The Salvation of Vengeance (Wanted Men #2)

by Nancy Haviland

  She’d spent last night tossing and turning with embarrassment and subsequent anger because she was allowing Vincente so much control over her emotions and body. She’d even dreamed of him. He’d come into the bedroom, slid his hand beneath her nape to half lift her from the mattress, and then he’d kissed her so deeply and so thoroughly she was pretty sure she’d moaned and reached for him in her sleep. But then Kevin had stormed in, warping the erotic movie into a nightmare of violence and maniacal shouts about how much he would make it hurt when he killed her. She’d woken soaked in sweat, her face wet with tears. And the worst part? She’d been more upset that she and Vincente had been interrupted than afraid of who’d done the interrupting!

  Absurd.

  She’d finally given up on sleep around six thirty and stomped from the bedroom to find the apartment quiet and empty. Feeling ridiculously abandoned, she’d nodded, lips pursed, thinking, Fine. He could dismiss her that easily? Not even a note to say bye? She’d do the same, and she’d kicked him right out of her head. She’d gotten dressed and headed for the subway. The bustling mode of transport had done its job bringing her into Manhattan, and she’d spent the better part of the day wandering through the incredible rooms at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Something she’d always wanted to do.

  Too bad the experience had been ruined for her.

  Vincente had ruined it. By being in her mind and under her skin.

  She didn’t like that. Wished he’d get out. The damned man was making it difficult for her to concentrate on her life plan, part two of which was now in motion. She’d been thrilled when Eva had texted this morning that her interview at TarMor was set for Wednesday with a woman named Natalie. Eva had added that Gabriel had told her the interview was a mere formality, necessary in order to find out exactly what Nika’s skills were so she could best be placed.

  Nika smiled, realizing right then that she might be a little in love with her best friend’s husband. He was so generous. Kind. For real. Eva was so lucky to have someone like Gabriel. He was the boss.

  She snickered. He was the boss.

  And Vincente was his underboss. Nika wanted to be under the underboss that was under her skin.

  She groaned. Back to that again?

  The low heels of her new boots skidded on the floor as she screeched to a halt to avoid being run over by a couple making goo-goo eyes at each other as they passed her. Probably going to have sex in a bathroom stall, she thought mulishly, jealously, through the alcohol haze clouding her brain.

  She could have sex.

  With Vincente.

  But he didn’t want her.

  Why was she mooning over being with a man who didn’t even want her? And why was that? Was she unattractive? She’d always thought she was average in looks. Not a great beauty like Eva, but not yucky either. Did she smell? She brought her chin to her chest and sniffed, and then ran her tongue over her teeth. She was all right. But even Kevin hadn’t been attracted to her enough to get an erection—thankfully, but still.

  She was frowning as she made her way back to the bar and slid onto her still-vacant stool, her head now spinning. She took out her phone and pretended to text—was probably erasing her contact list for all the attention she paid. What was she doing here? She should call Eva. She should have called her this afternoon and spent the day bellyaching to her best friend. Instead she’d wandered the museum alone, sat in Central Park having a hot dog—something she’d actually enjoyed—alone, and now here she was, drinking in a nightclub called Pant that an overly friendly cabdriver had recommended.

  Still alone.

  God, she really was a loser. Maybe Kevin was right—

  Stop it!

  Her shoulders slouched. Fine. She might not be a loser, but being here by herself was irresponsible considering the circumstances. Sure, Kevin could be as far away as Mexico by now. But he could also still be in New York somewhere. How he’d find her here at this specific place, she didn’t know, but still. She should call Caleb. Ask him to come get her. Or she could just take a cab home and stop drowning her sorrows in a bottle of tequila.

  Swallowing the lump that formed in her throat at the thought of walking into that echoing, empty apartment . . . Maybe she should find that corner everyone expected her to end up in anyway.

  Sliding her phone onto the bar, the throb in her head worsening, she looked up at all the jagged, distorted reflections in the hundreds of mirrors mounted on the walls. The strobe lights bouncing around had her blinking and squinting to focus on way too many people; the swinging arcs made her dizzier than ever.

