Grace cleared her throat. “Right. Pedicures,” she said quickly, her voice a bit strained. “That could be fun.”
“Good.” Sienna nodded slowly and accepted the wine from Donovan as he returned. Fortunately her attention seemed to shift back to her husband. “You don’t mind if I just keep your seat, do you, honey?”
“What’s mine is yours.” Donovan grimaced, but moved to sit in an empty seat by Darrius.
Whipped, he thought again, but maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.
Grace nodded at what Sienna was saying now—something about the new drug they were creating for shifter infants—but she couldn’t slow her heart or her thoughts of Darrius.
All too often tonight her gaze would slip to him, and most of the time she found him watching her. It didn’t matter whether he was talking to Donovan or shooting the shit with Larson and Yorioka, his gaze always seemed to stray back to her.
It was a bit unsettling. And thrilling.
How long had it been since a man had pursued her? Been interested in her? She didn’t make it easy for them to do so, and had always been more closed off from developing relationships—romantic or otherwise.
She’d learned early on that when she did open herself up, she inevitably got hurt. Maybe the ones you loved left you alone in this world by dying, or maybe they betrayed you. Either way it resulted in the same pain.
But the moment she’d joined the P.I.A. and been assigned to her team, everything had changed. Her heart had cracked a bit and she’d allowed the guys in. It’d been like gaining a bunch of protective older brothers. She’d become just as determined to protect them as she knew they would her.
Her gaze lifted and moved across the table to Darrius. He was talking to Larson, but he’d been watching her out of the corner of his eye. She could sense it.
A tingle of awareness started at the back of her neck and raced through her body.
Somewhere along the way, Darrius had lost that brother vibe. It still freaked her out a bit, this whole thing between them, whatever it was. But it was becoming harder to deny it. Despite the walls and roadblocks she put up, he seemed entirely too apt at knocking them down.
“So when should we do the girls night?” Sienna asked, dragging Grace’s mind away from Darrius again.
She put up another wall, vowing to give the other woman her full attention. At least for the rest of the evening.
The time passed by too quickly, filled with drinks, laughter and wonderfully distracting discussions.
Flushed from the two beers she’d drunk, Grace excused herself to use the bathroom.
The restroom was in the hallway of the building and was shared by several businesses. The hallway itself was cold with a faint musty smell. One of the overhanging lights was nearly out, wheezing its final breaths as it flickered on and off.
Familiarity raced through her, but not because she’d been here before. It reminded her too much of the lab they’d been kept in during the experiments. Her slight buzz from the beers vanished as darkness and fear swept through her blood.
Irritated with herself, that this is what she’d been reduced to, Grace forced herself to keep walking and eventually made her way into the bathroom.
She’d just picked a stall and locked the door when the bathroom door squeaked open again. The hairs on the back of her neck rose and she went still, her hand on the lock. She listened to the muted footsteps that came inside, heavy and measured.
You’re being paranoid. It’s just some other chick coming to use the bathroom.
Even still, she slid her hands silently into her oversized leather purse, closing her fingers around the thick handle of her Glock. Only with the cold metal in her grip did her pulse start to slow, and did she feel the familiarity of self-control return.
Whoever had entered the bathroom had moved into the stall next to her. She slid her gaze to the floor, then to the left.
Maybe they weren’t sexy heels, but the shoes next to her were definitely a woman’s. Still, she couldn’t shake the sense of unease, and she’d never been one to ignore her instincts.
Abandoning any pretense of using the bathroom, Grace knew she needed to cut and run. She had the gun, but the last thing she wanted to do was use it. Shifters didn’t draw unnecessary attention, but if it came down to that, someone would get a hole in their chest.
She pushed back the bolt of her lock and opened the door, exiting with calm caution. Walking backward toward the exit, she kept her gaze—and her gun—trained on the stall next to her.
Her heart thudded in her chest. Just a few feet and then she’d be out of the bathroom.
But the door to the stall remained closed, and her brows drew together with uncertainty. The woman still hadn’t made any indication she was leaving the stall.
Oh, Grace, you’ve flat-out lost it. She had to be bordering on unhealthy paranoia. Had she just completely freaked out for nothing?
Some of the tension eased from her shoulders. Still, she didn’t lower the gun even as she reached for the door handle.
Her free hand closed around the brass knob and she twisted it, the safety of the hall, as ridiculous as it seemed, just inches away.
Pulling open the door, her chest expanded with a breath of relief. But the air ripped from her chest again as the door slammed into her. The force of the impact sent her sprawling back into the bathroom where she smashed into the floor, her head greeting the tile with an unhealthy crack.
She saw stars. Or wait, maybe she thought she did in the darkness that suddenly enveloped her. Whoever had smashed in the door had turned off the lights.
Grace tried to scramble up, raising her gun and forcing her gaze to adjust to the darkness and find the threat.
The arm that wrapped around her neck coincided with the cold barrel of the gun that pressed against her temple.
“Drop your weapon, Agent Masterson.”
Chapter Eleven
Son of a bitch.
