by Sybil Bartel
“Negative. I can’t watch my back on open land with only two other patrols. I’ll head across the state or north.” Luna would know what the fuck I was talking about.
I rented a condo in Miami Beach, but I had two properties that I owned that I could protect myself at. One was a penthouse with gated security and a single elevator, the other was a remote cabin in the mountains with only one access road. No one except Luna knew about my properties because this was the exact scenario I was hoping to avoid—the fucking mafia after me. But now I was burning one of my safe houses by taking a goddamn teenage client to one.
“Across the state is out,” Luna stated. “Vincenzo has operations out of Tampa.”
“Since when?”
“Since last month when he moved his cousin over there and took half his business out of Miami over a dispute with his brother.”
“Christ, is there anyone you don’t keep tabs on?” I didn’t know how the fuck Luna had the time.
“Yeah, anyone who won’t shoot me while I’m sleeping. You know what Vincenzo is like. Pendejo’s got no boundaries.”
No fucking shit, but Luna had dug his own grave on this one. “You had Vincenzo as a client before I came on the scene.”
“My biggest mistake when I started my business,” Luna admitted. “I was hoping I shook him when he severed the contract a few months ago.”
Luna probably would’ve if I hadn’t fucked Vincenzo’s wife. Then maybe her crazy ass wouldn’t have followed me. Then again, if I’d kept it in my pants, I probably would’ve still been there on assignment, racking up a portfolio of transgressions against Vincenzo I wanted no part of. Both were shit outcomes. “You’ll shake him when he’s dead.” A scenario I’d offered Luna a dozen times, and one I could’ve made to look like an accident.
“Let it go,” Luna ordered. “I don’t need an entire crime family after us.”
“Sounds like we already have one.”
“So far, it’s just Antonio. The family didn’t sanction this, which is the only good thing we have going for us right now.”
“Should’ve let me end that prick when I had the chance.” Fuck, I was pissed about this.
“Then we’d be dealing with his brother, Massimo, and you and I both know how that would’ve played out.”
“I wouldn’t have fucked with one of Massimo’s women,” I pointed out. “That paesan is crazy.”
“Exactly,” Luna pointed out. “Head north. Until I know if Vincenzo is somehow tracking you, I’m turning your Escalade’s GPS off. Power down this cell, confiscate hers, use your second burner and follow protocol to contact me when you get there. I’ll let Amherst know we’re moving Summer to a secure location until I can handle this.”
I hated taking a back seat more than I hated getting medically retired. “How long?”
“A week.”
“Luna,” I warned. If I spent a week with this chick, I’d either fuck her or kill her. And I wasn’t fucking a goddamn teenager.
“I know. I’m working on it. I’ll either get Cara to cooperate with the Feds or hand her back to Vincenzo.”
“The latter’s as good as signing her death certificate.” The hassle her crazy ass was causing me, I wasn’t sure if I cared anymore.
“Let me worry about it. Keep Summer safe so we don’t lose another client. Is there anything at your place that someone can use to track you north? Anyone else know about the location?”
“No.” Except some paperwork in my safe in my master closet, which they hopefully wouldn’t find. “But if those fuckers working for Vincenzo break into my place, just giving you a heads-up, I’m not gonna let that slide.”
“I’ll handle it. We’ve already tapped into the security cams at your building. Put me on speaker, and I’ll break the news to Summer. But next time, Jesucristo, don’t fuck a client’s wife in his bed.”
Christ. “He heard that?”
“That and more. Don’t fucking do that shit again,” Luna warned.
“Copy,” I grunted, putting the call back on speaker. “You’re on.”
“Miss Amherst,” Luna said tiredly. “There’s been a change in plans.”
ANDRÉ LUNA’S VOICE CAME THROUGH the small cell phone’s speaker. “Miss Amherst, there’s been a change in plans.”
I glanced at Shade, but he wouldn’t look at me. “What kind of change?”
