Power Play: A Romance Collection

by Lauren Landish

  There’s a run of snuffed grunts as they push into one another, and then as if by some gruff agreement, they reverse and push off one another, catching their breaths in great gulps of anger and oxygen.

  Caleb’s laugh is bitter. “You always do have it under control, Brother. Until you don’t, and then I save your ass. What the fuck makes you think this will be any different?”

  Spittle flies from his mouth, a small split in his lip bleeding bright red even in the ruddiness of his face as he pounds his chest.

  Their eyes meet, fire and ice, and the moment stretches out between them. It’s almost as if they have an entire discussion, silent memories sweeping in the tension-filled air, and I wonder what fights they’re remembering.

  How true is it that Caleb saves Nathan, or how often does Nathan save Caleb? I suspect they’ve always had each other’s back, trading barbs with each other but never letting anyone else say a negative word without repercussions.

  I’m the same way with Claire. I can bitch about her when it’s warranted, and trust me, I have. But if anyone tried to step to her, they’d be facing a total tag team, both of us ready to lay the smackdown on whoever had the nerve to say something bad about her.

  Finally, Nathan holds up a hand, trying to call a temporary truce. “You’ve saved my ass more than once, Caleb. I won’t ever dispute that. But I’m good. I promise . . . I’m good.”

  Caleb puffs up, eyes flicking from Nathan to me and back. I can almost feel the barbs he’s about to unleash and prepare myself for the words again.

  Whore.

  Liar.

  And while there may be a kernel of truth to them, they don’t mean what Caleb will undoubtedly intend when he hurls them at me. And I don’t want them echoing in Nathan’s ears again. Not when we’re so freshly figuring things out and the world feels so dangerously, deliciously full of possibility.

  But Caleb keeps the cuts to himself, instead just threatening, “You’re compromised, Nathan. By her pussy, by Dad’s mess. And before you know it, you’re going to be so compromised that even I won’t be able to pull you out of the giant shitstorm you’re brewing for yourself. And then I’ll be . . .” He doesn’t finish, just tapers off, and then he spins, stomping out the door.

  Nathan’s chest is heaving, and I’m about to go to him when he lets loose a guttural cry of anguish, his fists crashing down into the granite countertops of the kitchen as he roars to the ceiling.

  It echoes off the kitchen tiles, bouncing back at me like a whip, and I gasp as my hands cover my mouth.

  But when he drops to his knees, butt sitting back on his heels, I do rush over.

  Grabbing his face in my palms, I whisper soft reassurances to soothe his pain, not really sure how an argument got so heated, why it hurts so much. Nathan fights free from my hands though and shoves his head into my lap, wrapping his arms tightly around my waist, his cheek on my thigh.

  Shocked to my core at the brokenness in this monster of a man, I don’t know what to do. So I pat his head, my fingers running through his hair almost as if he were a child.

  “It’s okay, you will work it out. You’re brothers. It’ll be okay,” I repeat, as if the words will come true if I say them enough.

  His response is quiet in comparison to the tension in his body which screams. “We’ve never fought like this. I mean, we’ve thrown down, of course. We’ve done more than our share, but not this. It’s always been him and me against everything and everyone else. I’ve fought for him more times than I can count over the years.”

  He quiets for a moment, and I wonder where in the past he’s gone to in his mind. “We’re the team, but he’s not with me. It’s not about you. It’s about the whole thing with Nikolai, with the trip. You’re just a symptom of the real problem.”

  “What’s the real problem?” I ask gently.

  He slides around, getting his legs underneath him before slumping to his butt, his forearms resting on his bent knees. He looks at me for a second but then looks up, like he’s looking for some divine guidance, which I hate to tell him is not exactly forthcoming when shit is this wild.

  For a moment, I expect him to say that he’s the problem. Nathan definitely seems like the type to take everyone else’s problems and internalize them.

  “If you want to understand Caleb, if you want to understand me . . . you have to understand our father. He was an asshole who scarred Caleb in a way. And because of what our dad put us through, Caleb doesn’t trust anyone, not even me. Not in some things, anyway.”

