Code Name: Genesis

by Sawyer Bennett

  There was never any doubt of where I’d go once I approached the ticket agent at the airport. The police officer kindly came in with me, and he stayed by my side until I made it to the security line. Still, I didn’t stop looking over my shoulder until I was on the plane to Vegas and every last passenger had boarded. My life was now one led by fear and survival instinct, and I knew I couldn’t survive it alone.

  To my surprise, we get to Kynan’s front door and Rachel punches in a security code to unlock it. She pushes it open, then motions me inside.

  The splendor of his house is lost on me—not because I’m immune to opulence, but because it’s not important to me. Over the years, many things I’d thought were important just aren’t anymore.

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I scan around with minimal curiosity. Mostly, though, all I feel is nervousness over seeing the man I once loved who now hates me.

  Rachel shuts the door, and I follow her into the open living room with a view of a spacious veranda. It’s filled with potted plants, a huge grill, and high-end furniture, but I barely take it in.

  The sound of a door opening above catches my attention. I sweep my gaze up the massive, curved staircase that sits between the foyer and living area. There’s laughter—both male and female—and then Kynan appears with a ravishingly beautiful woman wearing nothing but a short, silky robe. It’s tied so loosely at her waist that her breasts are bared. His arm around her waist, he’s whispering something in her ear that causes her to giggle again as they descend the staircase. Kynan’s wearing track pants and a t-shirt. His dark blond hair is mussy. It’s clear they just rolled out of bed.

  The first time I see him in twelve years, my only thought is about how time has been damn good to him. His hair is worn the same way, along with his trademark facial hair that hovers somewhere between a short beard and a five o’clock shadow. Clearly, he takes his health seriously as his body is as buff and cut as it was when he was twenty-six. Those arms, sleeved with tattoos, were always my weakness. Apparently, they still are because I stare at them too long.

  My face flushes with embarrassment over being in Kynan’s home, unannounced and clearly ruining an evening with his girlfriend. Even worse is that I continue to ogle him shamelessly.

  When he reaches the bottom of the stairs, his eyes come to me, but they linger only briefly and without a flicker of emotion before he addresses Rachel. “I don’t need anything else tonight, Rach. Get home to Bodie and Tony.”

  Rachel inclines her head, then gives me a last reassuring smile that misses the mark with me. “See you later, Joslyn.”

  “Bye,” I whisper, my throat feeling extremely parched from nerves and still raw from last night’s attack.

  When the door closes behind Rachel, Kynan drops his hand to the woman’s ass and squeezes. “Be a love and get me a club soda from the bar.”

  That damn British accent is still sexy as hell, too, and I hope there’s not going to be a lot of conversation tonight. I’m in sensory overload.

  “Not another scotch?” the woman purrs with her hand to his chest as she leans into him.

  He shakes his head, then glances at me. “Want something to drink?”

  “I’m good.”

  Kynan’s eyes dip briefly to my throat. He’d have to be blind not to notice the bruising, but I don’t see so much as a facial tick from him. His expression stays as bland as unbuttered grits.

  The redhead sashays off, neither bothering to make any introductions. Briefly, I watch her swaying hips while she makes her way over to a recessed wet bar built into one wall before I turn back to Kynan. I swallow to wet my throat. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be barging in like this and interrupting your time with your girlfriend. I can go to a hotel, and we can meet in your office tomorrow.”

  Both Kynan and the woman give simultaneous snorts of amusement, but she’s the one who responds. “Oh, I’m not his girlfriend.”

  Confused, I look back and forth between them.

  Kynan just shrugs. “We met this afternoon.”

  “Oh,” I say softly, the implication hitting me. I’m not shocked over a one-night stand because there’s nothing wrong with a little fun, but why in the world did he have Rachel bring me here?

  “We met at The Wicked Horse,” the woman adds conversationally. “I was getting flogged in the stocks, and Kynan rescued me. Whisked me off to this luxurious mansion for an evening of fun.”

