by Riley Pine
I purse my lips into a grim smile. At least I’m going to kick his ass into next Sunday. There’s something delicious about that fact.
We walk through the deserted but sumptuous lobby. Shangri-La is a five-star hotel and spares no expense, from the eight-tiered fountain to the marble columns to the cut-crystal chandeliers. It could be tacky but is more old-world Hollywood glamour. This is the type of hotel couples would pick out for their honeymoons or romantic getaways. Not to crash after spending nights in BDSM dungeons.
I refuse to make eye contact with staff, wondering if any of them recognize me from my nearly naked fishnet look last night.
We step out into London’s early morning and the road is quiet, traffic not yet buzzing to life. Four classic black taxis idle at the hotel cab station, two bellboys in tailored uniforms shoot the breeze by their desk, and an elderly man is walking his beribboned Pomeranian, but otherwise we are the only ones out and about.
I set my GPS watch and reach to where my iPhone is strapped to a running armband.
“Which way are we going?”
“My plan is to hit the main parks... Kensington Gardens, Hyde Park, Green Park and St. James Park.” It’s a fun loop and one of my favorite runs in London.
X opens his mouth, but I start my Spotify running playlist and whatever he says is drowned out by Tom Petty’s “Runnin’ Down a Dream.”
Without another word, I take off in a dead sprint. He doesn’t catch up with me until Notting Hill station.
I’m surprised. He’s quicker than I anticipated.
I’ve worked hard to be fast. When it comes to the Order’s comprehensive physical exams, I’ve schooled most of the men in the Asian offices. I don’t bulge with muscles, but I’m strong, my body nothing like a frail model. Instead, I’m compact and confident. I’ve been training for years.
I glance at X, who offers a smug smile.
“Hello,” he mouths.
I can’t wait to wipe that grin off his face. I’ve been going easy. Time to get my motor going. Pumping my arms, I up the pace. He lunges, trying to match me. He’s powerful, built for sprinting, but I’ve trained for endurance. I’ve got a series of ultramarathons under my belt and have conditioned my body to accept and even crave the pain.
Might come in handy in the Lion’s Den, the little devil on my shoulder purrs.
I don’t turn around until I’m passing Royal Albert Hall, sweat slicking the skin in the valley between my breasts.
When I do, the path is empty.
I’ve lost him.
I should want to pump my fist, but instead I’m more aware than ever that I’m alone.
Like usual.
How I prefer.
But I can’t quite tune out the cool wash of disappointment in my belly.
Did I really want X to chase me?
I start running before I answer my question.
If I’m going to survive this mission, it’s critical that I don’t overthink.
All I can do is breathe in and out. And survive.
X
Lora’s fast as the devil. I’ll give her that much. Secondary school may have been decades ago, but she’s stronger than she’s ever been.
Me? I’m not a runner. Maybe it’s because I don’t let myself get chased. Nor do I let anyone I need to apprehend get far enough away from me. I rely on ingenuity rather than speed or distance. It’s why I’m scaling the rear of a double-decker bus right at this moment. If I’ve played my cards right—and I always do—I’ll hop off in front of the Broadwalk Café ninety seconds before she’ll run past.
Yes. I’m tracking her pace.
A tourist on the upper deck, a young boy with curly brown hair, watches what’s going on behind the bus rather than what’s in front or beside it. That’s when he spots me hanging on to the rear emergency exit. He taps a woman on the shoulder, likely his mother, and points at me.
Her eyes go wide with horror. I wonder if she’s worried for my safety—or if she thinks a strange man in running clothes illegally riding the bus is cause to worry for her own.
I plaster on my most disarming grin and wave with the hand that isn’t responsible for keeping me from going splat onto the pavement.
Before she can sound the alarm, I see the coffee shop looming ahead—a beacon of caffeine and good old-fashioned cheating.
I jump from my perch as the bus slows but doesn’t stop, my momentum carrying me across the street and over the hood of a Mini Cooper. Not that I couldn’t have made it across the hood of a Land Rover or some other car of that height and caliber, but it was a Mini. I can’t change that part of the equation.
What I can do is thank the gods that there is no line, so I’m able to rush inside. Then, with seconds to spare, I stand on the pavement with two coffees in hand and the biggest shit-eating grin, the likes of which I hope Lora has never seen.
She spots me while she’s a block and a half away, and as she approaches, I see her eyes are wide with incredulity.
“What in the world?” she asks as she runs past me and then doubles back to where I’m casually waiting with refreshments.
I hold a cup out for her, and she takes it begrudgingly.
“I’m not accustomed to losing,” I tell her. “But I’m sure it’s something you can get used to.”
Her mouth drops open. “You’re—you’re an asshole.”
I laugh, the heartiest laugh I’ve experienced in quite some time because no one—and I mean not a living soul who wants to continue living—has ever said something like that to me before.
“You call me on my shit,” I say. “I like that.”
She coughs on her sip of coffee, and a small trickle of it dribbles down her chin.
