by Pam Godwin
The overhead lights illuminated, blinding her eyes. Curled up on the floor, she aimed the gun upward, and another gun pointed back.
“Rylee.” Tommy stood over her, his face set in stone, eyes bloodshot, and posture vibrating with unleashed fury. “Lower the gun.”
Relief, distrust, fear, anger—so many emotions battled inside her. She didn’t move.
“He’s dead,” a deep, masculine voice said. Chillingly deep. “No wallet or ID.”
“Rylee, lower the gun,” Tommy said in his domineering tone.
“Fuck you.”
The owner of the unfamiliar voice stepped into view and snatched her next breath. “You’re one woman against a gang of bloodthirsty savages.”
Savage was one way to describe him. Short brown hair. Razor-sharp eyes. Powerfully built. The faded scar that divided his cheek didn’t detract from his chiseled beauty. His smirk did. A lethal smirk, that curled arrogantly around a toothpick.
Van.
The monster who had captured and raped Tommy nine years ago.
“Don’t underestimate her.” Tommy gave her the full force of his eyes while addressing Van. “I’d rather take on you and your attic than this hellcat.”
What the fuck? He must be joking.
“I can arrange that.” Van clapped him on the back and ambled toward the bathroom.
The shower turned off, and he prowled back through the room, joining the din of footsteps and hushed voices that gathered outside the door.
Tommy unchambered the live round in his gun and wedged the weapon into the back of his jeans.
She tightened her grip on the pistol in her hands. “How did you find me?”
“We had a tail on the hitman.” He tipped his chin in the direction of the corpse, his expression unreadable. “You butchered him.”
“He deserved it.”
He went still, no part of him moving except his gaze, which darted over her, probing, flaring darkly. Deadly eyes. Hypnotic. God, the man was beautiful when he was contemplating murder. “Did he hurt you?”
“I’ve been hurt worse. Most recently, on your watch.”
“Yeah, I hurt you. Unjustly. Unforgivably. So shoot me.” He lowered to a crouch, leaning into the crack where she huddled, sucking all the oxygen. “Pull the fucking trigger.”
The gun rattled. Her breaths shook.
She couldn’t do it. Even knowing the gun was empty, she couldn’t take the risk. “I hate you.”
“I know, and I’m going to fix that.”
She blinked, unsure she heard him correctly. “Fix what?”
“I was wrong about some things.” He drifted closer, pressing his chest against the barrel of the gun. “You and I, we’re going to start over, but right now, I need to get you out of here.”
“No. Fuck that. I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“You’re in danger.”
She met his treacherous stare. “You think?”
In a blink, he snatched the gun from her hand, aimed it at the ceiling, and fired a dry click, without a twitch of surprise.
He’d known the whole time it wasn’t loaded.
“Let’s go.” He held out a hand in the narrow space between them.
More footsteps entered the room. More ruthless friends to aid in her mistreatment.
Reaching under the bed, she grabbed the knife and angled it at his throat. “Back up.”
His eyes glinted, and he pressed forward, cutting his neck on the blade. “You can do better, Rylee.” He dropped his voice to a heated whisper. “Hate me with your body. It’s far more satisfying.”
She was struck by how much sharper his words were than the weapon in her hand. He bled from a small cut in his throat while she hemorrhaged in endless, agonizing bitterness.
For reasons she didn’t understand, someone wanted her dead. Maybe that someone wasn’t Tommy, but… “You starved me.”
“A decision I regret. Tonight, I have a new priority, and that is protecting you.”
“You can’t protect me from yourself.”
“No.” His gaze, warm and richly gold, never wavered from hers. “You’ll have to weigh that risk.”
His throat didn’t bob against the knife. His hand didn’t swing to overpower her. He just waited her out while his friends searched the dead body.
She leaned in and tipped up the blade, lifting his chin. “No shackles.”
“Not unless you beg.”
“Never. What about the last rule in the rules of three?”
Three months without hope.