  I blink stupidly, trying to process the strange sentences. “I’m sorry. The Wicked Horse?”

  “It’s a sex club I belong to,” Kynan replies offhandedly on his way to a sumptuous-looking armchair. He drops down with elegant grace, then motions toward the couch to indicate I should take a seat.

  Now I’m shocked. So much so I’m rooted to the spot. “Sex club?”

  “Oh, don’t sound so boorish, Joslyn,” Kynan chastises in that godforsaken hot British accent. “You should give kink a try. You would have no shortage of movie stars and rock gods lining up for you.”

  Heat creeps up my neck, and I’m rendered speechless. A glass of club soda in her hand, the woman saunters over to Kynan. She settles right on his lap. When his hand goes between her legs, my entire body freezes.

  And I don’t mean to squeeze her thigh or give her a quick caress.

  Nope, he slides it right to her core. While the hem of her robe covers what he’s doing, it’s obvious it must feel good because her eyes roll back in her head, which then lolls on his shoulder. Her legs begin to fall open, obviously wanting to give him better access. I jerk my eyes to his face just in time to catch his smirk as he watches me closely for a reaction.

  I spin away, mortified and equally pissed off. It’s clear he’s intentionally doing this to make me uncomfortable. I start for the door, unwilling to stand for whatever he’s trying to prove.

  “Stay,” he commands and for a moment, I almost obey him. That voice of his… all cultured but incredibly arrogant and demanding. I used to obey him a lot when it came to sex, but I chalk that up to the fact I was just oh so young when we were together.

  I’m not young and naïve anymore, so I keep walking.

  I make it to the foyer before he calls out, “Walk out that door, Joslyn, and you know your life is in danger. Your psychopath could be out there right now.”

  They are the right words.

  I freeze, feeling my shoulders slump in resignation and complete helplessness. Tears prick at my eyes, and I furiously blink them back.

  Resignation fills me. Not only am I in a no-win situation right now, but I’m also going to have to accept I’ll be forced to pay more than just money to get Kynan’s help. As a means to make me repent for the wrongs he perceives I did to him, it’s obvious he’s going to humiliate me first by making me stay while he gets the woman off.

  But to my surprise, he addresses the woman, “We’re going to need to call it a night, love. Go get your clothes on, then call yourself a cab or an Uber. I’ve got some money in my wallet to pay for it. It’s on the dresser.”

  “Sure thing,” she replies. After, there’s only the sound of kissing, moaning, and a deep groan from Kynan. I can only imagine what she’s doing to him, but I refuse to turn around.

  Only when I hear the woman’s soft steps on the staircase do I give my attention to Kynan again.

  “Take a seat,” he says with a nod at the couch.

  My walk is slow and measured. There’s a slight limp I can’t quite cover up because I banged my knee so hard when I was tackled to the floor last night. My entire body is covered in bruises from the fight that ensued as he tried to roll me over. I thought he was going to rape me, but he merely put his hands around my throat and started to choke the life out of me.

  When I reach the couch, I sit awkwardly on the edge of the cushion with my hands clenched tightly on my lap, head down.

  “Tell me everything,” he says.

  Raising my head, I face the man I used to love with every breath in my body.

  And th
en I do just as he commands.

  CHAPTER 3

  Kynan

  I flip the bacon, glancing up from my efforts to look across the kitchen, through the living room, and to the curved staircase that leads to the second floor where Joslyn is still apparently sleeping. I had hoped the smell of food would lure her down, since I don’t relish the thought of having to wake her up. Even the thought of hearing her husky morning voice or seeing her hair mussed from a long night’s sleep would bring back too many unsolicited memories of when we were a couple.

  Besides, it’s still super early yet. I get up at five every morning to get in a quick workout, followed by breakfast and coffee. I’m on my third cup now. My stomach is growling because I’ve delayed starting to cook by at least an hour to give Joslyn an opportunity to get some more sleep. She looked bad last night, and she needs the rest.

