this limo. We both don’t intend to be the ones who fall, if someone has to take a hit.

  One of the goons opens the back door and I start to get in, but Kayden gently shackles my arm. “Wait here with Adriel until I set ground rules,” he orders softly. Fully in his role as Hawk, he doesn’t await confirmation from me, assuming it and already stepping toward the car, and I do not question him. Not when Niccolo is watching. Instead, I stand my ground, Adriel appearing at my side like a guard dog ready to snarl and bite, while my gun is ready to snarl and bite right along with whatever weapon he chooses.

  I sense his dedication to doing whatever is necessary to protect not just Kayden, but me, another reason for me to warm to him when I’d once thought that impossible. Kayden enters the car, and less than a minute later he leans out and offers me his hand. I do not hesitate to press my palm to his, and while his touch is always welcome, it serves a purpose now. It’s a message to Niccolo that we are united and that I’m not only under Kayden’s protection, but that of The Underground. Yet there is no fear in me, not even of Niccolo. I am instead appropriately on edge about a powerful man who plays games, with me the one holding the card, or rather the location of the necklace that he wants to hold himself.

  I move forward, and the instant I’m inside the car sitting next to Kayden, my mind quickly ticks through observations—a process I instinctively know started with my father’s training. Everything is in slow motion. It’s like an out-of-body experience. In a matter of seconds, I register Kayden’s leg next to mine while his hand slides away from me, then the door shutting and fine leather cradling my body. The spicy, masculine scent of Kayden merging with Niccolo’s, which is somehow soapy and clean in a sterile kind of way, like a hospital you want to escape but cannot. There is also a window sealed between us and the driver at Kayden’s and my back. Last, I focus on Niccolo sitting in the center of the seat across from us, looking gaunt, his scalp freshly shaved, his expensive blue suit too large yet he manages to own it, like he intends to own us. He will fail.

  “Ella,” he greets me, those cold eyes still hollow of emotion and laden with sickness, with the death haunting him, landing on me.

  “Niccolo,” I say, ensuring he knows that I will meet him tit for tat at every turn.

  “Let’s skip the dinner party greetings,” Kayden says, no doubt purposely, and successfully, pulling Niccolo’s attention to him.

  “Police Chief Donati has been dealt with,” Niccolo states. “Should he give either of you trouble again, I’ll want to know.”

  “Dealt with how?” Kayden asks.

  “Effectively,” he states, offering nothing more. “And he’ll ensure your Detective Gallo is also dealt with, as I understand he’s a nuisance.”

  “Please tell me that’s not code for killing him,” I say, incapable of keeping my mouth shut at this point.

  “But my brother is a more complicated situation,” he says, ignoring my words, as he cuts his gaze to me again. “Have you remembered where my necklace is?”

  His necklace. It is not his necklace, but the property of the British government, an artifact long ago stolen that he will never possess.

  But instead of correcting him, I speak the only truth he needs to hear. “I only remember what it looks like, and that at some point I had it.”

  “Do you remember promising it to me for safe passage from Paris to Italy, as well as my protection from my brother?”

  “I do not.”

  “But you remembered him?”

  “Flashbacks of a monster,” I say willingly, not hiding my hate for Garner. Niccolo needs to know I have no distorted memories of his brother that would suddenly make me hand him the necklace.

  “Who will pay for his sins,” Kayden adds, his voice etched with hard promise.

  Niccolo’s gaze swings to Kayden. “And me? Will I pay for my sins, Hawk?”

  He’s goading Kayden with the murder of his family, which Niccolo has all but admitted to. I turn my back to the door to read both men’s expressions, preparing to react to any problem, and doing so with the sureness that Adriel will not allow me any surprises from behind. But if Kayden is agitated, his energy doesn’t darken, his expression doesn’t harden. In fact, his lips quirk, his eyes filling with amusement that I swear is genuine, his elbows settling on his legs as he leans closer to Niccolo and goads him right back. “I don’t need to make you pay, now do I?” he asks softly. “That bitch Karma already found you for me, and we both know it.”