“Drop your fucking gun. I don’t like having to ask twice.” She dug the barrel deeper into her forehead.
That voice. She knew that voice. It was a woman’s, and obviously disguised into a low rasp, but still something jarred in her memory. She couldn’t pin it down, though, not while her brain whirled for a way to escape. A way to not give the attacker the advantage by putting her own gun on the floor.
The woman grabbed her ponytail, jerking her head back so her throat was exposed. In the darkness she could almost make out her shape, the whites of her eyes, but no features.
That’s when she felt the sharp prick of a knife at her throat and the weight of another person’s body straddling her waist.
Male this time. Large. Heavy. Not defeated, but also not dumb, she didn’t resist as the man pried her gun from her fingers.
There were two attackers, but of course that made sense. One had been in the stall next to her—she should’ve just shot the son of a bitch—the other had been the bastard to nearly knock her out with the door.
“You never were very good at taking orders, Grace,” the man rasped.
He knew her? Unlike the woman, she didn’t recognize knife guy’s voice. Or did she?
She drew in a slow breath and tried to place their scent, to figure out if they were familiar. But they’d come prepared, probably doing a thorough body wash with heavily diluted bleach to mask their scents.
“What do you want?” She moved only her lips to ask the question, not messing with the tip of the knife that hovered above her carotid artery.
The woman seemed to relax a bit, as if she were relieved the man had control now. Hope flared inside Grace, even as the woman didn’t move away completely, but eased the pressure of the gun against her temple.
“Aren’t you afraid?” The man with the knife lowered his head, his voice still raspy and almost a whisper.
Raw panic gathered in her throat, forming a scream that she knew they would silence harshly. But the position—being held down and threatened—was so like
her time in the lab that she felt the fingers of hysteria tracing over her.
Stay angry. Focus on the rage. How have these bastards gotten control of you?
“If you were going to kill me, you would’ve done it by now.” It was amazing how calm her words were when she was anything but.
“Maybe I like to hear my victims beg.”
A memory slashed through her mind. A new one she’d never remembered until now.
She’d been curled up in the cell at the lab, naked and bruised from the continuous injections and restraints. And a man had stood above her, circling with a digital camera in his hands as he snapped pictures.
She’d begged him to stop—to seek help for the shifters. The memory fizzled a bit. Had she vowed retribution? Or was that a thought she’d added now in her current fury?
He’d been there with her during the experiments. She was certain of it.
“We’ve been in here too long.” The woman was obviously getting nervous—not a good sign when she had a gun at Grace’s head.
Yes, they had, and Grace was hoping like hell someone would walk in any minute now. Though, dammit, that might just put more people at risk.
“You’re right, though, Agent Masterson. We’re not here to kill you.” The man used his free hand to touch her cheek and she was unable to stop the shudder of repulsion, even as she formed a plan.
You just let down your guard, asshole. Big mistake.
“We’re here to warn you,” he continued, his breath so close to her face now she could smell the hint of ginger on it. “Let Thom Wilson rest in peace, or this might get ugly.”
Thom Wilson… They were here about Thom? Her mind stored that bit of information and then moved on to what she had to do next.
“It’s already ugly.” Before he could blink, she’d grabbed his now lax wrist and forced it above her head.
The shocked cry of pain from the woman was the only confirmation she needed to know that the knife had connected with her face.
Grace rolled free from them in the chaos. She barely took a second to get orientated, before knife guy was lunging at her again.
“That was pretty stupid, you bitch.”
Before he reached her she had a second to slam her foot into his belly with a strong sidekick, and he stumbled back into the wall with a muffled oomph.
Triumph surged through her, but it was short lived as she realized too late she’d lost track of the woman. She made her presence known—and her anger at being cut—by slamming her gun into the back of Grace’s head.
And then it was too late to fight, because unconsciousness was already taking over.
“So…you hoping for twins, Sienna?” Darrius couldn’t resist jumping into an animated ribbing over when and how many kids Sienna and Donovan were going to have.
“No, absolutely not.” Sienna glared across the table. “No twins. No triplets. No anything. My eggs are staying unfertilized for at least a few more years.” Her gaze shifted to her husband. “Got that, Warrick?”
“Gross.” Darrius groaned, but his grin slipped as his gaze jerked suddenly toward the hallway that led to the bathrooms.
Unease had hit quickly and intensely. How long ago had Grace left to use the bathroom? Two minutes? Three? Something was off. He knew it with a certainty that he didn’t want to question.
His pulse quickened and he pushed back his chair. “I’ll be back in a second.”
“Hilliard.”
Darrius ignored the sharp warning from his alpha. Larson knew he was going after Grace and was making his disapproval known, but fuck it. Darrius wasn’t going after her to shove his tongue down her throat in the hallway, he was making sure she was okay.
He slipped out the pub door and into the hallway. The sight of two people in black wearing masks, hightailing it out a back entrance was enough to make his blood go cold.
A growl erupted from his throat, his canines slid down and his nails slid free as the wolf inside him readied to shift and give chase. Barely, just barely, did he have enough sense to cast a quick glance at the closed bathroom door. Seeing it was dark inside, he knew his first priority was Grace.