“For your safety, we are not going to bring you back to Miami at present,” Luna stated matter-of-factly. “You will be going north with Shade to a secure location for up to one week while my firm neutralizes a situation down here, then Shade will bring you back.”
What the hell? “What situation? Is this related to that Cara bitch?”
“It’s imperative that you do not use your cell phone or contact anyone to let them know where you are,” Luna continued, as if I hadn’t spoken. “I’ll be in touch with your father and stepmother to make them aware of the situation.”
My heart started to pound, and my breath came shorter. “I asked, what situation?” I couldn’t spend a week alone with Shade.
Luna paused.
His mouth a tight line, Shade didn’t say a damn word.
“One of you better tell me what the hell is going on, or I’m calling my father right now and telling him you’re holding me against my will.” Not that he would give a damn, if he even took the call.
Shade exhaled and shook his head, but it was André who answered. “You gave Cara Vincenzo your name.”
“What?” Incredulous, I looked at Shade. “What the hell does that have to do with anything?”
“Cara is married to Antonio Vincenzo.” With the lines between his eyebrows creased deep, Shade glanced at me. “The Vincenzo family,” he said, emphasizing the name.
Dread mixed with panic into a thick soup in my throat I couldn’t breathe around. “I don’t know what the hell that means.” And at this point, I didn’t care. I needed to go home, not to some remote location with Mr. Surly-as-Fuck bodyguard who smelled like heaven and smiled like the devil. A few hours in his presence and I was already addicted. A whole week of him and I would overdose.
“Vincenzo’s connected,” Shade bit out, changing lanes.
“Mafia,” André explained.
My mouth dropped and I forgot about being isolated with Mr. Bodyguard for a hot second. “Are you kidding me?” This wasn’t happening. “You fucked some mafia bitch, and now she’s what? Psycho jealous because I told her my damn name?”
“Not her, her husband.” Shade exited the highway. “And he’s not jealous. He’s thorough.”
“What does that mean?” I demanded.
“Careful,” André warned Shade before addressing me. “Miss Amherst, we’re just doing our job and being cautious. This should blow over shortly, and we’ll get you home as soon as possible. In the meantime, you’ll be safe with Shade.”
Safe with Shade? Was he out of his mind? “You’ve known me since I was twelve, André. Call me Summer, damn it,” I snapped, losing the battle against not panicking. “I’m not questioning my safety. I’ve been gone for almost a year. I don’t want to go wherever the hell you’re forcing me to go. I want to go home. Why can’t you have someone posted outside my penthouse?” I glanced at Shade. “Why can’t you just take me home and stay there? She doesn’t know where I live.”
“My first priority is your safety,” André answered. “Until I know that this potential threat isn’t more complicated than what a single one of my men posted at your place can handle, I’m unwilling to take the risk for you or my team. This is the plan for now. I’ll keep Shade updated, and he can inform you of any changes. In the meantime, give him your phone to power down. Shade, I’ll be in touch. Protocol.”
“Copy.” Shade hung up. Then holding his hand out, he glanced at me. “Give me your phone.”
“No.” I wasn’t giving him my one lifeline out of this. “I need to talk to my father.” Not that Leo Amherst would give a shit about any of this unless it affected h
is bottom line. He hadn’t even bothered to call me on the day I got out of rehab, let alone the months leading up to it.
Shade’s jaw ticked, and he reached behind our seats. Rummaging in the same bag he’d pulled the sweatshirt out of earlier, he came away with another cell phone. Dropping it in my lap, he pulled onto the highway going north. “Use that to call Amherst.” He held his hand out again. “Give me your phone. Now, Summer.”
“I take it back.” I didn’t want him calling me by my name. “Don’t call me Summer.” Not like that. Not like he hated me. “In fact, don’t call me anything.” Dumping Shade’s stupid phone in the center console because there was no way I was calling my father when he hadn’t so much as sent me a single text, I dug my cell out of my pocket. “Just don’t talk to me at all.” Slapping the damn phone into Shade’s ridiculously large hand, I crossed my arms and pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up. As I turned toward the window, his stupid spicy scent got stronger, and I hated him.
