Renegade

by Lora Leigh

  "You threw me away for your first child, that fucking company you prize so highly," Luke snarled. "But I've decided you're not the best father and now I'm choosing the father I want. And I chose the new Maddix Nelson."

  Maddix was pale, staring at his son as though he had lost his mind, as though he had ripped his father's heart from his chest. She didn't think she had ever such pain on anyone's face in her life.

  "This is going to be difficult to pull off, Luke," Nik stated then. "Your father isn't alone."

  Luke grinned maniacally. "So? You and Maddix argued. He shot you and Mikayla; then you fired at him and killed him. Floyd will then show up as the Nelson heir, since my grandparents so kindly disowned me and my father intends to name that whore Glenda as his heir rather than me."

  Maddix shook his head. "It was a threat. I just wanted you to see what you were throwing away," he whispered. "I have no other children, Luke."

  "Glenda is trying to get pregnant," Luke raged. "That cow is trying to breed so you can throw me away like your father threw your brother away." Maddix looked at his brother again and shook his head. "You should have come to me," he whispered. "I would have never disinherited you." 216

  Mikayla watched as Floyd Cantwell smiled. "I will, when you're dead. I've lived my life in your shadow, Brother. I have no desire to live there any longer." As Floyd Cantwell stepped farther into the room, it was easy to tell he thought he was in control. His hazel eyes were chillingly cold, as mean as Luke's and just as brutal. Maddix looked as though he'd been struck clear to the soul. He stared at the brother he hadn't known he had like a man possessed, or one hungry for a connection.

  "Did my parents know?" Maddix asked.

  Floyd laughed. "No. According to the bitch that raised me, your parents believed I died at birth. There was a nice little funeral, the body of a child who had actually died at birth. It was really quite touching, I was told."

  "By my grandfather?" Maddix's voice was hollow, so hollow that Mikayla found her heart breaking for him.

  He was a man slowly being broken, by a son, a brother, whose loyalty should have exceeded their cruelty.

  "By good ole Grandpop." He laughed before turning to Nik. "Strange, I had you investigated. I didn't imagine Maddix could actually come up with your fee. And I definitely expected someone more effective. You've been more concerned with that cheap piece of ass there than you are with the job," he stated as he motioned to Mikayla.

  "We all have our weaknesses."

  Mikayla knew the sound of Nik's voice, and she knew that now he was at his most dangerous. "Ineffective" wasn't a word she would have applied to Nik. And she could see by his face that calling her a cheap piece of ass hadn't been a good idea.

  "I told him he should have hired someone who knew what they were doing," Luke snorted. "Thirty-five thousand dollars? A good private investigator costs more than that." Thirty-five thousand? Mikayla looked at Maddix. Why had he lied?

  "The economy sucks," Maddix stated. "Business isn't what it used to be."

  "And I'm tired of suffering for it," Luke bit out angrily. "I live in poverty because you don't know how to run a business. But you can give that cow you married whatever she wants."

  It was a normal refrain. Luke was always telling whoever would listen how his father refused to share his wealth or how his wealth lacked because of his intelligence. Whichever, it seemed Maddix kept his son in the dark concerning any wealth he might actually have.

  "I'm rather curious what makes you think you can get away with this," Nik stated.

  "Once Maddix is dead and Floyd shows up, people will suspect what happened with the Foreman murder."

  "No one will suspect a thing." Floyd chuckled. "Maddix killed Eddie. Once it's done, I'll finish planting the needed evidence. Of course, if Maddix had cooperated rather than having that fucking meeting that night so suddenly, he would be in prison now and I'd be the owner of the company."

  "Someone's delusional," Nik muttered.

  Floyd's gaze sharpened with fury, lighting with rage as he glared back at Nik.

  "You're nothing more than a hired gun without a gun. I was watching you. You left your weapon with your friend. I saw you give it to him. Then you rushed right over here. How stupid was that?"

  Stupid, Mikayla thought, because Ian had handed that weapon back to Nik in the 217

  truck.

  "You tried to frame me for Eddie's murder?" Maddix's voice was soft, disillusioned. "Destroy me?"