  Just the thought of those marks on her causes fury to swirl within me and I try to push it right back down again. I’ve got no business being enraged on Joslyn’s behalf. She’s nothing but a client to me now. I should only feel a healthy amount of concern for her safety with a pressing need for due diligence to catch this creepy fuck as soon as possible.

  That’s it.

  Truthfully, she deserves nothing more from me than a professional job well done.

  It’s true that once, a long time ago, she had my love and undying devotion, but that was summarily killed when she left me with no explanation and moved to another state to pursue her career. One might think that’s a little harsh of me, because shouldn’t she be able to chase her dreams? And the answer is hell yes. But I’d offered to give up my career to follow her wherever her career might take her, so it was extra crushing when I wasn’t invited along.

  The object of my current ire comes down the stairs, and I hate how much I’m attracted to her as she carefully descends by supporting herself with one hand on the banister. She’s now two days post attack from the stalker who managed to break into her house, and I can tell she’s even more sore today than yesterday.

  Despite everything, she’s a goddamned punch to the gut. Joslyn is even more beautiful now than she was twelve years ago at the age of nineteen. She’s filled out in all the right places and despite the haunted expression in her blue eyes, her face is a work of art any man would be hard pressed to ignore. Her hair is more of a platinum blonde than when we were together, a color I can only describe as silver moonlight. Granted, it could use a good brushing, but I find the pale color suits her even better except it makes the bruising on her neck stand out in stark contrast.

  Those marks, clearly from a man’s hands around her throat, were the first thing I noticed when I laid eyes on her last night. I’d battled a rage so intense I’d almost stumbled down the last two steps when I came down to meet her.

  I’ve seen Joslyn a bunch of times over the years.

  Usually on entertainment shows, giving interviews and such.

  Accepting awards and signing autographs.

  She’s come a long way from her early days as a Vegas pop singer.

  Even in a wrinkled t-shirt and threadbare sweatpants, she takes my breath away. Her hair is piled messily on top of her head like a shining halo. But I have to remember that she’s no angel.

  I pull the bacon from the pan, placing the slices on a paper-towel-lined plate. It gives me a reason to avert my eyes from Joslyn as she gingerly makes her way into the kitchen.

  “Good morning,” she says hesitantly.

  “Morning,” I reply, turning to give her a critical once over. I push aside the flutter in my stomach, which she somehow still makes me feel, then notice the bruising on her neck is a darker purple. I’m certain about one thing… before all this is through, I’m going to make that fucker pay for what he did to her. “Coffee?”

  “I can get it,” she replies with a wan smile. I nod toward the coffee pot on the back counter beside the sink. My eyes follow her as she makes her way around the island.

  “Cups are in the cabinet above the pot and cream is in the fridge. Still take your eggs over easy?”

  Joslyn jerks, glancing over her shoulder in surprise. “Yes. That’s fine, or whatever’s easiest.”

  “One’s just as easy as the other.” I shrug, hating I still remember something as simple as the way she eats her eggs after twelve years. I’ve tried extremely hard to forget everything about her.

  Returning my attention to breakfast, I pull a clean pan from a cupboard and spray it with oil, setting it over a new flame on my six-burner range. I don’t offer up conversation as Joslyn makes her coffee. When she takes a seat on a stool at the island, it puts her just in my peripheral vision. Staying silent, I crack eggs into the skillet.

  “I want to apologize again for intruding last night,” she offers me in a quiet voice. “I should have waited until we could meet at your office today.”

  “You weren’t intruding,” I reply. It’s not said as a means to soothe her conscience but to set up a jab that’s meant to hurt. “I’d already fucked her. My evening was complete.”

  When Joslyn flinches, I feel like shit for being so bloody crass, but I’m trying to reconcile the anger over how she left me with the fury over the fact someone tried to kill her.

  Fuck, I hate she still matters to me when I know she shouldn’t.

