“Isn’t that the truth?” she muttered under her breath.
That tight feeling in my chest eased the slightest bit. I squeezed her hand. “You’re our glue; don’t you know that? When are you going to trust it? There’s no ‘one foot out the door’ here. He’s not trying to get away from you. This probably has nothing to do with you, whatever this is.”
“Yeah”—she sucked in a deep breath—“whatever this is.”
Whatever... Well shit. My eyes went wide as I realized what she might be crying over. “You know he’s not with another woman, right?” I mean, Levi committing to Abby had been a miracle. One thing about my brother, he was loyal to a fault. He was with Abby for the long haul. Whatever was bothering him, it wasn’t another woman.
“No.” She shook her head, and suddenly fatigue swamped her face, slumped her shoulders. “No, I know he’d never do that. I just...” A small, sad smile tugged at her lips. “I guess we all grow up with patterns, don’t we? I grew up thinking every little thing was my fault.”
And assumed this was too. “Levi grew up solving his problems on his own,” I pointed out. “On the streets, where every decision could kill you. I don’t know what’s on his mind, but he’s trying to protect you from it.”
Abby nodded, but I couldn’t tell in the dim light if she believed me.
“Want me to kick his ass?”
That got the laugh I’d been trying to get for fifteen minutes. With the sound, the muscles in my chest fully relaxed. Things might not be fine, but I’d lifted her burden a little. That was my job.
She stood, and her glance back at me was soft as she turned to leave. “I’m going to bed, but hold that thought. I might take you up on it.”
I shot her a wink. “Anytime.”
It wasn’t till Abby had left me at the stairs and headed toward her and Levi’s bedroom that I remembered my whole purpose in coming upstairs. Someone needed to know about the bastard threatening to out us. I glanced up the staircase toward Remi’s rooms, but the image of Leah this morning, dark circles under her eyes after throwing up her breakfast—of course Remi’s baby would make things difficult—decided me against going up. Save it for Levi...after he fixed his fuckup with Abby.
Instead of making my way up to my wing of the house—third floor left—I turned toward the elevator and headed back to the basement. Maybe I could dig up some dirt on this X before Levi got home. Better to present him with facts than speculations.
Looked like I had a long night carved out for me.
Chapter Two
Nix —
“So fucking glorious.”
I took a deep breath, sucking back the scent of deep-fried everything, and had to agree with Titus: it was so fucking glorious. McDonald’s had restaurants all over the world—and we’d been to many of them—but they didn’t taste like American McDonald’s. They didn’t smell like this, somehow. It might be because it was what I’d grown up with and not an actual difference, but McDonald’s in the US was just...different. Better.
Glorious.
Not that I’d say it out loud. Titus used words like glorious; I didn’t. Titus could get away with it. The thirty-six-year-old former soldier got away with a lot, with his long golden-brown hair, tattooed body, and laid-back surfer vibe. A thirty-eight-year-old woman with gray in her long black hair and worn army fatigues on her compact body just got odd looks when she said fancy shit like that.
Or maybe it was just my team that gave me odd looks when I said fancy shit. Not like I spent much time with anyone else.
The area in front of the cash registers held several lines. I joined one right behind a guy about my height who gave me a once-over and a wink before facing forward. I rolled my eyes and tried to ignore Titus’s snicker beside me.
“I think he’s available,” Titus whispered in my ear, ignoring me ignoring him. “What do you think?”
I glanced from the shiny pink bald spot on the crown of the guy’s head to the end of his left arm hanging at his side. “I think he’s not as available as he wants to let on.” A thick gold ring circled his ring finger. Pretty dinged up. Married awhile, then. Guess he was in the market to shake things up a bit.
The thought made me wish I was carrying right about now. Not that I needed a gun to make someone rethink their decisions.
“I think traveling all night has made you cranky.”
I tipped my head up to raise an eyebrow at Titus. “Doesn’t it always?”
“Yep.” He grinned, showing off perfectly straight, gleaming white teeth. How could we have crawled off a fifteen-hour flight into morning rush-hour traffic and he still looked fresh as a daisy? His long hair was even neatly curling around his shoulders.