  Leaving was awkward, but I knew Nathan needed some time to process.

  Quite honestly, so did I. We’d gone from a terrorizing dinner to firework-inducing sex to quiet confessions to bomb-dropping fights.

  It’s been less than twenty-four hours, but it’s been a rollercoaster and I’m more than ready to get off and sleep for a few days.

  Of course, Claire is having none of that. In fact, it’s like she’s lying in wait for me, and as soon as I walk in my apartment, my phone starts going off like she has some telepathic radar that I’m alone and she can invade.

  On my way over.

  Oh, hell no. My thumbs are flying on the screen before I can even think.

  Not now. Sleep. We’ll catch up later. ‘K?

  She doesn’t respond, so I say a quick prayer that she’s given her tacit agreement and head to my bathroom and rinse off with a quick shower before putting on sweats and a tank top.

  Plopping on the couch, I stare into space, trying to process everything that’s going on in my life, hoping that sleep will visit if I stay still enough.

  Bam, bam. Pause two three. Bam, bam, bam.

  Motherfucker.

  She didn’t.

  When the pattern repeats, I get off the couch with a huff, ripping the door open.

  “Not now, Claire. I said later.”

  My sister stands there, not even bothering to look chagrined or remorseful at ignoring my request. “Don’t even start with me. You go to dinner with a mobster on the FBI’s most wanted list, disappear with no contact for the night, and then try to blow me off when you get home. Sleep later, bitch.”

  Without another word, and giving zero shits who might have heard her, she shoves her way inside.

  Her partner, Matt, follows along behind her, not quite like a trailing puppy, but he at least shrugs apologetically before settling in on my couch to watch the show.

  They’re both dressed for work, not quite casual, not quite formal, but somewhere in between. Claire’s in slacks, a slim-fit button-up, and flat boots, and Matt’s in khakis and a polo.

  No shit.

  He looks like he’s here to fix my computer, and Claire looks like she’s here to string me up by my toes, though that has more to do with the look on her face than her wardrobe.

  “So tell me everything.”

  I sigh, going into the kitchen. “Coffee?”

  The offer is to both of them, but it’s mostly because if I’m going to get into this with Claire, I need reinforcements. And maybe a paring knife.

  Matt smiles, but Claire snorts. “Get on with it. Work and talk.”

  She’s bossy, just like she’s always been. That’s what big sisters do. I have a flashback of Nathan and Caleb fighting and try to imagine Claire and me having a big knock-down, drag-out fight these days.

  Looking at her, I can’t imagine it. For one, she’d kick my ass and never break a sweat. My sis is a machine, a fully-trained FBI agent who could probably kill three men with a fucking pencil if she tried.

  Me . . . well, as I pour three mugs of coffee, setting one down for Matt on the coffee table, I’ve handed out pretty much my deadliest weapon. With a small smile, graciousness pounded in my habits by my mom, I step back. “Enjoy.”

  I hand Claire’s to her, but she sets hers down on the table without even taking a sniff. I wish she’d kept it in her hands because at least if she was holding hot coffee, she couldn’t get after me too much.

  That white blou
se isn’t made for coffee, that’s for sure.

  Not that I think she’s going to fight with me like the guys did, but she’s been known to gesture a bit too much to prove a point. And I’m expecting her to have several points to prove during this conversation.

  I take a sip, letting the burning caffeine wake me up and prepare me for what I need to tell her. “Okay, so dinner with Nikolai last night. We went to Romano’s and were surprised that Nikolai brought a date, Maritziana. She’s one of the other hostesses. They seem to have hit it off. Dinner conversation was more about Nathan and me. Nik seemed to get a kick out of taunting us.”

  I frown, knowing that’s not really helpful to her anyway.

  “And what about their deal? What they’d say about that? Do you know what Nathan’s up to? Because I’m damn sure it’s not about spreading Daddy Stone’s ashes.”

  She looks to Matt, who nods his agreement with her assessment. He’s quiet but watching shrewdly, carefully taking in every word I say.