I hated how I had no choice.
But I really hated the look he’d given me when he’d said my name. Which was idiotic. I didn’t even know him. What the hell did I care what he thought of me? I didn’t, was the short answer—and should’ve been the only answer.
But he felt like the only real person I’d met in years. Shit, maybe forever.
He didn’t dance around feelings like the stupid counselors at rehab. He didn’t speak softly to me like my stepmom, like she was half afraid of me, half treating me like a child. He didn’t even speak to me like André Luna did, like he had to, like he was only putting up with me because my father was a paying client. And my father? Fuck him. Leo Amherst didn’t give a damn about anyone except himself. I’d never had a real conversation with him. He was more concerned about making money and screwing aspiring musicians barely older than me.
No one ever really talked to me.
Not normally.
Hell, maybe it was because I never really bothered to talk to anyone either.
Whatever.
Talking was overrated. I just wanted to get back to my penthouse, sleep in my own bed, and figure out what the hell my next step was. Because as much I used to crave the never-ending party that accompanied the life I grew up in, I was over it.
I didn’t even want a line of coke. I just wanted my bed.
And something that felt real.
Something more than a stupid purpose. More than that idiotic dream I’d had as a kid of picking up a guitar and amazing my dad with some kind of hidden talent. One that made him look at me how he looked at every new act he discovered and love me like he seemed to love them.
How fucking cliché.
The poor little rich girl wanting to impress her daddy.
SHE STOPPED TALKING.
Fucking hell. An hour ago in the damn restaurant, I’d wanted to eat my meal in peace. Now I was sweating the fact she wasn’t saying a damn word.
Over a decade of being a Force Recon Marine, and this was the shit that was finally going to get under my skin? Wondering what the fuck a woman was thinking because she wasn’t speaking to me?
Not even a woman.
A goddamn teenager.
Jesus fucking Christ.
I glanced at her for the fifth time in the past half hour. Hood up, her face was still plastered to the window.
I lost patience. “Hey.” I needed to see her eyes. “Look at me,” I ordered.
“No.”
Goddamn it. If she was Cara or any of the other women I’d fucked over the years, I would’ve grabbed her chin and brought her eyes to me. “Don’t make me pull over, princess.”
Letting out a snort, she didn’t look my way. “Now I’m princess again?”
“Your short-term memory shot?”
She spun on me. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
There they were. Her baby blues, still full of fire. I quickly scanned for other shit. Shit I’d seen too many times downrange in other brothers. “You told me not to call you Summer, and princess pisses you off. Should I stick to sweetheart?” I winked just to hit paydirt.
As if on cue, her cheeks flamed. “Screw you.”
“That’s what I was looking for,” I admitted.
“What? Someone to tell you to fuck off?” She turned back toward the window. “I would think you’d be used to it by now with your winning personality.”
I didn’t give a fuck what she said, she was talking again. “You didn’t ask where we’re going.”
“Does it matter? It’s not like I have a say in it.”
“No, it doesn’t, and you’re right, you don’t.” I was driving this train wreck.
“So what’s the point of even bringing it up? Are you that desperate to talk to me now? You barely spoke all through lunch. You were too busy decimating your steak and acting like I was nothing more than an annoyance. You couldn’t wait to get out of there.”
Sparing her a glance, wondering how the hell she’d read me like that, I said more than I should. “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”
“Seriously?” she asked, indignant. “You think that’s what I’m worried about? Your stupid, crazy ex who’s not an ex but is married to the mob like some bad TV show?” She threw her hands up. “I just want to go home. Is that too much to ask?”
Pissed she was putting all of this on me, I tossed it back on her. “Then next time, don’t throw your name around when you don’t know who the hell I’m talking to.”
“Next time,” she mimicked in a scathing tone. “Don’t hold your phone out like it’s open season, and I won’t have to.” Violently turning away from me, she yanked my sweatshirt tighter around her huge tits.
