“Vlasenko is planning something. I don’t know what. But I’m surprised he’s risking an auction tomorrow when he’s got strangers on board and a potential loose cannon as an employee.”
I rested my head on his chest, listening to the steady strong beat of his heart. “You think he’ll get rid of us before he makes the deal.”
Charlie rested his chin on top of my head and hugged me tighter. “I think he’s going to try to get rid of me before he offers a well-trained slave to his buyers.”
A shudder rocked through me. I clung to him, fighting back tears. “You won’t let that happen.”
“No, I won’t. But it’s going to get ugly.”
I tipped my face up to him, letting my complete confidence in him shine in my eyes. “Okay.”
“You might not look at me so sweetly once I’m done with them. You might be more than happy to go back to your family. Because...” His eyes suddenly flashed with emotion and his hands gripped me so hard I involuntarily cried out. “If they lay a finger on you, I’m going to skin them alive and hang them off the side of this ship by their entrails. Nothing will save them. I’ll kill every man on this ship.”
I stared at him, my eyes wide. Not with shock, exactly, because I thoroughly believed he was capable of such violence. It was more awe that he’d commit such murder for me. To keep me safe. Or to punish anyone who hurt me.
He jerked me up into his arms and strode over to the door where the guard waited outside. He slammed me back against the door, and its rattle rang like a gong through the walls. Pinned against the door, I clung to his shoulders while he dragged my dress up and ripped his way through my panties. He surged into me and I couldn’t help but cry out at such fierce penetration.
“Yes,” he growled against my neck, pushing me higher against the door. “I want you to beg for mercy.” He thrust again, making the door thud. “I want you to scream.”
His teeth gripped me at the juncture of my neck and right shoulder, grinding the sensitive tendon in his teeth. God, it felt incredible. He mauled me against that steel door, leaving fresh marks on my body. His marks. The harder he bit me, the louder I groaned, and the quicker he hammered me against that door. He felt bigger inside me, swollen and huge and so damned hard it felt like he was impaling me, impossibly deep inside me. As if my organs had to shift out of his way to make room for him.
“Please,” I sobbed, not caring who heard.
“Louder,” he growled with his teeth still buried in me.
A guttural cry escaped my throat each time he shoved me into the wall. He was breaking me into a thousand pieces. Shattered. He cracked me open and set me free and all I could do was hold on to his shoulders and scream.
I felt each spurt of his release like a river of hot lava flowing through me. He shook and heaved into me, emptying himself so completely that even his knees started to sag. Breathing hard, he dropped his head against the door and used his weight to keep us both upright. Semen ran down my thigh and I smelled him on me, as if he truly had marked me with his scent like an animal.
Man, sweat, come.
He’d have to drag me kicking and screaming into the shower later to make me wash him off.
He pressed his mouth to my ear, his voice so soft even I could barely hear him. “If I’m separated from you, just hide and stay put. I’ll find you. I promise.”
“I know.”
“Nothing will keep me from reaching you. Not even my brother, if he’s here. Certainly nothing Vlasenko can throw at me.”
“Matheson—”
“Her either. Let them come and try to take you from me, Ranay. I’ll scorch the earth until they give you back.” He leaned back and gripped my shoulders, giving me a little shake. “You. Are. Mine.”
I glowed as if he’d lit a bonfire inside of me. My eyes felt hot, my cheeks rosy, and I couldn’t stop smiling. I’d never again worry that he’d send me away for my own good.
Never.
He kissed the raw bite on my shoulder and then shifted me away from him to stand on my feet. As his cock slid out of me, a fresh flood of semen trickled down my thighs. Messy, sticky and sore enough I’d feel the aftereffects of his passion for hours. I didn’t ask for a moment in the bathroom and I didn’t put on fresh panties. My hair had tumbled down even more, but I didn’t care.
I wanted to look disheveled, well fucked and reeking of my Master’s come.