“We were ten minutes behind the hitman. I knew I would arrive too late.” His face took on an expression she’d never seen there before. Torment. “The whole way here, I knew I would hold your dead body, look into your lifeless eyes, and never experience hope again.” He touched the pads of his fingers to her throbbing jaw, featherlight. “I don’t know what you’ve done to me, but for the first time in ten years, I have hope in my grasp, and I’m going to fight like hell to keep it.”
Just words. Nice words. Profound words, if she were honest. But they wouldn’t keep her safe. “I will never forgive you.”
“I look forward to all the ways you’re going to never forgive me. Lower the knife, Rylee.”
He could take it himself. He was stronger, faster, expertly trained in disarming opponents. But for some insane reason, he wanted her to make this step.
It didn’t mean anything. She was in danger, and he was the only person who could help her.
She tossed the knife.
With a nod, he rose and held out his hand.
“You should clean that cut.” She rejected his waiting hand and pushed to her feet. “Someone else’s blood was all over that blade.”
He stepped back, giving her space to move out of her hiding spot. The room was empty, the corpse covered with a blanket. Everyone waited outside.
“You have two minutes to clean up.” He nodded at the bathroom.
She didn’t have to look down at her body. Her skin shivered beneath a sheen of cold, wet blood.
“Who’s here with you?” She strode into the bathroom, grateful to find the clothes she’d left in here earlier.
“Half the team.” He followed her in and gripped the hem of her bloody shirt. “Arms up.”
Sensing the tension in his posture, she let him undress her. “You’re expecting more hitmen?”
“Yes.” He traced a finger along the torn, burning skin that ran the length of her spine. “How did this happen?”
“The bed frame. I saw the gunman talking to the motel clerk. It gave me time to hide.” She washed her upper body in the sink, thinking through the ramifications. “The clerk might’ve called the cops.”
“The clerk was dead when we arrived.”
She froze in horror.
“Keep washing, Rylee.” He crouched behind her and carefully lowered her filthy pants. “You have one minute.”
Another dead body. Three in one week. Because of her. Who would be next?
Shoving down a thousand questions, she focused on scrubbing away the blood.
As Tommy helped her step out of her pants, she was viscerally aware of how close his mouth hovered to her bare backside. His breath caressed her flesh, prickling goosebumps, and his hands ghosted down the backs of her thighs, too tender to belong to the man who’d viciously fucked her in the desert.
“What are you doing?” She jerked her hips, trying to dislodge his touch.
With a firm grip on her butt, he gave her a warning squeeze. Then he released her and grabbed a clean towel.
Seconds later, she was wiped down and dressed in clean lounge pants and a t-shirt.
As he soaped up his neck and scrubbed the cut she’d inflicted, his gaze locked on hers in the mirror. There was something different about him. Something softer in the way he looked at her. It put her on edge.
When he clasped her hand to lead her out, she yanked free from his grip.
“Rylee.” He reached for her aga
in, eyes hard.
“I’m not going to run.”
She walked out ahead of him and slammed into potent, eye-burning fumes of gasoline. The room had been doused in it.
“Where’s my ID? Clothes?” She spun in a circle.
“They grabbed it.” He caught her shoulders and pointed her toward the door.
With a hard swallow, she stepped around the covered corpse and into the dark parking lot.
Someone had killed the outside lights, but the moon was bloated and bright, illuminating a motorcycle, two SUVs, and two…four…seven human-shaped silhouettes.
The desert heat clung to the night air, but the atmosphere exuded a chill that seeped into her bones. All eyes turned to her, and she stumbled back as if she’d been shoved, crashing into Tommy’s broad chest.
“You’re safe.” He curled a hand around her hip and put his mouth at her ear. “You know them.”
Cole was easy to spot with his beard, leather jacket, and formidable lean against the motorcycle.
Next in line was a man with sloping shoulders, a stern expression, and red hair. That could only be Luke. Van stood beside him, gnawing on a toothpick.
Her heart thudded as she took in the others.