  The bartender appeared and placed a fresh drink in front of her.

  “Oh, no, no. I didn’t order that,” she said with a wave of her hand. In fact, she was done. Time to go home.

  I haven’t had a real home since Dad died.

  She disregarded the depressing thought and focused on the bartender, who said, “Guys down the bar wanted you to have it.”

  She looked to where he was pointing and saw two guys shoot her the peace sign. “I don’t want it,” she said quickly.

  “It’s already paid for, doll. Just leave it here, and I’ll dump it when they get distracted.”

  She nodded her thanks. No sooner had he walked away when she felt two bodies sidle up beside her. Shit.

  “How the hell is someone who looks like you alone in a place like this?”

  Wishing she could just ignore them, but knowing that would probably make them turn mean, she swiveled on her stool. Two average-looking drink buyers. No bikers here. No mafia goons either. They looked as though they worked for UPS or something.

  “Not sure,” she said, skating the line on friendliness. “But I was just leaving.”

  The one who’d asked the lame question laughed. He had a pleasant smile. “I hope we didn’t scare you off.”

  “We waited as long as we dared, and no one came around so we thought we’d try our luck,” the other one piped up, his smile not so pleasant. It reminded her of the one Kevin used to give her right before he hit her.

  “Nothing to do with you,” she said around a shudder, her chest tightening with anxiety. The muscles in her back seized up, making her want to stretch them out. She should have gone straight back to the apartment. It wasn’t safe out here on her own.

  “. . . here before. I would have remembered you,” the guy with the yucky smile was saying.

  She completely ignored him—no matter how angry they got that she was walking away, they couldn’t hit her in front of all these people, right?—and grabbed her purse off the bar, sliding the strap over her head as his friend tried again.

  “We were going to head somewhere quieter, too. It’s about a block over. You wanna—”

  “Red.”

  Her alcohol-fueled brain oohed and aahed at the deep voice. The sound represented safety, and she’d never been so grateful to hear it as she was just then. She swung her heavy head to the side, and her jellylike body tried to follow. She had to plant her boot before she performed a free dive to the floor.

  “What the hell are you doing? Where’s Caleb?”

  Skin tingling, heart thumping, she took in the fierce lines of Vincente’s face surrounded by all that fistable hair falling around his deliciously wide shoulders.

  Fistable?

  God, she must be drunk. Because she also wasn’t mad anymore that he’d rudely ditched her this morning.

  “You’re so beautiful, Vincente.” She came up short. Did I just say that out loud?

  Judging by the flaring of that chocolate gaze, she was pretty sure she had.

  She cringed in embarrassment, closing her eyes. But when she felt the pull of gravity, she jerked them back open and had to throw out a hand to steady herself. Her palm slapped onto his rolling abs, which were covered by a thin black cottony material. No give beneath it. What. So. Ever.

/>   “Soft shirt. Wonder what kind of laundry soap Samnang uses.” To wash the clothes that cover this gorgeous body I thought about all effing night and day. She froze and glanced up, hoping she hadn’t said that last bit out loud. She didn’t think she had.

  Wow. He must look pretty scary to the people standing around them. She sighed, taking in all that sexy rage radiating from him. Funny how she couldn’t see where his hair ended and the black leather of his long coat began. God, his shoulders are wide, and those thick legs of his, mmm . . .

  Her gaze slid back up, and she forgot about the menace rolling off him when she saw he was looking at her. “Sorry,” she apologized for her blatant eye-fuck. “Oh, uh, and I’d introduce, but I don’t know who they are.” Why were the two cling-ons still hanging around now that her hero had arrived?

  “I’m Paul, and that’s Darren,” one of them supplied.

  “Oh. Well, there you go,” she murmured, not really caring. Her gaze remained glued to Vincente.

  “Well, Paul and Darren.” The quiet menace in Vincente’s voice carried over the music. He leveled each of them with a glare that probably made their balls hurt. “It’s time you boys headed out.”