“Christ,” I muttered. “Arguing with a nineteen-year-old.” I’d sunk to a new low.
“Client,” she seethed. “That’s client to you.”
“Who’s paying the bills, sweetheart?” It sure as fuck wasn’t her. “You got a job?”
“If I tell you to fuck off, will you leave me on the side of the road?”
“Why don’t you try it and find out.” Maybe I’d spank the fuck out of her for sport.
Arms crossed, eyes narrowed, her gaze cut to mine. “Fuck. You.”
Almost past an exit, I yanked the wheel, cut across two lanes, and braked hard.
Thrown against her seat belt, her hands braced on the dash, and she screeched, “What the fuck are you doing?”
Gunning it down the exit ramp, I took a hard turn onto an empty county road and spied what I needed. Pulling into an abandoned gas station with a deserted access road that was all cracked asphalt, I threw the SUV into Park.
“I asked you a question, damn it!” Frantic, she looked around us. “What the hell are you doing? We’re in the middle of nowhere!”
I didn’t answer.
Getting out of the Escalade, I rounded the front and yanked her door open. “Out,” I ordered.
“What?” Disdain mixed with fear in her tone, and I fed off it.
“Out,” I repeated with more force.
“No.” She reached for the door.
I was quicker.
Unlatching her seat belt, I grabbed her around the waist and pulled her out of the SUV. When her feet hit the ground, she stumbled, and her tits mashed into my chest.
Gripping a handful of her thick hair, I yanked her head back and spun her around to face the access road.
Then I leaned down and whispered a single word in her ear. “Run.”
Turning, she lit into me. “What the fuck do you think you’re—”
“Run,” I ordered.
Her face morphed into shock. “Are you insane?”
“RUN.”
Fear ate up the shock, and that was all it took.
She fucking took off.
Arms pumping, hair blowing behind her, keeping her balance on the balls of her feet, she ran.
Goddamn, she ran. In high-heeled boots no less, and fuck if it wasn’t sexy. But the real turn-on was when she looked ove
r her shoulder.
“That’s it, sweetheart, look back for me,” I murmured under my breath before raising my voice. “Run.”
Her gaze cutting forward again, she picked up speed.
Staring at her ass, I counted down from ten.
Then I took off after her.
HIS EYES HARDENED TO THE point of cruelty then he let loose. “RUN.”
Fear licked up my spine, and I didn’t question his bullshit again. I didn’t even think.
I pivoted and ran.
If there were two things I knew how to do besides drugs, it was wear heels as high as my net worth and run. Because you didn’t grow up in Miami Beach and not know how to wear heels, and you sure as fuck didn’t let yourself get fat when you were Leo Amherst’s daughter and dear ole daddy told you, starting at age twelve, to keep your ass tight.
So, I knew how to run and wear heels, but until this very moment, I didn’t know I could do both at once.
Apparently a six-and-a-half-foot alpha monster of ink and muscle yelling in my face was all the motivation I needed.
I didn’t even question the insanity of what was happening… until my foot landed unevenly on a cracked piece of the shitty excuse for a road and my step faltered. Then I glanced over my shoulder.
“Run,” he bellowed.
A single command in his dominating voice, and I picked up the pace.
The cold burning my lungs, my feet screaming for mercy, fight-or-flight instinct pumping adrenaline through my veins, I was running as fast as I could.
Then I heard his footsteps behind me.
My heart slammed against my laboring lungs, and irrational panic robbed me of air. I knew he was a bodyguard. I knew the quickening thuds of his boots against pavement behind me weren’t life threatening. I knew he wouldn’t kill me.
But the panic in my veins wasn’t listening to reason, and the neglected muscles in my legs burned as they tried to work faster. My fingers digging into my palms, my arms pumping harder, my head filled with a hyperawareness of every single thing around me. The air, the road, the sounds of the highway a half mile away, his gaining footsteps—I kept running.
Running and praying I kept my balance while I sprinted as fast as humanly possible.