He opened the door and the guard smirked at us, leaning against the opposite wall. “Finally finished?”
Sheba trotted ahead of us. I wrapped my arm around Charlie’s elbow and leaned on him heavily, walking like I was drunk. I was drunk. On him. “Not even close.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Ranay
Still high on endorphins and sex, I draped my arms over Charlie’s thigh and used his knee to hold my chin up. We were the only ones in the room besides the guard, giving me some time to look around. Small groups of contemporary furniture scattered around the large room created individual conversation areas. In the center of the room, a wooden floor provided dance space, and a dais sat in the corner for a live band. The soft lighting and faint violin music playing in the background screamed class and lots of money. Vlasenko definitely wasn’t hurting in that department.
When he finally walked in, all I really noticed was that he wasn’t alone. Sheba nudged my hand with her nose, helping me focus on the woman with Vlasenko and his two guards. She wasn’t his wife.
It took me a moment to really see her. Then it scared the crap out of me.
She wore a ragged, stained rag that had once been a cute dress very much like my sundress. Simple, comfortable and brightly colored under the dark stains. God, I think that’s blood.
I dragged my gaze up to her face and winced. Someone had hit her so hard that her eye was swollen shut and the skin across her cheekbone had been sliced open. Her mouth was bloody too.
I so didn’t want to know why her mouth was bloody.
Knowing Vlasenko’s business...
I gripped a handful of Sheba’s fur, using the long black softness to hide my trembling fingers.
“I thought we’d have a little entertainment before dinner.” Vlasenko sat in a leather wing-back chair. He pointed at the floor in front of him. The woman crossed her arms and gave him a mulish glare despite the condition of her face. So not a submissive. One of the guards shoved her in the back, but she didn’t go down. So he kidney-punched her. Hunched, gasping with pain, she still stubbornly stayed on her feet.
It was agonizing to watch, especially as a submissive. My body kept silently urging her to give in, to surrender, it would be so much better than hurting. But could I blame her for fighting? I didn’t have a resistant bone in my body, but if Vlasenko gave me an order, I’d be hard-pressed not to tell him to fuck off too. I didn’t take orders from anyone but Charlie. Especially not creepy asshole human traffickers who got off on victimizing women.
The guard finally grabbed her arm, twisted it behind her back and applied pressure until her knees gave out. She twisted around and jabbed at the guard’s crotch, but he leaped backward with a curse. Vlasenko snagged a handful of her hair and yanked her back into place. “She’s not as well trained as your slave, Charles. Maybe you could give me some pointers. I’ll even let you try her out if you’d like.”
“I appreciate the offer, Mr. Vlasenko, but I must decline. She may not look it, but my girl is a feisty little thing. I’m exhausted from keeping her satisfied.”
Vlasenko eyed the bite on my shoulder. My skin was bruised in a clear indentation of Charlie’s teeth, but he hadn’t broken the skin. This time. “So I see. It’s rather bizarre to see a paid assassin with such a stellar reputation take his woman on a job.”
“She’s safest with me at all times.” Relaxed, Charlie patted my head. “I may acce
pt money to hunt down and kill serial killers, but I’ll kill anyone who fucks with her free of charge.”
“Understood.” Vlasenko laughed as if Charlie had just told him a joke. “I have arranged for a little demonstration. I hope it won’t be too bloody for you.”
Charlie laughed too, his hand gentle in my hair, but I heard the subtle edge in his voice. He’d warned the son of a bitch. “Nothing’s too bloody for me.”
Vlasenko waved a hand at the door.
Charlie’s breath hissed out and he stilled, quiet and intent. A deathly chill rolled from him as if he’d just put on the Grim Reaper’s mask. Somebody’s about to die.
A man strode through the door, staring hard at the blonde at Vlasenko’s feet. His entire will focused on her.
Vlasenko wound her hair around his hand, pulling her tighter against his leg. Slowly, the man lifted his formidable stare to Vlasenko. I knew that look all too well. Because my Master was staring just as intently at this man.