  Why weren’t his lips moving when he talked? And why did him taking over and running the show make her feel so warm and squishy? Shouldn’t she be angry? She could take care of herself.

  You were scared.

  Yes. I was, she admitted to that part of her brain that had called her out. But she’d have gotten past it. Wouldn’t she?

  She glanced over to see Mr. Yucky-Smile staring at her, eyes excited. “The lady was just coming with . . .”

  Vincente stepped closer to her, his size blocking out the dizzying lights that were doing their best to make her want to throw up. She wasn’t going anywhere with them, she thought, burrowing her hands under that soft black cotton to find nothing but smooth skin. Maybe if they thought she was into Vincente, they’d go away without a fuss.

  Leaning farther into him, she inhaled deeply and closed her eyes as her forehead came to rest on his chest. “God, I love the way you smell.” And the way you feel and sound and look.

  She could have gone on, but she was afraid she might start voicing the list for all to hear rather than just thinking it. And Vincente didn’t need to be bothered with her nonsense.

  Man, she really needed to go to sleep.

  Before she completely self-destructed.

  Vincente’s control was sliding away faster than shit through a goose. He looked down at Nika’s brilliant hair shimmering in the flashing lights; the gentle intimacy of her actions nearly brought him to his knees.

  Take her. She’s yours.

  He blinked at Fan Boy’s tender whisper. Shit. She wasn’t fucking his. Maybe his responsibility, because he’d made her so, but that was it.

  Thank fuck Vito and Alesio had been updating him on her travels throughout the day—a day she’d spent all by herself. He’d been on his way to a big poker tourney one of their operations was holding throughout the next couple of days when Alesio had called—instead of texting, as he’d done all day—and told him where Nika had landed more than an hour ago. Pant, a nightclub in Hell’s fucking Kitchen, a few blocks over from Maksim’s place.

  Vincente had nearly taken out a rickshaw with his illegal U-turn, cursing that they’d waited so long to let him know. But at least they had. Seemed Gabriel had told them Vincente was the one to report to in this operation. Despite what people might think, the new boss was a sensitive guy, because he’d also told Alesio and Vito not to engage Nika but, again, to call V because he was more familiar to her.

  Happy hearing that directly from Alesio, Vincente had hung up and made it to Pant within fifteen minutes. He’d called ahead and asked—ordered—the owner of the club, an Australian woman he and Vasily had introduced themselves to not long ago, to put all exits on lockdown for any woman with red hair. Sydney Martin had sounded suspicious but had agreed to put her staff on it without asking many questions.

  Bringing his arms up, he uncurled his fists and slid his fingers under Nika’s hair to cup her nape, always careful of where her stitches had been. His other hand settled on her back to perform a slow, comforting glide up and down.

  “You boys walk away now and I won’t kill you. You stick around and they’re gonna need a magnifying glass to gather what’s left of you.”

  He didn’t even bother looking up at the insignificants as he spoke. He was too busy watching the ever-changing shadows Nika’s long lashes cast on her silky cheeks now that she’d closed her eyes.

  When he did finally raise his head to get the bartender’s attention, the area was clear. “She all paid up?” he asked when the guy hightailed it over.

  “Yeah, man, she’s good.”

  Vincente pocketed Nika’s phone from the bar and gave him a nod—biting his tongue so as not to let the asshat have it for feeding drinks to a woman who’d clearly had enough. He’d let Sydney know she needed to better train her staff.

  Gently clasping Nika’s shoulders, he shifted her back a bit, wanting to smile when she moaned and frowned as if she was pissed at being disturbed.

  “Red. Red.” Those gorgeous emeralds were revealed, and the sleepy smile that came over her face made him swallow a whimper. “Can you walk?”

  Say no, Fan Boy begged.

  “Of course.”

  Awww.

  “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

  “I don’t have a home anymore,” he thought he heard her say, but the music was too loud.

