The Salvation of Vengeance (Wanted Men #2)

by Nancy Haviland

  Whatever.

  Taking a deep breath that thankfully didn’t smell like leather and sandalwood, she straightened her spine and marched back over. Plunking down she wiped gently over his new stitches and said, “If you annihilate the entire city, then we’d be robbed of the pleasure of seeing Kevin take his last vile breath. So hold off on going Hiroshima, ’kay?”

  Cruel as it sounded, she meant every word. She needed to see Kevin die. Or at least see him dead if she couldn’t actually witness the event. And how much of a monster did that make her? But how else would she know she was truly free of him? She still thought he was gone, but what if Caleb was right and he wasn’t? And going to the authorities and having him spend a short vacation in jail just wouldn’t cut it. He’d be out doing the same thing to another girl in no time. Sentences for domestic violence were paltry, which was infuriating.

  “Don’t let Maks hear you talk like that. Bloodthirsty turns him on. He’d be down on one knee in seconds.”

  For the life of her, Nika couldn’t make out the odd note in Vincente’s voice. So, because she was uptight, she babbled about why she was trying to be so easily accepting of all of this.

  “My father and brother raised me to not give up when things get rough,” she explained. “If I’d rolled over and played zombie because of what Kevin was doing to me, I’d have been—would be—an utter disappointment to Dad and Caleb. Couldn’t do that to them. Or myself. Don’t get me wrong,” she added as she pushed the chair back again and stood, tearing open a package of gauze. She breathed a sigh of relief that she could once again get away from the heat coming off him; the insides of her thighs felt as though they’d been sunburned. “There were days when I wanted to throw in the towel, just swallow a handful of pills and be done with it. Clearly I didn’t. Mainly because I wouldn’t let him win. But also because I would never do that to my brother. He already lost our mom and dad. I didn’t want to add myself to that list.” After ripping off two pieces of white tape, she was just about to cover the wound when Vincente’s strong fingers encircled her forearm.

  “Hang on.”

  She paused and made the mistake of looking at him, something she’d been trying hard not to do. She hadn’t seen him in a week. Had really only seen him for a few minutes, during her departure from Eva’s, in the past two weeks, but the time apart had done nothing to diminish the pull she felt toward him. He drew her in with no effort on his part at all. Had since the moment she’d first met him. Even now, she wanted nothing more than to run her fingers through all that thick hair. She wanted to press her tingling lips to his. Wanted to know if his goatee would scratch or tickle. Her thighs were quivering, for God’s sake, for the first time ever. She didn’t know they could do that, but hers had been from the second he’d walked into the bedroom—or they had started after she’d gotten over the urge to shoot him. So badly did she want to study and then trace all the beautiful artwork inked over his torso, chest, and arms.

  She loved tattoos on a man. Naturally, this one would be covered in them.

  Not that that explained her undeniable attraction to him—she’d grown up around tattooed men her whole life, so seeing an inked body wasn’t anything new. Yet . . . here she was. Coveting this one.

  After everything she’d been through with Kevin, she thought this feeling, the need, would be dead. Beaten out of her. Instead, Vincente made her feel alive.

  Like a normal woman, with normal desires. It was refreshing. And foreign.

  She wasn’t even sure how to do this . . . this . . . whole desire thing; it had been so long.

  Vincente broke through her thoughts. “Your inner strength is incredible, Nika.”

  A soft buzz traveled through her. Holy crap. He’d used her name. It was usually Red or babe, both of which she had to admit she liked, but he’d never used Nika before.

  Knowing her surprise must appear idiotic, she smiled tremulously. “Uh, thanks to my dad and Caleb. They taught me well. You might want to take a look at it in the bathroom before I bandage it,” she added, putting the gauze down on the table. But he just stood there, and because she was so off balance, she just kept yammering in an effort to fill the silence.

