by Leigh, Lora
“You know better than that, Anton.” Ivan chuckled though he could see the tension rising in the three men. “You know me. I would never leave the safety of my wife, my children, to chance. Your men are dead or they would already be here.”
Igor shifted uncomfortably as Anton glared at Ivan.
“Igor!” Albert snapped. “Go check on them.”
At Anton’s nod, Igor lifted the automatic rifle he carried closer and moved to the door. Opening it cautiously and glancing outside, he slid through the narrow opening before closing the door behind him.
“Who are you going to send to check on Igor when he doesn’t return?” Ivan questioned the other two men. “You should have known better than to face me like this, Anton. Not with the resources I have. Do you think I’d only position four men outside? Have I ever acted the fool where my security was concerned?”
He hadn’t. If there was one thing Anton knew, it was that Ivan took his security extremely seriously.
Anton shifted the weapon in his arms, the rifle gleaming dully in the low light cast by the desk lamp.
“He’s bluffing,” Albert assured the soldier, evidently far more confident than Anton at the moment.
Albert’s weapon hadn’t shifted, the barrel still aimed directly at Ivan’s heart. But only two remained, Ivan consoled himself. He was weaponless, Ilya was bleeding like a stuck pig on the floor, and he could see the nervousness building in Anton.
This wasn’t going to end well if he wasn’t very damned careful.
“Just walk out of here, Albert,” he suggested as though weary of the game. “I’ll give you and Anton safe exit just for the hell of it. But you kill me and you won’t have a chance. Beau won’t have the Taite holdings; my wife will be so well hidden until Stephen and Craig are killed that you won’t have a hope of finding her. And to add to that, when my people get their hands on you, and Anton, and they will, they’ll make you scream before they ever allow you to die.”
Even Stephen and Craig had known that. It was the reason why they struck everywhere but at Ivan directly. They always worked behind the scenes, always kept their own hands clean, because they knew exactly what Ivan could do.
Anton stepped back from Albert slowly, his gaze centered on Ivan.
“Walk away,” Ivan encouraged him. “Your men are dead. Your cousin’s dead. Unless you want to join them, get the hell out of here.”
Albert rose slowly to his feet. “Stay where the hell you are, Anton,” he growled. “As long as we have this bastard we’re safe. And as far as we know your men already have that little bitch.”
His wife was no little bitch, Ivan thought, icy fury beginning to build inside him.
He hadn’t made the offer to Albert to walk away. That bastard was dead. Then he’d deliver the body to Stephen and Craig Taite personally. This fucking game was over. Journey was no longer a pawn, nor would Ivan allow her to be threatened again.
He met Anton’s gaze once again and watched the soldier swallow tightly.
“Ivan doesn’t bluff,” Anton said then. “And he’s right. If my men had not failed, they would be here by now with his woman in tow.”
Ivan calculated the distance between himself and the desk and his chances of reaching the weapon he could glimpse just beneath Ilya’s arm.
Anton stepped farther away as he swung the rifle around and leveled it on Albert. Evidently, he didn’t trust the other man nearly as well as he’d pretended.
Now if he could just get lucky enough to have the two men kill each other. It would save him the trouble of killing either of them.
“Can’t you see what he’s doing?” Albert hissed. “He’s playing with your mind, you dumb bastard.”
“Let him go, Albert. We’ll sit here and wait this out together,” Ivan suggested. “We’ll see who arrives first. Your men, or mine.”
Ivan knew who would arrive first, but waiting really wasn’t on his agenda. For one thing, he wasn’t comfortable allowing Ilya to lie on that floor bleeding to death. Secondly, he had no doubt his men as well as the Ops agents were outside that secured steel door just waiting to push their way inside.
“Get out of here, Anton,” Ivan ordered him. He was damned tired of playing with these two. “The offer has an expiration date.”
Anton was beginning to look decidedly nervous.
“Shut the fuck up.” Albert swung back around, the weapon leveling on Ivan once again.
As he turned, Anton slid behind him, moving for the door while keeping his eyes on Albert cautiously.
“You troublemaking bastard,” Albert sneered, still not smart enough to realize the position he was in. “When his men get back here with that little bitch I’ll rape her in front of you before we deliver her to the doctor to flush that brat out of her.”
Ivan wished the other man were just a little bit closer. He’d rip his damned guts out with his bare hands. He dropped his arms from his chest, forcing the tension threatening to overtake him to keep him prepared instead.
“Get back here, Anton.” Albert swung back to the soldier, his weapon leveled on the other man, his finger on the trigger.
Instantly, Anton aimed his rifle back at Albert, his expression turning cold and hard.
“I kill you and Resnova will thank me for it!” Anton snapped. “Be thankful I’m willing to just walk away.”
Albert’s weapon shook, rage contorting his face as he stared at the man he had believed would actually follow his orders in the face of Ivan’s vengeance.