Darrius sprinted back to the door to the bar and took in the handful of people still at their table. “I need help!”
Seeing the alpha quickly rise, along with others at the table, Darrius rushed back to locate Grace. He ran back to push open the bathroom door, but it resisted, moving slowly inward, as if something on the other side blocked it.
“What’s going on?” Larson snarled from beside him, brows drawn with determination.
Darrius jerked his head toward the exit. “Pretty sure Grace got attacked. Two perps, all in black ran out the back door.”
“We’ll find them.” Larson let out a growl of fury, and then he sprinted out the back door.
Darrius had already turned away and was easing open the bathroom door, using his weight against the resistance.
“Grace, you need to answer me, sugar.”
The door swung open, all resistance gone now. Darrius stepped inside and found Grace facing the mirror as she splashed some water on her face.
“Grace?”
It took a moment, but finally she lifted her head met his gaze in the mirror.
Son of a bitch. The bruise on her forehead and trickle of blood running down her neck made something savage rise inside him. His claws slid forth, piercing into his palms as he stepped inside.
The urge to kill rode him hard, and now he regretted not giving chase with Larson.
Knowing it wouldn’t be smart to show every emotion running through him on his face, Darrius filtered all out but concern.
“Are you okay?” He forced his voice to remain calm as he closed the distance between them. Unable to help himself, he reached out to use the pad of his thumb to catch the small droplet of blood.
“I’ll be fine.” She gave him a hard smile. “We heal fast, remember?”
Physically. Fuck. “What happened, Grace?”
“I guess I let my guard down.”
Her words were flat and simple, as if that explained everything.
“Bullshit. We’ve talked about this. You don’t get taken off guard. There were two of them,” he said, not really asking it as a question.
“Yes. One I was aware of, she came in and tried to hide in the stall next to me.”
“She? One of the attackers was a woman?”
“Oh yeah. Definitely.” She grimaced as she wet down a paper towel and blotted her neck. “I tried to get out of the bathroom, where I’d stupidly cornered myself, and then the guy tried to smash my face in with the door.”
“They both attacked you?”
“Yeah. The man had a knife to my neck, the woman had a gun to my head. They had turned off the lights, so I was pretty much fighting blind.”
“Kind of hard to fight at all with the barrel of a gun at your head.” No longer able to hold in his fury, Darrius let out a string of curses and slammed his fist into the wall.
Surprise registered on her face. “Hey, easy there. It could have been worse.”
“You mean if they’d killed you?” he couldn’t resist snarling.
“Obviously they didn’t want me dead or we wouldn’t be talking right now. You’d be pretty proud of me. I did this one counterattack that gave me the advantage.” Her smirk faded. “Well, for a few seconds anyway.”
“I’m always proud of you. You’re a damn good fighter.” But taking on an armed woman and man wasn’t exactly a fair match. “We should get you looked at.”
“I’m fine. Just a bit of a headache and suitably bruised, as they intended me to be. Besides, by the time you found someone to look at me I’d be healed,” she pointed out.
Turning back to the mirror, Grace touched the bruise along her forehead and he couldn’t argue that it was already fading due to her shifter blood.
She was right, but it didn’t ease his concern or fury.
The encounter had shaken her up. He knew it, even
if she hid it well under the bravado, it was in the slight tremble of her hand and the way her gaze wouldn’t quite meet his.
“It’s okay to be afraid, Grace. You don’t need to be so strong all the time.”
He watched her in the mirror, saw her bite her lip as the shimmer of tears in her eyes caught the light. Shock raced through him as he realized she was trying not to cry, he could sense it.
With a muffled curse, he strode forward and turned her to face him, before pulling her into his arms.
“It’s okay, you’re safe now.”
He expected her to jerk away and/or plant her fist into his belly, but instead her arms slipped around his waist and she pressed her head against his shoulder.
“You don’t need to be strong all the fucking time.”
“I’m not strong, I’ve just gotten really good at faking it,” she whispered raggedly. “And if you tell anyone about this—”
“This is between you and I, sugar.” He pulled her tighter against him, and smoothed a hand gently down her back. “But you gotta stop worrying about what others will think, they know you’re a good agent.”
Her body trembled in his arms and she sighed. “I don’t know about that.”
Irritation eased through him. Darrius pulled away just enough to catch her chin between his fingers and tilt it up so she had to look at him.
“I do.” His gaze locked with hers, and he could see the frustration there that likely had little to do with what had just happened.
Then the emotion shifted, her gaze darkened and her breathing grew heavier.
“You need to trust me.”
“I do,” she whispered. “Sometimes a little too much, and that scares me.”
Her words wrapped around his heart, raising the protective and possessive side of him. They also sparked the need to touch her—to taste her again.
Unable to stop himself, he lowered his head to brush a kiss across her mouth. It was supposed to be quick and comforting, but he should’ve known better. The moment his lips touched hers, the spark of need lit inside him and threatened to become a full-on bonfire.
Savage Betrayal: Savage, Book 2 Page 11