  I shake my head, glad that so, far we’re sticking to dinner. The hard part’s later, I’m sure. “I didn’t hear any of that. They talked business when Maritziana and I went to the ladies’ room. I don’t know, though Caleb said something about ‘Dad’s mess’ this morning.”

  Shiiiiiit.

  I definitely didn’t mean to say that.

  Not surprisingly, Claire gloms onto it like a dog with a juicy steak. “This morning? Is that why you didn’t call me back last night? You spent the night there, with Nathan?”

  She’s pointing at me and pacing, and the theatrics I feared start happening right before my eyes. I haven’t even confirmed what happened yet.

  “Goddamn it, Emma! What the hell are you thinking? You know this is dangerous. You can’t just treat it like . . . like a dating service!” she hisses.

  I puff up, just like Caleb did earlier, the irony not lost on me even as I spout off. “Wait a fucking minute! You asked me to do this, and because you’re my sister, I did. You started this whole ball rolling downhill. I’m just trying to ride it and survive. Because in case you forgot, Nikolai is a scary guy and has his sights on me. I think those were your words, right?”

  “I think you’re riding more than the ball I got started,” she says under her breath. It’s snide and hurtful and true enough that it stings deep.

  Matt interrupts, so calm and collected he might as well be watching ice melt. “Did you sleep with Nathan Stone?”

  He asks it like the answer doesn’t matter in the least, but Claire looks me in the eye, knowing it matters a whole hell of a lot.

  “That’s private, and I don’t have to answer that,” I say, but it’s answer enough in itself.

  Claire curses and starts pacing again, ranting and rumbling so much I can’t even catch every word. It’s like she’s going through her casefile about the Stones, looking for something to convince me.

  . . . Black market gems. Cocky asshole. Dead Dad. Dead assistant. Mob . . .

  The words Nathan said flash back to me, but I already know everything she’s muttering because I’ve already heard them all, twice. First from her before all this bullshit started, then again when Nathan confessed so much of his past to me.

  I don’t know everything, but I know enough. I feel it when I’m with Nathan, down to my core. He’s had a rough life, some shady dealings, and done some sketchy things, but . . .

  “Holy shit . . . you have feelings for him,” Claire says morosely when she sees my soft expression. “I should’ve seen this coming. He’s charming and good-looking, but I really thought you were smarter than this.”

  The insult cuts deeply, especially because it’s from her, one of the smartest people I know.

  But I don’t deny her conclusion. “Claire—”

  But she cuts me off, in full-on big sister mode. “Nope, I’m not letting you do any more. You’re not going back there, not going to see him again. You said Nikolai believed you, so you’re not in danger anymore. You’re walking away. Now.”

  I can see why she’s a good agent. Her forcefulness makes me want to agree to anything she says. But more than an agent, she’s my bossy sister, and I’ve got decades of experience in ignoring her, even when she gives good advice.

  I take a deep breath and look her directly in the eyes. “No.”

  “No?” Claire asks, her voice dropping to an outraged whisper. “What the hell do you mean, no? I said you’re not going back. Besides, you think he’s going to just forgive and forget that you’ve been lying since day one? Your name, your story, that you’re there for the FBI? No way, Em.”

  “Claire—” I repeat, and she hears the argument in my tone, already reddening to match my flush.

  She shakes her head, her hair waving behind her like a freaking shampoo commercial, but the light in her eyes is a lightning storm, not studio lights but just as bright. “I can’t. We’re not going to have this conversation right now. Sorry.”

  Before I can say anything, she walks out, the weight of the world on her shoulders.

  It’s not nearly the big blow-up Nathan and Caleb had, but the same disappointment was woven through my conversation with Claire.

  There was the same edging past the boundaries of expectations and acceptance. It makes me wonder if Caleb and Claire are right or if Nathan and I are.

  But when I search my heart, I know the answer. It may be crazy. I really don’t know him, but there’s something between us.

  I have to see if it’s real.

  I want to explore this thing. I need to tease at it with Nathan and enjoy the excitement of fraying away the tidiness of my life. Even if it is dangerous.