  "Of course." Floyd laughed. "And then I would have framed you for killing this little bitch if she hadn't been so damned lucky. The first time I shot at her at the job site a cloud moved and sent that damned sunlight right in my eye; the second time, she moved at the last second, the third time that damned car hit a pothole. Then Mr. Muscle here"-he waved at Nik--"managed to reach her before Luke could run her down with your car. She has more lives than a fucking cat."

  "You could have told me you existed." Maddix sounded as though he was choked.

  "I would have welcomed you."

  Floyd sneered. "Fuck you. I was the castoff. Now the castoff is going to kill you." The gun lifted. At that last second, Nik moved. Mikayla felt what was coming and could do nothing to stop it.

  Nik pushed her to the floor, going down with her as gunfire began to echo around her. She heard curses, enraged and furious, as Nik moved.

  Maddix went down, his eyes rounded with terror as he began trying to crawl across the floor to her. A bullet fired into the wood floor in front of him, chipping wood and causing him to fling himself to the side.

  The lights went out, throwing the room into complete darkness as chaos and bullets swirled around her.

  When silence finally reigned, Mikayla struggled to penetrate the shadows, to find Nik. Everything inside her was demanding that she call out to him, that she find him. Rising to her knees, she stared around desperately, feeling her lips tremble, fear crawling through her system.

  "You fucking whore!"

  There was no way to avoid the arm that suddenly went around her neck, restricting her breaths as the sound of Luke's heavy breathing blasted in her ear. Instantly blinding spots of light centered on them.

  "I'll kill this bitch!" The words were screeched into her ear. This was Luke. And she had never seen the pure evil that existed inside him.

  "You're going to let her go or I'm going to kill you." Nik's voice came out of the darkness. "Don't make that happen, Luke."

  "Fuck you, Steele!" His arm moved.

  A shot rang out.

  Mikayla felt Luke still, felt the sudden shock of his body that indicated something had happened before he crumpled behind her.

  She was left standing in the middle of the room, her breathing harsh, heavy, for no more than a second. A lifetime. A brutal, freezing eternity before Nik's arms were suddenly around her. He pulled her against his chest, held her close to him, and she could swear she heard him breathe a prayer.

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  Chapter 24

  Luke was dead, as was his uncle Floyd Cantwell. The two men hadn't known who they were dealing with when they faced Nik. An ineffective mercenary? She didn't think so. As she watched the black-masked men who filled the Nelson library hours later, she knew he was anything but a mercenary.

  Maddix Nelson was slumped in a chair, his third glass of whisky in his hand, tears unashamedly dampening his cheeks. He'd lost everything in a very short amount of time. The brother he hadn't known he had, the son he hadn't known the true evil of. He was a man fighting just to believe the events of that evening.

  The chief of police and the detective assigned to the case stood close to Maddix while Glenda stood at his side, silently weeping for him.

  Say what one did about the woman, she genuinely seemed to care about Maddix. His parents were on their way from Arizona. God only knew how they would handle the truth of what had happened to the child they had believed had died. Nik stood with Jordan Malone and Ian Richards on the other side of the room, talking

to four other men, all in black masks and black clothing. They were all tall, hard bodied, and hard-eyed as they surveyed the scene.

  Clapping Nik on the back, each in turn, they walked through the patio doors as Mikayla watched, disappearing into the night as Ian and Jordan moved to where Maddix and the police sat.

  Nik moved to her.

  "We're leaving," he told her as he held his hand out to her. "I've given the investigator your statement. It's over, baby."

  How could it truly be over when so much had been lost?

  Taking his hand, she let him pull her to her feet, his arm wrapping around her as he led her to the door.

  "I want to stop at the hospital and check on Kira." Mikayla wanted to cry until there were no tears left inside her.

  "A friend has been at the hospital," he told her. "Ian checked on Kira; she's doing fine. She's resting and she'll have a few more scars to add to her collection, but she's going to be fine."

  Mikayla nodded. So much for delaying the inevitable.

  "We're going home, then?" she asked.

  "We're going home," Nik agreed.