  Twelve years ago, I fell in love with Joslyn Meyers with no more effort than it takes to blow a feather into the air. I had just come to work for Jerico at his newly formed security service. We had served in Afghanistan together—Jerico with the U.S. Marines, while I’d been with the Royal Marines—and I was the first person he asked to join him on this private venture away from the military.

  Jerico had warned me. He’d seen the way I watched her while she performed on stage in a popular Vegas pop act, and he’d told me to steer clear.

  But I hadn’t.

  I couldn’t.

  And I had thought Joslyn felt the same. Granted, she was so young—not even twenty—and I wasn’t much more mature at twenty-six, but it felt like the real deal to me.

  I guess that’s why it had hurt so much when she’d broken it off with absolutely no forewarning it was coming. One day, we were head over heels in love. The next, she’d told me it was over and she was moving to Hollywood.

  End of story.

  I’m fairly sure I hated her then for making a tough guy like me hurt. For choosing a life without me. I hadn’t known such a wisp of a girl could cause a physical pain inside my chest, but fuck if it didn’t take me a long damn time to get over her.

  The security panel in the short hallway to the laundry room chimes. A mechanical female voice drones out, “Warning… front door opened.”

  Joslyn jolts, a flash of fear crossing her face. My initial instinct is to gather her in my arms to soothe the terror away. Instead, I only say, “That’s just Rachel.”

  As if on cue, Rachel enters the kitchen, carrying a box of donuts in one hand and a small duffel bag in another. “Good morning.”

  “Morning,” Joslyn replies softly with a shy smile.

  Rachel sets the duffel bag on the floor near Joslyn’s stool. “Got you a travel bag with some clothes and toiletries.”

  “Thank you.” Joslyn’s tone is surprised and overly grateful.

  I cock an eyebrow at the sweet confections in Rachel’s hands. “Those things will kill you, Rach.”

  “But I’ll go with a smile on my face,” she teases with a grin, then tosses the box onto the island countertop in front of Joslyn. She opens the top, pulls out two donuts, and then nabs a paper towel. To Joslyn, she says, “Help yourself.”

  I slide Joslyn’s over-easy eggs onto a clean plate, then toss a few slices of bacon on it. She ignores the donuts, giving me a barely perceptible, “Thank you,” when I set the food in front of her. I’m sure I’ve set the atmosphere for her meek and quiet attitude right now, and that’s fine.

  Rachel and I need to settle some things, which is why I invited her over this morning.
r />   “What’s the plan?” she asks as she settles on a stool next to Joslyn.

  I whisk more eggs in a bowl while I give Rachel the low down on what Joslyn and I talked about last night.

  “Her stalker is incredibly smart,” I reply, shooting a quick glance at Joslyn. She’s now warily watching me just from the mention of this asswipe. “He’s been able to find out where she lives, despite her using a protective alias to purchase her home. It tells me he might be a hacker—and a damned good one at that. I’d be shocked if he didn’t already know she’s here in Vegas.”

  Rachel nods in understanding. “Good thing you’re going to spring Bebe.”

  Joslyn frowns. “Spring Bebe? What does that mean?”

  “Just that we hopefully have our own hacker coming on board with Jameson soon,” I reply, pouring my eggs into the skillet for a slow scramble. Giving my attention to Rachel, I continue with my initial analysis of our situation. “But just because he’s smart doesn’t mean he’s not psycho. He’s been pursuing her for almost two years now, with his ultimate fantasy being to kill her. Those dark thoughts don’t just go away, so we have to expect him to come after her again.”

  “But when?” Rachel muses.

  “Hopefully not long,” I answer as I stir my eggs. “But he might be a little spooked at almost getting caught by the police, so I have an idea.”

  Both women give me their full attention. I look up from my cooking, my gaze centering on Rachel only. “We’re going to bait him to come after Joslyn. Going to open the door figuratively to make it impossible for him to stay outside.”

  Joslyn gasps. “You want him to come after me?”