“Walk away, Anton,” Ivan stated softly. “Albert and I will just wait and see who comes first. The soldiers he sent after my wife, or my men.”
All Anton had to do was open the damned door. By this time, Ivan knew the Elite Ops agents were in place, backed by the Resnova security.
Anton reached behind him, his fingers gripping the doorknob as he balanced the weapon using the strap attached to his shoulder and the finger lying against the trigger.
Ivan was ready to move. From the corner of his eye he watched as the soldier turned the doorknob, easing it around, the locking mechanism releasing.
Anton’s eyes widened as a sudden force threw him forward. Ivan threw himself to the floor, quickly covering Ilya’s body as gunfire erupted through the room. Ilya grunted, cursed weakly, and Ivan almost grinned at the response.
“Ivan!” Jordan and Riordan were there within seconds, the gunfire silenced, the room filling with black-clad agents, their faces covered, identities hidden.
“Ilya’s wounded.” Ivan levered himself back before gripping the hand Jordan extended to him and allowing him to help him to his feet. “Gregor.” He turned to the uncle stepping into the room through the hall entrance. “Get Peter in here. Let’s see how bad Ilya let them wound him. I think he likes bullets.”
He grinned, staring down at Ilya as he shook his head, his face still resting against the floor.
“Fuck you, Ivan.” His voice was weak, but he was talking. Breathing.
Albert and Anton, however, weren’t nearly so lucky. Both men were sprawled out on the floor, staring sightlessly up at the ceiling.
“The others?” he asked Jordan.
“They opted to fight.” Jordan shrugged. “We opted to kill them.”
Yeah, that was Jordan; he didn’t waste a lot of time when it came to taking care of the enemy. A risk wasn’t accepted as far as the other man was concerned. A man couldn’t come for vengeance if he was dead.
“Journey and Amara?” He turned back to Jordan, needing to know, to hear, that they were well.
“With Tehya, Sophia, and Elizaveta,” he was told. “They’re both fine. Journey’s not so happy that we dragged her from the house without you, but she’s safe.”
The other man slapped him on the shoulder as Ivan inhaled deeply. She was safe; that was all that mattered. His daughter, his wife, his child. They were safe. Nothing else mattered.
“We have Beau coming in,” Riordan said then. “Five minutes out. We notified him jus
t after we got Amara and Journey off the property.”
As they spoke, Peter arrived with several security personnel and a gurney used to transport his patients to the basement when walking wasn’t happening.
Ilya cursed, swore he was killing every one of them, but finally settled back on the makeshift bed while Peter worked quickly to stop the blood flow from his chest. The younger man was pale, the front of his white shirt saturated with blood, but the tough son of a bitch was still cursing as the doctor applied a compress to his chest and ordered the two men to get him downstairs.
Watching him leave, Ivan rubbed at the back of his neck wearily, glanced at the window, and saw the darkness outside had begun easing. Dawn was coming and with it, he hoped, an end to the bullshit he and Journey had been fighting. Stephen and Craig wouldn’t last long without the funds that had sustained them, and enough pressure on the attorneys and they’d reveal whatever they knew where the two men were concerned.
As he watched Ilya disappear down the hall, a prickling along the back of his neck had him turning slowly to face the door once again.
She stood just inside the room. She wasn’t staring at the bloodstains on the floor from the two men the agents had hastily carted from the house. Nor was she concerned with the black-masked men milling around.
Those green eyes, so damned pretty and bright, were locked on him. Her red-gold hair framed her face, the bright waves mussed, concern marking her expression.
She was staring at him like no other woman ever had. With stars in her eyes, with love filling her face.
His Syn.
He opened his arms for her, watching as she sprinted across the room, all but jumping into his arms so he could lift her against him, hold her to his heart. And he held her tight. He couldn’t stop himself. He buried his face in her hair, whispered her name, and felt like going to his knees to thank God that she was safe. She was his.
His Syn.
* * *
Beau stared at the couple from the doorway, his hands in the pockets of his slacks, watching Ivan Resnova’s face as he held the delicate, sobbing woman in his arms. And in his face Beau saw love.
Hell.
He breathed out heavily at the sight and had to finally accept the fact that the plans he’d had in place for a decade weren’t exactly going to work out.
He could have married Journey, cared for her, kept her safe. He wouldn’t have risked his heart, wouldn’t have risked having a woman he couldn’t afford to lose should the worst happen. When a man loved, he weakened himself.
Beau had no desire to weaken himself; he still had work to do, had his own ghosts to vanquish.
Journey would be safe though, Beau thought, which was all his stepfather was concerned with. Of course, he would have preferred Beau to have married her, but he’d accept Ivan. All that mattered was ensuring she was safe. Having her happy would be an added plus, Beau thought.
There were still details to get through, information they all needed to go over, and certain roles that would have to be played for a while longer.