  Niccolo’s gaze sharpens with the implication that Kayden knows of his illness. “Karma’s my sister, Hawk. And she might be a bitch, but it turns out we’re getting pretty damn friendly, so watch yourself. She might find you, too.”

  “Is that a threat, Niccolo?” Kayden asks. “Because I don’t respond well to threats, especially when they come from someone I know will act on them. It makes me turn an Evil Eye on them. Not that it would matter to you. You just said that Karma’s your sister, and we all know how you regard family—seeing as you’d like nothing more than to take out your own brother.”

  “Enough with the word games,” Niccolo snaps. “We have a common cause now. We both want my brother destroyed.” He flicks a look at me and then back at Kayden. “And she’s the key you seem to want to protect.”

  Kayden goes still, his mood darkening, easily read by the crackle of energy around him, before he shocks me by pulling me closer and shoving back the sleeves of my coat and sweater to reveal my newly inked skin. “I am, and I will, protect her, Niccolo,” he declares, his voice soft and yet somehow intense, fierce, and I can barely breathe from the unnamed emotions stirred by his complete, utter devotion to protecting me.

  For his part, Niccolo shows no emotion or immediate reaction, his expression remains unchanged, his gaze fixing on my hawk tattoo, lingering there for what feels like an eternity but is only seconds, before he looks at Kayden. “Is that a claim for the woman, or for a necklace worth three hundred million dollars?” he asks, his voice cold, calculated, and etched with accusation, and I’m not sure if it’s meant to rattle Kayden, me, or both of us, but there is no time for me to react.

  Kayden’s response is instant, something about Niccolo’s response is more than the word games I take them as. He moves and in a blink, draws his gun and points it, not at Niccolo’s head but at his groin. “It would be a lethal mistake to underestimate what she means to me,” he says, his voice etched with the same cold calculation as Niccolo’s question.

  But there is more. Kayden didn’t pull that gun as a threat or a bluff. This is the man who killed the woman Kayden loved and the man who raised him, so he knows it’s the wrong choice. And Kayden knows all the reasons he can’t kill Niccolo now. He needs to ensure the new leader is of his choice, but that doesn’t change one fact: He wants a reason to justify killing Niccolo. And he wants that reason here and now.

  two

  The glass window behind us starts to lower. Adrenaline surges through me, and it takes me all of ten seconds to reach into my purse for my trusty gun, good ol’ “Annie,” and point it at the driver, who has clearly b
een watching us. “Don’t even think about it,” I warn before he even lifts the weapon I know he’s holding, counting on Adriel to have our backs from outside the car.

  “Tell him to get out of the car,” Kayden orders Niccolo, “or I’ll shoot you in the leg.”

  Niccolo laughs, low and deep. “Temper, temper, Hawk.” He flicks a look over Kayden’s shoulder. “Giorgio, leave us so The Hawk can regain his control.”

  It’s an obvious attempt to downplay Kayden’s control, but whatever the case, it works. Giorgio hesitates, then backs away from the window. Kayden seems to know. “Tell him to raise the glass again.”

  Niccolo doesn’t comply, and while I don’t dare look at him, I sense the challenge in his stare, as if he really believes Kayden’s focus on the business side of his role as Hawk dictates his actions right now.

  “He’ll do it,” I say, not daring to look away from Giorgio. “And he’ll just clean up the mess the way he cleaned up all of the others before you, no matter how bloody.”

  “Should I do it?” Kayden taunts Niccolo.

  Another few beats ticks by before Niccolo says, “Do as he says, Giorgio.”

  Giorgio’s compliance is instant, the glass rising, and I slowly lower my gun, turning to find Niccolo looking at me, not Kayden, despite the weapon at his groin. “It’s quite the powerful reaction you create in men, now, isn’t it? First my brother, and now The Hawk, ruler of two countries.” He flicks a look at my gun, then at me. “There is more to you than meets the eye, isn’t there, bellissima?”