  He handled her gently, lifting her into the truck and helping her buckle her seat belt because her hands were shaking so hard. She didn't want to go home. She didn't want to watch him leave her.

  Pulling into the drive, Nik had to fight to hold back the fear still crawling through his system. Seeing Luke Nelson's arm around her neck, that gun pointing toward her, had nearly destroyed his soul. If anything had happened to her . . . Leaving the truck, he moved around to the passenger side, opened the door, and 219

  helped her out. Clasping her waist with his hands, he nearly didn't set her on her feet. He almost carried her to the house, desperate to keep his hands on her. He wasn't going to make it.

  He could feel it. The fear and hunger were ripping through him, making it impossible for him to hold on to his self-control.

  He didn't let her go.

  Swinging her into his arms, feeling her hands grip his shoulders in surprise, Nik carried her to the house. Unlocking the door took a few seconds longer. Locking it back was almost forgotten as she buried her face in his neck and he felt her tears. Tears she hadn't shed at the height of the danger. Tears she hadn't allowed him to see in the truck.

  What would happen to him if he lost her?

  Nik knew he would never be able to survive if Mikayla was taken from his arms. He didn't set her down on her feet until he reached the bedroom. Then he still didn't put her on her feet. He laid her back on the bed and proceeded to slowly, easily, remove her clothing before tearing his own from his body.

  He had to touch her. He had to feel her.

  Ah, God.

  "Never again." The words tore from Nik's throat as he came over her, his lips burrowing in her neck. "Never again, baby. Sweet God, it won't happen again." There was no time for preliminaries, no time to get a handle on himself or to balance the combination of hunger, rage, and fear that whipped through his system. His lips covered hers as he felt her arms wrap around him, holding on to him tight, so tight. But nothing was as tight as the hold she had on his soul. Nothing as warm as the pure, sweet heat of her flesh against his, her lips moving beneath his, her tongue dancing with his.

  "Sweet Mikayla," he groaned, his lips moving to her neck, his tongue stroking her flesh, tasting her as he moved desperately between her thighs, parting them, lifting them to his hips as he pressed against the slick, silken folds of her pussy. Her flesh parted, giving and soft beneath the iron-hard head of his cock. Pressing inside her, he breathed out roughly as he felt her inner muscles begin to clench and tighten around him.

  Nothing was so sweet, so beautiful, as his little fairy.

  Lifting his head, staring down at her, he watched her face as he took her. Watched the soft heat that filled her gaze, the sensuality that overwhelmed her expression. Sweet Lord, he could never live without this again. How the hell could he ever live without her touch, her laughter, without the pure unbridled hunger she filled him with?

  "Hold me." The words were torn from him; he couldn't hold them back as she took him, the milking sweetness of her pussy wrapping around his cock. It flexed, rippled, held him like the sweetest, tightest glove.

  "I'll always hold you." Her voice, her vow, washed over him, locked her inside his soul.

  He had to leave her. When it was over, when he'd taken this last taste of sweetness that he would allow himself, then he had to leave. It was the only way to protect her. It was the only way to ensure . . .

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  How?

  Pushing in to the hilt, he groaned her name. God knew he meant to hold back. He needed to hold back. He needed to be strong enough to leave her, but how the hell was he supposed to do that?

  Live without this?

  His cock was buried in pure, liquid heat. It clenched around him; tight muscles stroked the sensitive head, tightened around the shaft as her juices dampened his balls. He wanted to hold inside her forever, to feel nothing but her hot, tight pussy flexing around him. But each subtle stroke pierced his control, frayed it, until he had to move.

  He'd go slow, he promised himself.

  As he moved back, his teeth clenched at the slow drag of her silken grip against his cock.

  He was losing it.

  The pleasure was ripping through him. He couldn't handle it. He couldn't hold back.

  "Fuck. Baby." The growl that tore from him came with a hard thrust of his hips, and then it was over.

  Pushing inside her, stroking into her, he began throwing them both into the maelstrom of pure hot bliss.

  It overtook him. He could feel it overtaking her. Her legs wrapped around his hips, her arms around his neck. With each thrust inside her, she arched upward with her hips, taking him deeper, taking him harder.