  “Uh, Eva and I were talking before I fell asleep about what I would do now that I’ll be staying in New York. Gabriel—your friend is awesome, by the way—said he’d have no qualms about placing me at TarMor. In the finance department or something. I have a degree in accounting from Seattle Pacific and used to work at a large firm in Seattle. Until I quit after Christmas because I was missing too much work and wanted to leave before I got fired. At least I can use them as a reference now.”

  She should stop talking, but she couldn’t. Not when Vincente’s nearly black eyes were watching her mouth so intently.

  “I used to take care of reconciliations and monthly financial analysis for different departments, help prepare year-end audit files . . .”

  She trailed off. She wanted him.

  And she wanted him to want her, too.

  That freaked her out as much as it excited her. Would it be terrible to repeat the kiss they’d shared in Seattle?

  Yes. Terrible for her. Because she wouldn’t be able to pass it off as just one of those things. She was afraid it would mean something, and she didn’t want that.

  Besides, what if she kissed Vincente and didn’t want to stop at just a kiss? Could she do more? Even with him? After what Kevin had done to her, would she respond?

  Of course she would respond. She had already, and he hadn’t even touched her. Her body responded to his very presence in an instinctively sexual way.

  But then what? They’d have sex, he’d assume she was his, slap on the chains, take her choices away, get in the way of her new goals—which were now two: concentrate on her career and casual encounters only, if ever she felt the need.

  She was feeling the need. But wasn’t her life already complicated enough? And getting involved with someone from her best friend’s husband’s inner circle could blow up in her face. Even if it was only casual.

  A realization that should have brought her thoughts about Vincente to a screeching halt. But didn’t.

  Did he have a temper? Was he a throw-shit-around-the-room kind of guy when he was upset? And if he was, did that ever spill over into violence aimed at those around him?

  She doubted it, but what did she know?

  Nothing.

  Nothing, except that she wanted to climb him like a tree and devour his mouth. She wanted to touch him, be touched by him.

  To feel alive again, the way she had back in Seattle when he’d kissed her.

  Blinking in order to focus, she licked her dry lips and watched the way his gaze followed the movement. “Uh, you better go look now,” she said hoarsely as she stepped back.

  His grip on her wrist hindered her from getting far. How could he not feel her pulse thundering under his fingers?

  “Believe me when I tell you this, Red.” His low voice had her body liquefying, moisture gathering between her legs that she could actually feel. And he was back to calling her Red again. “Your strength of character comes from your heart. Your family may have given it a boost, but that spirit inside you? That’s all you.”

  Nika forced her burning tear ducts to remain dry. How could he have known she needed to hear that? “Thank you, Vincente.”

  “After going through what you did, I think we’d all understand if you fell apart for a while. But you haven’t. Two weeks in and you’re already attempting to move on, start a life. I admire you for that, more than you know. But if you feel yourself falling, one of us will be there for you. Just know that.” He made a funny sound. “I had a sister who died when I was twenty—she was sixteen. I wish I’d had your gumption during that time. I crumbled. Drank to dull the pain. Her nightmare lasted almost a year, too. Prostitute ring. They got her hooked on meth.” His jaw worked a
nd he shook his head, as though to dislodge his memories. “I let what happen to her eat at me for years. Still do. And I wasn’t even the one who’d gone through anything. I was just the one left behind.”

  She had to swallow several times before she could talk. “Sometimes that’s worse,” she offered, her heart aching with compassion for what he must have suffered. And still did. “I mean, the victim is at peace, whereas you’re left with the what-ifs and the regrets, the thoughts of what you could have done differently. Those are hard to live with. I’m so sorry you’ve had to, Vincente.”

  He looked at her for a long moment, seeming surprised that she understood. Even victims lived with those unanswerable questions. She knew that firsthand.

  “In my case, I have to win this,” she explained. “That doesn’t mean I’m not affected by what happened.” A derisive laugh slipped out. “Maybe it will hit me later, like it did after my dad died.” She shrugged and looked everywhere but at him. “Today, I nearly dove under the bananas when some guy’s cart hit mine in the market. He smiled and apologized and then took his child’s hand and off they went. Normal, everyday thing, right? No. Because as he walked away, I was convinced he’d done it on purpose, wondered if he was a good father, if he ever lost his temper and hurt his little guy, his wife. That’s something I’m left with—suspicion and trust issues, among other things. But who am I to complain? At least I’m here. Right?”