A Latina woman sat on the curb, cuddled in the arms of a man with dark blond hair and crystal blue eyes. Lucia and Tate? If they hadn’t been joined at the hip, she might not have guessed who they were. But Tommy’s emails often talked about how the two were never apart. He’d joked that they probably took their daily shits together.
Which brought her gaze to the imposing figure who stood away from the rest. Stubble shadowed a squared jaw and outlined sculpted lips. Dark hair, dark eyes, Hispanic features—all carved into the image of a shockingly attractive man. But his presence bespoke of something other. Something egregious, inhuman, and evil down to the morrow of his soul.
A shiver snaked through her, for she knew, without looking at the self-inflicted scars on his arms, that she was standing in the withering stare of one of the most ruthless crime lords in Venezuela.
In the name of all that’s holy, why is he here?
“I thought you…” Damn, her trembling voice. She cleared her throat. “You live on the other side of the world.”
“While I’m honored to make the cut into Tomas’ diary of angsty feelings, where I live is none of your goddamn concern, little girl.” He grinned, and it wasn’t a grin at all.
Her mouth went dry, and her pulse careened into hysteria.
“That’s enough, Tiago.” Tommy shifted her behind him and gripped her hand.
This time, she allowed it, squeezing tight to his fingers as he removed a set of keys from his pocket.
“If you let him intimidate you, he’ll never stop,” a woman spoke from the shadows of the SUVs. “He gets off on it.”
The striking image of the last silhouette emerged from the darkness, striding forward.
Dressed head to toe in black, she wore badass buckled boots, guns on her hips, and straight black hair to her waist. Slender limbs, all long and graceful, gave her the appearance of delicate femininity. But her bearing commanded attention. Her aura controlled the very air. Authority beamed from her glacial eyes.
Liv.
The queen of depravity and dominance.
She’d molded Tommy into the sexual deviant he was today, and Rylee felt an irrational stab of jealousy over that. But she was also wonderstruck, tongue-tied, and instantly enamored.
The scar that hooked across Liv’s cheek replicated Van’s in its appearance and story. And like Van’s, it only added to her allure. The woman looked like Kate Beckinsale of the underworld—all sexy power, intimidation, and seduction.
“We’ll talk in the car,” Liv said in greeting and plucked the keys from Tommy’s hand. “I’m driving.”
This was happening.
Surrounded by criminals, Rylee felt the shadows closing in, tingling her nape and smothering her chances of survival. What had she gotten herself into?
Too late to run. She was outnumbered eight to one.
Eight darkly corrupted felons had traveled all the way here because of her. Because she’d invaded their privacy and gotten herself mixed up in something terrible.
She would have to go with them, wherever that might be, and hope to God they weren’t plotting her death.
Tommy held onto her numb hand and led her to the SUV.
Behind her, someone struck a match, and the motel erupted in flames.
In the darkness of the SUV, images of Rylee’s injuries worked through Tomas’ conscience. Something had struck her jaw with enough force to leave it swollen and red, and a nasty gash marred the length of her spine. Numerous marks cut and bruised her gorgeous flesh. But the other guy looked much worse.
She’d fought for her life and defeated a professional hitman. Admiration didn’t begin to express how he felt about her. A heady, complex cocktail of emotions hammered at him, mixing with adrenaline and twisting in his stomach.
He’d lost her four days ago. Almost lost her for good today.
Just like that, he forgave her for invading his privacy. Her life was in danger, and he felt responsible for that. He shouldn’t have let her leave with the detective. He should’ve fucking protected her.
She wasn’t the enemy.
Fate was giving him a second chance. A chance to right his wrongs with her and maybe, just maybe, find happiness again. He wouldn’t fuck it up. He’d meant what he told her. Tonight, he would begin anew.
A fresh start.
With her.
His mind had gone there so quickly. The instant he thought she was dead was the exact moment he realized she was more than the best sex of his life. More than a throat he wanted to throttle. More than any word he’d ever written in an email.