  Matt takes one last sip of his coffee before setting it down and standing up, brushing his hands off on his khakis. “I’m not getting in the middle of sisters. I’m not that stupid. But she was scared to death all night, thinking you’d gotten yourself killed at dinner with Nikolai and feeling guilty that she started this. Just think about it, Emma.”

  My gut drops. It hadn’t even occurred to me to call or text her last night. I was so swept away. My heart clenches in guilt.

  But only for not reaching out to her, not for feeling . . . whatever it is.

  “Matt, I’m not going to change my mind. It’s made up.”

  He nods, pursing his lips. “She’s worked up, but she’s not wrong. Nathan Stone is dangerous. So saying that . . . it’s not just wrong, it’s stupid. You need to haul ass for the horizon like there’s no tomorrow. It’s a dicey situation but can be done carefully. We can help you do that. Let us.”

  His every word is oatmeal, bland and uncaring. The weather man has more pep when he talks about a mild fall day. But it’s soothing in a way after Claire’s tirade. He’s the Yin to her Yang.

  He heads for the door, but before he can leave, I call out, “Why did the mission get a red light?”

  Matt turns back, and his eyes narrow. “I don’t have reservations about Stone. The man is dangerous, and most likely a criminal. But we had nothing real against him other than gut feelings. It was a fool’s errand to even take it to our superiors, but we’d hoped uselessly. Beside the fact that you’ve put yourself in danger, this was a terrible idea. Protocols are meant to be followed, upper ranks to be obeyed. Claire was wrong to involve you and she is paying the price. Don’t make her pay the ultimate price if you don’t back away.”

  And with that, he’s gone.

  Chapter 16

  Nathan

  My phone dings and I look down to see Emma’s name on the screen.

  I need to see you.

  I chuckle. Missing me already?

  Yeah, but we need to talk.

  That sounds dire.

  Hopefully not, but this morning . . .

  I see the bubble of dots that’s supposed to show me she’s typing, but then they disappear and I wonder what she was going to say and why she changed her mind.

  This morning was intense and weird, and I hope that my fight with Caleb and whatever shit he
said to her, didn’t scare her off.

  Come to my office?

  On my way.

  The half-hour wait until she gets here feels like an eternity. But even though I’m waiting so impatiently, virtually staring at the city below like I could figure out which ant-dot down there is her, I’m still surprised when my assistant comes in, catching me slightly off guard.

  “Miss Daniels to see you, sir.”

  I turn, running my hands over my shirt and nodding tersely. “Of course. Show her in.”

  Emma comes in bare-faced with her hair pulled up, in casual sweats, layered tees, and tennis shoes. She’s a vision of loveliness, and my heart speeds up looking upon her singular beauty.

  But her face is almost as pale as her hoodie, which is a ghostly gray.

  “Come in,” I invite, guiding her to the couch in my office’s sitting area. It’s a bit old-fashioned, but I still keep it. It helps me relax at the end of a long day. Besides, it’s one doozy of a couch, leather-covered and that perfect blend of soft and firm cushioning that makes you want to just evaporate into it.

  Emma, though, perches uneasily on the edge, back ramrod straight and hands fidgeting in her lap.

  “What’s wrong? Is this about me and Caleb?” I ask, sitting down beside her.

  Her eyes jump from her lap to mine, her head shaking. “No, I mean yeah, that was intense. But then I went home and—”

  I break in, fearing the worst. “Did Nikolai hurt you?”

  “No, please just let me say this. I don’t know how, but I need to.” She bites her lip and I can see her chin quivering ever so slightly. “Shit, this is hard.”

  I take her hands, needing to ease her somehow, but she looks sadly at our hands. “Emma, whatever it is, just tell me. It’s okay.”

  She takes a deep breath, shudders, and then plunges in. “So, I told you about my name, that I’m Emma Daniels, an actress and data entry Girl Friday for Professor Ford. But there’s more. I just didn’t know how to tell you or if I should . . .”

  I’m frozen in place, there on my couch, in my office, completely my domain, and I should be in my element, but she’s making me question everything. There’s something in her tone that tells me it’s bad news, and my soft tones evaporate immediately.