  Slipping an arm around her waist, he helped her to her feet and was impressed when she held her weight effortlessly. He started forward and was doing pretty well until she threw him into a tailspin by sliding her arms around his middle and leaning into him. She turned her head and snuggled into his chest, her delicate ribs expanding as though she was taking a breath.

  “You smell so amazing,” she said. “I ever tell you that?”

  Despite his hardening cock, his lips curved. “Yeah, babe. About five minutes ago.”

  She nodded, her ribs doing another swell. “’Kay. Probably tell you again in a sec.”

  A full smile broke free, and he had to work to hide it when he spotted Alesio and Vito coming in from the side. “We’re bouncing. Thanks, boys.”

  Nika’s head came up to see who he was talking to. “Hey! It’s the guy from the door.” She obviously remembered Vito from Eva’s wedding at the house. “Thanks for not ratting me out the other night when I snuck out,” she whispered loudly with an innocently sexy wink that gave Vincente the scratch. “Turned out to be the best, and worst, night of my life. But I’m free now.”

  She pulled away from Vincente and did a ta-da motion with her arms that had all three of them—fucking Alesio looked a little too closely—peering down at the black tights and silky black shirt she wore, the neckline of which was so wide that it had slipped off one shoulder. Her arms fell to her sides, and she seemed to lose her small burst of energy. “S’not as fun as I thought’d it’d be, though,” she grumped as she came to his side again. “Can’t do much. Not even play with someone like Vincente here, ’cause he doesn’t like me.”

  He ground his molars to dust, while ignoring Alesio and Vito’s interested looks. He slipped his arm around her waist.

  “Come on, Red. Let’s get you home.”

  She continued like he hadn’t spoken. “What’s your name?” she asked Vito.

  “I’m Vito.”

  She laughed, the sound musical and lovely. “Of course you are. And you?” she turned to G’s cousin. Vincente glared at him, the thread that was his control stretching.

  “Alesio.”

  Nika gasped, her widening eyes making her look like a guileless porn fantasy come to life. “You’re Gabriel’s Alesio? Oh, my God!” She launched herself at the handsome little shit, wrap
ping her arms around his neck and kissing him on the cheek—more like the corner of his very shocked mouth. “You helped save Eva! Thank you! You’re officially my new hero. Maybe we can get together one day and you can tell me what went down in that cabin. Eva won’t talk to me about it ’cause she’s afraid the bad stuff will tip me over this edge they seem to think I’m on . . .”

  As she continued, babbling about how silly and adorable Eva’s protective instincts were, Vincente stared. At her. In another man’s arms. Her fingers absently playing with the hair at Alesio’s nape. Her body pressed against his. Her beautiful lips—which had now tasted Gabriel’s cousin!—mere inches from possibly doing so again. Her undivided attention on the handsome face that belonged to a guy closer to her own age than Vincente was.

  This would eventually be his reality. Seeing her like this with someone else.

  Alesio’s hands were up and out, in a pose of total surrender. His head jerkily shaking back and forth as though saying, “Wasn’t me. I didn’t do nothin’.”

  The weakened thread holding Vincente’s control snapped with a dangerous twang, and without being conscious of it, his body took over. He reached out and clamped his fingers around Nika’s upper arm to pull her off the enemy—who was so lucky they were standing in the middle of a crowded club. He spun her around to face him, pulling her in until their noses were brushing against each other.

  “Do not. Ever. Throw yourself into another man’s arms in front of me again. Do you understand me?” His voice sounded as if it had been dredged from the very pits of hell, his expression feeling like one he’d stolen from Lucifer himself.

  And Nika, oblivious to the ominous cloud hanging like a pall around them, patted his cheek with her soft palm and smiled up at him. “Sure. Sure.” She turned back to the boys, or as much as she could because Vincente didn’t let her go. “It was nice to meet you guys. I guess I’ll see you again when I visit Eva. Ready?” she asked him.

  Striving for calm, he slid his hand down to her hip and tucked her closer to his side. She came as easily as if they’d been doing this for years.