He survived Caroline’s death. But he knew, deep in his fractured soul, he wouldn’t survive Rylee’s.
The simmering sensations at the base of his throat, behind his breastbone, and in the pit of his stomach were an accumulation of violence and desire, chemistry and possessiveness, fire and rage. The extreme passion she produced in him was the antithesis of the tender, doting innocence he’d felt with Caroline.
It was difficult to think about, but he couldn’t help but wonder if he and Caroline would’ve been as compatible as adults as they’d been as children. Caroline had been a gentle soul, sweetly passive, always smiling. If she hadn’t died, he probably would’ve still gone to Austin, grieving the loss of his mother, and ended up in Van’s attic.
That experience had fundamentally changed him. Ten years later, he didn’t want Caroline’s kindhearted brand of love. He wanted explosive, no-holds-barred, raging, brutal passion.
He wanted Rylee.
But she wasn’t ready to hear any of this.
“Where are we going?” She sat beside him in the backseat of the SUV with her hands balled on her lap.
Liv drove in silence with Luke in the front seat next to her.
“A safe house.” Tomas would eventually have to tell her it was thirteen hours away.
“How did you find me?”
“When you left with the detective,” he said, “I called in my team. We traced your credit card and identified the cash machine you used. It took us several days to track down the motel employee who helped you.”
“She told you where I was?” She heaved a frustrated sound. “I paid her an extra two-hundred to keep her mouth shut.” Her shoulders tensed, and her gaze flashed to him in the dark. “Tell me you didn’t hurt her.”
Rule number one in this business: Never leave loose ends.
But Rylee didn’t live in his world. She didn’t know.
“The motel clerk took her bounty of cash and drove to San Antonio,” he said. “A spontaneous vacation to visit a friend. If she hadn’t left town so quickly, we would’ve located you within twenty-four hours.”
“What did you do, Tommy?” She shifted to face him, her voice rising. “Answer me.”
; He had a lot of bad news to give her. Christ, she’d already been through so much. He wanted to spare her this. For just a little while longer.
“She just butchered a man, Tomas.” Liv met his eyes in the rearview, her voice melodic yet icy in its command. “Don’t coddle the woman. She can handle it.”
He knew that. Fuck, he still wore the vicious marks of Rylee’s claws and teeth. He knew exactly how she handled things.
With a steeling breath, he turned toward her.
“The hitman located the girl before we did.” He reached for her face, her expression falling, collapsing in agony before his eyes.
“No.” She jerked away, shaking her head. “No, no, no!”
“She’s dead.”
Killed slowly. Body parts removed. All left for his team to find.
Her eyes glistened with tears, but she didn’t let them fall. “So the hitman learned my location and killed that poor girl.” She inhaled deeply. “How did you follow him?”
“Cole and I stayed behind, working it from a different angle.” Tomas hadn’t been much help, his technical skills no match for Cole’s. “It took days, but Cole managed to trace Paul Kissinger’s phone to multiple other devices. I still don’t know how he did it, but one of the devices he locked onto was traveling from San Antonio back to this area. We knew that was our guy and scrambled to catch up. When the phone stopped moving at your motel, we were still ten minutes out.” A hot clamp squeezed his airway. “Ten minutes too late. I’m so sorry, Rylee.”
“I got myself into this.” She leaned back and looked out the window. “I won’t forgive the way you treated me, but I know you didn’t send that hitman after me. That is a result of something I’ve done, evidently. Not your fault.”
“What do you mean?” Suspicion thickened his voice. “What are you hiding?”
“Nothing!” Her gaze shot to his, wide and urgent. “I don’t know what’s going on, but when I was stabbing that man, he mentioned the bridge.” She nervously glanced at Liv and Luke in the front seat and whispered, “He was smiling like he knew a dirty secret. But you’re the only person I’ve ever told about that night.”
“Start from the beginning. Tell me step by step what happened from the moment you saw the hitman talking to the motel clerk.”