“No,” she finally says when she’s regained her ability to breathe and think. “No, X. You are not allowed to like one thing about me today. We’re business associates. Nothing more.”
I shrug. “You’re fast. You appreciate a cup of black coffee, and you look amazing in formfitting running gear. That’s three things I like about you today, and the day is still young. I’m guessing I’ll like quite a few more by nightfall.”
She groans and rolls her eyes. “You’re not even out of breath,” she says. “You probably rode here on a double-decker bus or something.”
I force myself not to react, to swallow the coffee that’s in my mouth rather admit my guilt with an unguarded expression.
“Don’t you know, Z? Our work is all about being creative. If you bent the rules to your will every now and then, you might actually have a little fun.”
I wrap my palm around an item in my pocket. It looks like a tiny flashlight, the type of tool a person would clip to a key chain. It’s got a small but ultrasturdy carabiner attached to it in case I want to clip into my belt loop or a backpack. That’s not, however, what I’ll be using it for today.
I point across the street toward a six-story apartment building.
Her gaze follows mine.
“Race you to the roof,” I tell her, tossing the remainder of my coffee into a nearby bin. While it’s a shame to let it go to waste, it’s worth it to catch my opponent off guard.
And then in a flash I’m gone—down the walkway and into the street. But I hear the slap of sneakers against the pavement and know it has to be her behind me. I don’t look back but instead keep my eye on the prize.
I catch the entry door with my foot as a resident leaves.
“Thanks,” I say. “Sorry, love, went for a run and forgot my keys.”
I don’t wait for a response as I hear the door open again.
“You can’t win, X!” she calls after me, but I know full well I can and that I will.
It’s not until I’m halfway up the first flight of stairs that Lora catches up—and trips me.
I land hard on my knee and curse under my b
reath. Lora brushes past me and keeps running, looking back only when she notices I’m still down.
I’ve been shot and stabbed. I’ve been left to drown in an icy river and suspended upside down mere inches from a vat of hydrochloric acid. And I’ve survived every encounter with minimal fallout. Only once have I been held prisoner and tortured for any length of time. It was two years ago, not long after Lora and I began our anonymous trysts. The royal family believed it was a clandestine meeting, but instead I’d let my guard down, stepping into a vehicle I thought to be hers.
It wasn’t.
I was blindfolded and bound to a chair in a dank room.
For twenty-four hours a man came in and asked me the same question.
“Who is Agent Z?”
While I did not recognize the voice, I knew the emotion in that tone. Jealousy. Whoever it was knew the answer to his own question, so what more was he looking for? It didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to get it.
For twenty-four hours they withheld food.
For twenty-four hours I did not speak, not even when they took a hammer to my knee.
Did I say I was held captive for a length of time? That was how long it took me to pick the lock with my cuff link. It only took me seven seconds to dispatch my captor once I did. I knew he wasn’t the man behind my kidnapping, just a hired thug.
But whoever it was knew I was connected to Z. They knew I was meeting her that night. And if they were able to get to me, they’d eventually get to her.
But because I hadn’t yet figured out why, I also hadn’t told her. Because for all I know, Z was my captor.
“Go!” I wave her off and pull myself to my feet. Once the pain subsides, I continue my pursuit, and she sprints up the rest of the stairs. It doesn’t matter. I’m grinning the whole rest of the way because even if she makes it to the roof first, she won’t win.
Except, when I burst through the doors, she’s not there. Instead, she stands waving to me from the roof of the four-story building across the street, the one to which I’d planned to zip-line with the carabiner in my pocket.
I shove my hand into said pocket and pull out nothing but air.
That sexy little thief, one step ahead of me the whole time.
“Touché, Lora,” I say softly.
Then I massage my sore knee.
Who is Agent Z?
I have no fucking clue.
But I know Lora, and I know when she is hiding something.
The problem is...I don’t have a clue what.
CHAPTER FIVE
Z
X IS DISTANT after my victory. The moment of fun seems to be just that...a passing moment, popped like a soap bubble.
I could dismiss his rigid posture and troubled gaze as evidence he’s a sore loser, but my intuition whispers otherwise.
I’m not sure what’s come over him, but I’m not sure that I care, either.
Correction.
I’m not sure that I should care.
In our line of work, emotions are dangerous. Feelings make for hesitation. All it takes is a few seconds to get yourself killed.
“Let’s go,” I say.
We return to the hotel without conversation, and once in the penthouse, X disappears into the bathroom. A moment later the shower comes on.
I’m kicking off my running shoes as there’s a knock at the door. I open it to see a tuxedo-wearing Shangri-La staff member in front of a room-service cart.
“Special delivery,” he says with a short bow.
“Oh, I didn’t order anything.” I scan his frame, looking for a hidden holster or other concealed weapon. You know, the usual for an assassin.
He doesn’t blink. “I know.” When he lifts up the lid of a silver tureen, beneath a bowl of lobster bisque, I spy the corner of a creamy envelope.
“What is this?” I mutter, realizing he isn’t here to do me harm, but to pass me information.
“A message from a friend.” Without hesitation, he pushes the cart toward the elevator.