I threw my thick braid back over my own shoulder as we moved forward in line. I felt grungy, grumpy, and desperate to hole up somewhere and sleep for twenty-four hours. But not before we got our McDonald’s fix. “Feed me and I won’t bite your head off.”
He shot me a cocky salute. “That’s the plan, ma’am.”
Titus was the only person I allowed to call me ma’am, maybe because, like every other person on the planet, I was willing to forgo a lot of irritation when his vibe hit me. Relaxed me. Being in his proximity was like getting a contact high. Maybe that was why we always paired up—I was the uptight one, and he leveled me out in a way none of the others could.
The sound of a suddenly raised voice in front of us definitely wasn’t helping. I tensed as the guy two steps ahead of me in line, Mr. Wedding Ring Winker, planted his fists on the counter and leaned forward, right into the server’s face. “Look. I just want to get my food and go. If you can’t make that happen, find someone who can.”
The server, a young blonde with her hair in a ponytail, looking closer to twelve than the sixteen she probably was, blanched. From the wild look in her eyes, she definitely wished she could ask someone to take her place too.
Asshole.
“Sir,” she stammered, easing back from his blatant attempt to intimidate her, “you asked for six fries and four quarter-pounders. Four coffees. That’s what you were charged for.”
“What idiot would order more fries than burgers? They don’t match! You need to clean out your ears so you can actually hear what customers are ordering, then call your manager over here so we can make your incompetence clear. And fix your mistake!”
“I’ll issue a refund for—”
“Is that what I asked for?” he shouted, making the poor girl jump. The overhead lights gleamed off his bald spot, and I wondered suddenly if his slowly dwindling testosterone was responsible for making him a dickhead. It was one thing to be an asshole at home, but to take it out in public and flash it around like an exhibitionist flashing his naked penis at unsuspecting bystanders?
It was two fries, for fuck’s sake.
I dug into my pants pocket, looking for a bill to hand over and put us all out of our misery.
As I peered over Winker’s shoulder, I saw a tear trickle from the server’s eye and track down her pale cheek. “I—”
“Manager!” the asshole yelled. “Now, bitch!”
I didn’t stop to think. My palm landed on Winker’s shoulder before the last word left his mouth. Thumb and finger dug into the nerves where his neck and shoulder met. The asshole winced, lurching sideways with a strained grunt, allowing me to step up beside him and give the server a sympathetic look. “How about I help this gentleman move on while you take care of that refund?”
The girl sagged with relief. “Of course.”
“We’ll wait right over here for that order and a new receipt, m’kay?” I jerked my head to the left, shot her a genuine smile, then shoved my new dickhead friend to the side. His protests were lost as I gripped his arm just above his elbow, digging into the pressure point in the underside of his biceps, and his uncooperative legs threatened buckled unexpectedly.
A smattering of applause registered vaguely as I led Winker—forcibly—to an out-of-the-way corner.
&n
bsp; “What the hell—”
I squeezed down on the pressure point again, satisfaction pulsing through me as the asshole’s knees did a jig that forced him to grab hold of the wall next to him. “I’d suggest you be quiet,” I told him, allowing all emotion to leach out of my words. That dead tone, the emptiness in my voice, had started more than one enemy pissing in his pants. Score points for the guy in front of me—his eyes bugged out and he started to tremble, but no acrid smell hit my nostrils, thank God. It was so embarrassing when they did that.
“Now let me tell you what’s going to happen.” I leaned close, nose not quite touching his, and narrowed my eyes. “You’re going to take your food and walk out of here. Quietly. Courteously. Do you understand?”
“Who the hell are you? Let go of me!”
I squeezed again, adding a sharp twist, and Winker whimpered as the pain shot through his body. “Maybe you don’t understand then.” I allowed a small, grim smile to curve my lips. “You’re going to take your food and leave, or I’m going to follow you to your car and make sure you’ve been circumcised the Woody Allen’s Robin Hood way, if you get my drift?” One raised eyebrow and the flick of my knife opening between us made my point. The way the guy’s thighs squeezed together made my smile genuine.
“You’re... I... What...”