  He was wild with the need for her. Crazy for her touch.

  Nothing had ever hit him so hard or taken him with the power with which she was taking him, accepting him. He'd never known pleasure like he knew with her at the moment he felt her unraveling around him. Her pussy tightened, her juices flowed, and she shuddered in his arms as he felt her coming, felt her losing herself to the pleasure he gave her.

  "I love you, Nik. Oh, God, Nik. I love you."

  The pleasure she gave him.

  His release tore through him. It ruptured inside him, spurting from his cock in hard, hot jets as he heard himself groan her name. Fought, held back the emotions ripping through him, and swore he had never known anything this powerful, this exquisite, in his life.

  He'd never known love, but he knew it now.

  Burying his head at her shoulder, he gave in to it, let it tear through him, let it have him.

  And he knew without Mikayla there was no love, no laughter, there was no life. Nik was gone when Mikayla awoke the next morning.

  Rising from the bed, she felt her stomach tighten in panic and fear, felt the pain that tore through her.

  Surely he wouldn't leave without telling her good-bye.

  "He wouldn't," she whispered as she felt tears dampen her eyes. He wouldn't just walk away.

  Jerking her robe on, she rushed out of her room, to the guest room, threw open the 221

  door, and stared at a naked, clearly curious Nik as he turned to her. He'd showered. There was a towel cinching his hard hips, emphasizing the tight, hard abs of his stomach.

  And he was packing his bag.

  Mikayla felt her lips tremble and hastily stilled them. She wasn't going to cry. She wasn't going to make him feel guilty because he couldn't love her. That wasn't love, she told herself.

  Her eyes turned once again to the leather bag and the clothes stacked beside it as he turned around, the fingers of one hand clenched.

  "I was afraid you wouldn't say good-bye," she whispered. His head tilted to the side, a little smile playing about his lips.

  "Why would I do that, Mikayla?"

  She shook her head, fighting back the tears. "I don't know." She could feel the pain churning in her stomach now, the knowledge that she was losing every dream she had ever had. When he walked out, all the love she had dreamed of having, of feeling, would be gone.

  "Mikayla." She watched as he moved to her, like a predator, like a fierce Viking warrior easing up to her.

  She wanted to cry, and she swore to herself she wouldn't. When he lifted a hand and brushed her hair back, though, it was all she could do to hold the tears back.

  "I'm not a mercenary," he stated.

  Mikayla nodded. "I know."

  His lips quirked.

  "I'm away a lot. Being with a man like me wouldn't be easy." He was making excuses?

  "Please, Nik--"

  "You said you loved me again last night, Mikayla," he said then. And she had said she wouldn't ask for promises. But she hadn't asked for promises; she had only told him how she felt.

  What did he expect her to say? That she was sorry? Well, she wasn't, and she wasn't about to lie about it.

  "So I did." She was glaring back at him before she realized it. "It's too late to take it back now, so I guess you'll just have to live with it."

  "I guess I will." His hand lifted again, cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing over her lips. "Say it again."

  "What?" Confusion rocked her. "Say what?"

  "That you love me."

  Was this some new form of emotional torture?

  "You know I love you--"

  His thumb settled over her lips once more. "Say it the way you said it last night."

  "I love you, Nik." She couldn't hold it back. It was the truth. If he needed to hear it before he walked out of her life . . .

  "I love you, Mikayla."

  She couldn't have heard him right. It wasn't possible.

  "What?" She couldn't breathe. Had she heard him right? Was she losing her mind?

  "Mikayla Martin, I love you," he whispered as he took her hand and slid slowly, 222

  with such male grace, into a perfect kneeling position.

  She watched, entranced, uncertain, suddenly so filled with hope. . . .

  "I called your father this morning." Nik took her hand. "And I asked his permission to marry the most perfect, the most beautiful fairy ever created." He slid a ring on her finger. "And now, I ask you, Mikayla. Will you marry me?" Diamonds and emeralds graced a small gold band. It was obviously a much-loved heirloom, old and created with an eye for beauty as well as wealth.

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