I set the soup aside and tear open the envelope, wondering who it could be from. I hope it’s not a reassignment. Not because I want to keep working with X but because I want to catch Dante Price.
Don’t let him get under your skin. We’re watching.
I freeze.
It’s a warning, and I don’t have to rack my brain to know who him refers to.
Max.
And the person who sent the note? I scan the room. I don’t think it’s bugged, but who knows in our line of work.
The shower turns off and I leap onto the sofa, grabbing a coffee table book and sliding the note into the pages before X emerges wearing a low-slung towel.
“Good read?” he asks just as I realize the book I’ve grabbed is called Extraordinary Chickens. It’s photo after photo of obscure chicken breeds.
“Exceedingly,” I say blithely, hoping that my flushed features aren’t evident. I can’t actually tell if my blush is from the mysterious note that I’m hiding or the fact that X’s exposed glory trail is...well...glorious.
“We’re going to have to up the ante tonight, you know,” he says carefully.
I shut the book on the chickens and return it to the table before crossing my arms. I’ll destroy the note as soon as he exits the room.
“What does that mean?” I arch a brow.
“It means that we are going to have to do scenes together. I’m going to have to own you, Lora, body and soul, if we are going to make it believable. And that means making a cerebral connection. I’m going to need full access, not just to your body, but to your mind and, yes, even your heart.”
“Oh, really?” I wrinkle my nose even as a tremor undulates between my legs at the idea of giving myself utterly and irrevocably into X’s care. “And let me guess, this goes one way.”
Now it’s his turn to furrow a brow. “Meaning?”
“You demand my utter complicity and yet offer me nothing. You...as always...intend to remain an enigma.”
His nostrils flare and the muscles cord in his neck. “I’m to be your dom.”
“So what? It’s still me giving everything to you.”
“That’s exactly what it means,” he snaps, dropping his towel.
I gasp.
He’s bared himself to me, his arousal thick and firm, the dusky head nearly at his navel.
“Princess, you don’t even get the catch, do you? You’re the one who has control.”
“Is that so?” He’s got my attention. “Go on.”
“You submit to me, but in return it’s my responsibility to satisfy you utterly. Ensure not a single one of your cravings goes unanswered. Your pleasure is to be my obsession. It’s about trust, safety and surrender.”
“Surrender!” I leap from the couch, a sob lodging in my throat and I choke it down. “Once I gave you everything I had, and how did you treat me? You left, Max. You left without a word.”
“Z,” he says, warning in his voice.
“Cut the crap. I’m Lora. You’re Max. If you want to pretend to be my king and me your pretty princess, or you as the mysterious X and me as Agent Z, fine. But I know the truth. I know you eat cereal without milk for breakfast. That your favorite movie is E.T. That you are impossible to beat in chess and could have played professional rugby if you had wanted.”
“Stop.”
“Why should I?” I seethe.
“You joined the Order, too. You can’t fault me for decisions you made yourself just because you did it years after I did.”
“That’s just it. I didn’t make your decision. I would have told you, damn the rules. I wouldn’t have left you with a broken heart. I found you after I became an agent. But before that? I spent an entire decade with this tiny broken place inside me that wouldn’t heal because I didn’t have the answers. All I had was w
hat I remembered of us—of you.”
“You aren’t the only one with memories,” he says in a strangled voice.
“But you won’t let me in. You demand my trust, but I’m sorry. That is impossible for me to give you.”
“Then we will fail before we have even started. Trust is the cornerstone of a dominant and submissive relationship, just as it is between two partners.”
Damn him, I know he’s right and I hate him for it. Even as my gaze is drawn to his erection. It hasn’t flagged an inch, despite our arguing.
“Do you want to fail...Lora?”
My eyelids flutter, the emotion infusing his voice threatening to undo me.
“You know I don’t,” I grind out.
“And what about your own little game? How you duped me for years, using my body, never telling me who you really were. I’m not throwing this at you to explain away my own failings, but let’s not pretend you are perfect, darling.”
“I... I don’t know what to say,” I falter. Because he is right. But our dalliances were never a game to me. They were an intoxicating torment. I could never quit him, so help me, no matter how hard I tried. He is and always has been my drug. My addiction of choice.
“Just tell me that you’ll help me,” he says, this powerful, dangerous man who never relies on anyone.
I push a wayward lock of hair off my face, tucking it into my ponytail, and lick my lips. “Help you what?”
His eyes burn, turning me inside out. “Find my way back to you.”
X
“Fine,” she says, her voice softening. “Teach me how to connect. Teach me how to make Price believe we’re the real deal so we can finally bring his ass in.”
I offer her a ghost of a smile. She’s in this for the Order, and she should be. But I’m disappointed. Not that I let it show.
I sit on the couch and rest my elbow on the arm.
“Stand, facing me, with your eyes fixed on mine.”
“What are you—Oh,” she says. “We’re doing it. Is this, like, a scene?”
The corner of my mouth twitches, but I don’t break. I am the dom. She will submit.