Disposing of the Taites was only part of the plan. Unfortunately, he couldn’t allow the disposal to appear as anything other than the repercussions of their own ignorance. They’d allowed themselves to be caught and placed themselves perfectly for Resnova’s vengeance. Journey’s arrival in Ivan’s life hadn’t been what Beau would have wished, but it would work out for the best perhaps.
He’d make certain it worked out for the best.
“Beau.” Jordan eased over to him, his gaze questioning as Beau shifted his attention from the couple to the other man.
“Jordan.” He nodded. “Hell, did we even suspect Albert was part of this?”
Jordan’s lips quirked in amusement. “I suspected everyone, Beau, but I can’t say I wasn’t surprised. I was.”
Beau nodded slowly. “It’s not over,” he warned Jordan. “For Resnova perhaps, but not for myself. You know that.”
Jordan simply nodded.
Yeah, he would know that, Beau thought, his gaze going to Ivan and Journey once again as they shared a slow, almost chaste kiss. It was all the more intimate for the restrained passion inherent in it.
“Never thought I’d see it,” he murmured. “Ivan Resnova in love. It’s enough to make a man believe in miracles.”
“Or love,” Jordan said softly. “It’s enough to make a man believe in love, Beau.”
Some men perhaps. Never him.
He knew better. He knew the dangers.
Love wasn’t for him …
epilogue
Three days later …
It was three stupid days later before Ivan was free to return to their bed.
Ilya needed surgery, and of course they had to be there with him.
On the heels of Ilya’s recovery was the report that Stephen and Craig Taite were willing to discuss their criminal connections as well as any associates in their activities. That took more than twenty-four hours and by time he returned home, he was exhausted. He’d fallen into bed beside her and no sooner than his arms surrounded her, sleep had taken him.
She’d lain for several hours just staring at him, amazed at the man she’d found him to be versus the man the world believed him to be. This was a man who she’d learned had worked since he was twelve years old, twelve years old, to bring down the monster his father was. And nearly six years later, when his father had tried to take Amara and sell her to the men who had raped and murdered Ivan’s mother, he’d taken matters into his own hands.
But he hadn’t broken the vow he gave at twelve to aid the men trying to help him and the organization that vowed they’d be there when he needed them. And they had been there. They were still there.
His strength, his ability to find kindness and compassion within himself, and his love for her, still amazed her.
And his effect on her amazed her.
He woke her with kisses. Deep, hungry kisses as he framed her face with his hands. Slanting his lips across her, his tongue stroking against her own, he had the need that had only grown over the days, burning brighter than ever.
With each caress, each deep kiss, she let herself fall into the chaotic sensations once again.
There were a few preliminaries. Three days, the threat of losing Ilya, the knowledge that Stephen and Craig could never hurt them again, that they were safe, their child was safe, had taken a toll. The ravenous need to come together, to touch and be touched, couldn’t be denied.
With his lips still on hers, their kisses growing more frantic by the second, Journey gripped Ivan’s shoulders, her legs parting, lifting as he came between them, and she felt the engorged crest of his erection pressing into her.
Her cries were muffled by his kisses, but nothing could contain the pleasure. Arching to him, her knees gripping his hips, she moaned, cried out against his lips, and reveled in each rush of pleasure. Each thrust inside her, each powerful lunging stroke of his cock through the clenching tissue of her pussy had her flying. It was like touching paradise each time he took her, each time he touched her.
Rising to him, her nails clenching his shoulders, knees tightening on his hips, she felt the pleasure overwhelm her and her orgasm rush over her like a tidal wave.
Tearing his lips from her, Ivan buried his lips at her shoulder, his release exploding inside her, adding to and pushing her own pleasure higher.
But it was the words he groaned at her shoulder that had tears spilling from her eyes, her heart clenching at the eruption of emotion that joined the pleasure tearing through her.
“My heart … My Syn … God help me, I love you…”
It wasn’t an illusion. This was her reality.
She loved. And she was loved in turn.
Whatever the future would bring, whatever they had faced because of their parents’ pasts didn’t matter. They loved, they were loved. And the fairy tale was real.
Dear Readers,
I hope you enjoyed Dagger’s Edge. I know Ivan and Journey enjoy
ed showing off for you. With Dagger’s Edge completed, I’m looking forward to returning to the cowboys and teaming up with Veronica Chadwick once again to bring you One Tough Cowboy, coming Winter 2019.
I really think you’ll enjoy this first cowboy romance from me and Veronica. Happy reading to you, and thank you so much for continuing on this adventure with me.
Lora Leigh
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Lora Leigh’s novels are:
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“SIZZLING HOT.”
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about the author
#1 New York Times bestseller, LORA LEIGH is the author of the Navy SEALs, the Breeds, the Elite Ops, the Callahans, the Bound Hearts, and the Nauti series. You can visit her website at www.loraleigh.com, or sign up for email updates here.