“Did you have something to say?” I asked.
He shook his head, his gaze trailing over my shoulder. Whatever he saw had him cringing back away from me. Titus, no doubt. The guy was mellow, but when he put on his soldier face, he was even better at getting guys to piss their pants than I was.
And there was that scent hitting my nostrils, damn it.
Titus shoved a bag of food at the guy. “Looks like you’re all set,” he said, menace somehow dripping from the words. A drink carrier came next.
Winker stuttered and shook, but took the items Titus handed him. One embarrassed glance down at his now wet pants and he shot for the door.
Titus chuckled in my ear. “I can’t take you anywhere.”
“Sure you can.” I shrugged. “Saves you wear-and-tear on your chill.”
He laughed louder. “True.”
A number being called registered in my ears, and Titus turned toward the counter. One big fist caught up the five bags waiting there, while the other grabbed the drink holder. “Ready?”
“I was ready ten minutes ago,” I said, but my step was lighter as we headed for the door. In fact I was pretty sure I smiled the whole way back to the hotel suite we planned to temporarily occupy. Being out of the States for several years meant finding a new hidey-hole, a task we hadn’t had time to accomplish yet.
Maris opened the door at our knock. My kid sister was ten years younger than me and light where I was dark. Her honey-colored hair was twisted into a messy bun at the back of her head, leaving the displeasure on her face in full view. I glanced toward the corner as I entered, noting that Rhys’s expression matched Maris’s. The man rarely spoke and even more rarely smiled, but I could usually count on him to be on an even keel—unless Maris was around. Something about the two of them in the same room seemed to push all his buttons. We’d been confined for hours, traveling, and now...
I frowned at him, a warning to back off. He gave me a minute nod.
Titus’s long legs brought him to the table across the room before I got there. He dumped the food on the surface and began ripping into bags. “Heaven is here.”
“Thanks for pointing out the obvious,” Monty said. Our fifth team member sat up and peered over the back of the couch at us, his hazel eyes sleepy. “Just tell me you got enough Big Macs this time and I won’t kill you.”
“And two whole bags of fries,” Titus crowed.
I stood back to let everyone grab their fill, pulling out my phone and clicking over to e-mail to see if any of the real estate “brokers” had gotten back to me with leads on a location for us. A couple of replies waited, and I read through them before coming to an e-mail from an unknown contact. The subject line, Welcome Back, had my heartbeat ticking up a notch. No one knew we were here in the States. No one.
I clicked on the e-mail.
Good evening, Ms. Nixon.
I’ve been an admirer of your team’s success for some time. The problem, of course, is exposure—you don’t want it, but I have the means to make it happen. The tie between your team members and the unfortunate events surrounding Jay Nixon’s suicide might seem deeply buried, but it would, in fact, be easy for me to expose to the very people you don’t want informed.
Neither of us want that, I’m sure. A partnership would easily solve the issue.
Your target is Bram Sullivan, CEO of BSGA Holdings International, headquartered in Atlanta. Natural causes are imperative. Contact me within two weeks when the job is done, and the information I have will remain between the two of us.
I look forward to working with you.
X
Fucking A. “Guys?”
Raucous laughter and good-natured scuffling registered in my shock-numbed ears. I glanced up, my heart in my throat. “Guys!”
Three pairs of male eyes jerked to meet mine. Maris peeked from around Monty to look at me.
I swallowed hard.
“I think we have a problem.”
∞
Don’t miss ASSASSIN’S GAME this spring!
∞
“Ms. Sheridan writes suspense that grabs you and won’t let go.”
~ Tea and Book
About The Author
Ella Sheridan never fails to take her readers to the dark edges of love and back again. Strong heroines are her signature, and her heroes span the gamut from hot rock stars to alpha bodyguards and everywhere in between. Ella never pulls her punches, and her unique combination of raw emotion, hot sex, and action leave her readers panting for the next release.
Born and raised in the Deep South, Ella writes romantic suspense, erotic romance, and hot BDSM contemporaries. Start anywhere—every book may be read as a standalone, or begin with book one in any series and watch the ties between the characters grow.
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