  Patting his hand where he still held her, Nika slipped from his hold—before she gave in and took him into her arms to comfort him when he didn’t want that from her. She led the way to the bathroom.

  She entered the room and stood to the side of the mirror as Vincente’s boots thudded on the floor behind her. She took in the sight of all that bare skin, the lines inked into it making shivers feather over her. When he turned, obviously intending to look at the sutures, her eyes were drawn to a beautifully done portrait proudly displayed on his right pec. Unthinking, so intent on how the artist had captured the joy in the girl’s eyes, Nika raised her hand and brushed the pads of her fingers down the image’s cheek.

  Vincente’s sharp jerk and harshly indrawn breath had her snatching her hand back so fast she cracked her elbow on the cabinet behind the toilet.

  “Sorry,” she murmured, meeting his eyes quickly in the mirror before dropping her gaze to the floor as she rubbed her funny bone. “Sorry. It’s just lovely.”

  He was silent for a beat. “S’okay,” he said curtly. “That’s Sophia.”

  Of course. Her throat clogged with emotion.

  God, she needed some sleep.

  Or some sex.

  Her strangled laugh had Vincente’s eyes flashing to hers.

  “Sorry, just ignore me.” She hid her face behind her hands and rubbed at her hot skin.

  “Like that’s possible,” she thought she heard him mutter, but it was too quiet for her to be sure.

  He shifted to the side and lifted his arm again so he could look at the stitches. Her gaze landed on the bottle of soap on the side of the sink, and then the clean glass next to it, her toothbrush that she’d used earlier and the towels on the rack, the gleaming stainless-steel faucets . . . anywhere but at his tight, rolling muscles.

  Vincente’s low whistle grabbed her attention, and she glanced up to see a crooked smile had turned up his lips. Her breath caught, and she realized, sadly, that she’d never seen him do that before. Never seen him smile. Really smile. And she was overwhelmed by the masculine beauty of him.

  “You weren’t kidding when you said you knew what you were doing. Tegan’s gonna be impressed when she sees this.”

  Tegan? Why would he care what the doctor thought?

  He shifted and looked her right in the eye. “Thank you. They’re perfect.”

  So are you. “Is she yours?” Oh, God. How humiliating.

  “What?”

  Oh well. Now that it’s out there. “Is Tegan your girlfriend?” She held her breath as she waited for an answer.

  His chuckle was deep, and the damned thing burrowed right into her bones. “No. Tegan belongs to no one but Tegan.”

  “Do you have one? A girlfriend, I mean?”

  “No.”

  Relief. Sweet, muscle-melting relief hit her. Along with a rush of tears because she didn’t know why she was asking him something that shouldn’t matter to her.

  She nodded again and turned quickly, heading out the door, mumbling about cleaning up as she fled back to the kitchen.

  “You’re so stupid,” she castigated herself in a near-silent mutter as she went for the table. “He doesn’t want you anyway. If he did, he would have done something by—”

  “You okay, Red?”

  She jerked wildly when Vincente’s voice came from right behind her. She spun and nearly dropped the tape and scissors in her hands. “Er, yeah. So, now that you’re patched up”—she rushed out, stepping around his half-naked body to put the things on the counter—“I’m going to bed.”

  Keeping her head down, she went back to the table and snatched the gauze wrapper, dirty cloths, and the bowl of water, making sure to give him a wide berth as she went to the sink.

  He cleared his throat. “I meant what I said. Thank you for this. We usually call T when we need something. Or Maks. Or just do it ourselves if we can reach. But I guess I’m lucky you were here.”

  Yeah. Lucky. She turned on the water and squirted some dish soap into the bowl, scrubbing it so hard she was surprised she didn’t put a hole through it. “You’re welcome.” How in the shitting hell was she supposed to sleep now?

  She heard him move away as she rinsed the cloths as best she could before turning the water off. She took a second to hang her head, hoping he wouldn’t come back and catch her—

  “What’s the matter, babe?”

  Her heart banged into her breastbone, and she whirled to find him directly behind her again. “Vincente! I thought you—”

  “What’s the matter?” he repeated more firmly.

  His eyebrows were low, hooding the dark, dark chocolate of his eyes. Why did she feel this overwhelming need for him? For a man who clearly didn’t even want her? A man she shouldn’t want. A man who seemed to be as emotionally damaged as she was and could ruin all her plans for her new life by drawing her in. Vincente was so dangerous to her cause, because he made everything she craved fade into the background. When he was around, nothing existed but him. Not a new start, a good job, friends, a nice place of her own. Just him.

  That shriveled thing in her chest—her pride, she was pretty sure—had shrunk even more at his reaction to her reaching out to him in the bedroom earlier. It had become even smaller when she’d heard the odd sound he’d made when she’d brushed her fingers over his tattoo in the bathroom just now. Almost like her touch had pained him.

  “It’s nothing,” she finally replied. “I’m just tired. Sleep well, ’kay?”

  She swiped her finger over the Power button to shut off the music as she went by and left him standing in the kitchen. She went down the hall and closed the bedroom door behind her before climbing back into the bed, robe and all.

  Moving like a haggard old woman, Nika rolled onto her side and put her head on the lemony-fresh pillowcase. She hugged the other pillow to her chest and forced her suddenly wet eyes closed, feeling lonelier than she ever had in her life.

  CHAPTER 12

  He led the redhead down the alley; the click of her heels was muffled as she waded through old newspapers and trash of all sorts. The minute they were deep enough that he felt safe from prying eyes, he had her up against the wall, his mouth roughly kissing her, his teeth biting at her neck, his hands grabbing at her tits so hard she shoved at his shoulders.

  “Slow down, horndog,” she snapped. “You didn’t gimme me my money yet.”

  Kevin’s simmering rage reignited at the bitch’s attitude, and he clamp
ed his fingers around her throat. The instant fear in her eyes as they clashed with his, the mad scramble, the claw of her fingers on his wrist . . . was fuckin’ beautiful. Too soon but still beautiful. He usually played with them a little longer.

  “You think you can fuck me over, you cunt,” he whispered, blinking as the whore’s face mutated, slowly becoming his wife’s lying, cheating features staring up at him. “You don’t think I’ll find you. I’ll never give up. I’m going to kill you, you stupid bitch,” he hissed. “Where are you? Who are you with? Caleb’s friend? The one I saw tonight? Is he fucking you right now? Is he inside this body that belongs to me?” Kevin swallowed the shit that made his throat feel swollen. His rage, he thought. “How could you, Niki? How could you betray me, you whore?” he whispered as he grasped his wife when she would have fallen to the ground. “I’m close. You don’t know how close.”

  He frowned when her head lolled on her shoulders. Her fear was gone, so was the panic. Her mouth now hung open, her eyes not quite closed, but not open either.

  “Niki?”

  He shook her. Shit. She was out. Like she’d been lots of times before. He smiled a little and laid her down, and then he did what he’d always done when he’d put her in this unconscious state after hitting her too hard. He started touching. Everywhere he could reach. Roughly. Her breasts, stomach, hips, thighs.

  Why the fuck was she wearing this cheap, dirty shit? he wondered in confusion as he ripped the tattered gray underwear out of his way.

  As he went into his pocket for his knife, Kevin glanced up to make sure she was still out and stalled as, yet again, the now-lifeless face of a stranger registered.

  Twenty-four hours later, Nika took a steadying breath as she studied her reflection in the ladies’ room mirror and wiped at the makeup smudged under her eyes. She blinked. Blinked a little harder to focus. Squared her shoulders. Tipped her chin up and was proud when she didn’t weave as she left the nightclub’s restroom and carefully made her way down the long mirrored corridor toward the door leading back to the bar.