Is this his brother?
The picture Matheson had showed us had been too blurry to be sure. He was bald, mean-looking and certainly appeared to be capable of murder. He was built like a navy SEAL. Not an ounce of fat on him, taller than Charlie, more heavily muscled too. But he seemed... brittle.
As if the tiniest tap in the wrong spot would send him shattering like a delicate china teacup.
I didn’t see any similarities in his features to Charlie’s, but the older pictures he’d showed me of his brother had been the same way. I wouldn’t have been able to pick him out as Charlie’s brother if he hadn’t said so.
“He’s bleeding.” Charlie barely breathed the words. “Gunshot in the shoulder.”
Now that he pointed it out, I could tell his shirt over his right shoulder seemed wet and sticky, clinging to his skin more than the other sleeve.
“I’d intended for you to give us a demonstration of your... chemistry.” Vlasenko tugged on the woman’s hair hard enough she made a sound of pain. “But I like having her here by me too much to let you have a go at her. Even for my viewing pleasure.”
The man didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to, because his body language screamed murder. Fists closed, shoulders wide, his knees slightly bent like he was getting ready to explode into action.
Despite being beaten and held against her captor by her hair, the woman managed to give off a strong vibe of confidence. She didn’t cringe. She didn’t cry. She stared up at the bleeding man, but it didn’t seem romantic despite Vlasenko’s threats. I watched her, reading her body language. Not a slave. Not a damsel in distress. But there was a definite vibe of energy between them. Not a power dynamic like I had with Charlie, but something heavy. Dark. Erotic. That much I understood completely.
She looked at the man standing before Vlasenko like she wanted to cut him up and serve him for dinner, but for her, that wasn’t a bad thing. At all. “Kill this son of a bitch.”
Vlasenko suddenly had a gun in his hand, pointed at the woman’s head. “You have a job to do, Ghost. Best you get to it.”
The man whirled toward us and Charlie leaned back in his chair in a casual, elegant sprawl that surprised me. I thought he’d leap up and go for the kill immediately.
“Your slave should come stand over here where it’s safe.” Vlasenko gave me a look that made my skin crawl. Avarice. He didn’t see a human being when he looked at me, but a commodity to be sold. “Ghost won’t risk hurting his prize.”
Charlie didn’t dare take his eyes off the man. “Go, Ranay.”
Trembling, I rubbed my face against his thigh, fighting the urge to wail and cover him protectively with my body. That would only distract him from his target and probably get us both killed. I stood and Sheba jumped up, her ruff bristling as she growled low.
He snapped his fingers. “Stand down.” Immediately, she quieted, though she pressed against my legs and never took her eyes off the strangers. “Remember what I said, Ranay.”
I swallowed hard, fighting back tears. “Promise?”
“Always.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Charlie
When I finally found our father, he was holed up in a shack deep in the Louisiana swamps. He wasn’t surprised that I finally tracked him down. He’d been leaving me bread crumbs for years.
He wanted me to find him. It was part of the elaborate final exam to becoming his protégé.
I never told the FBI that some of my tips had come from an anonymous source, whom over the years I’d come to believe was my father. At first, I thought he simply wanted me to eliminate his competition, but it became more than that. He sent me increasingly cryptic hints to track down more powerful, deadlier killers. And one by one, I eliminated them.
I passed his tests and, in the end, came face-to-face with the man who’d haunted me since I was seventeen years old, when he forced me to watch my mother die. He fucking smiled at me, like he was proud that I found him. He wasn’t smiling when I put a bullet in his skull. I think he was honestly surprised that I didn’t want to slaughter at his side in a bloody hunt.
No, Dad. I might be a killer. But I’m not like you.
Of course, I said that while I disposed of his body across several tributaries to spread him out fairly among the critters.
So what gives me the fucking right to play judge and jury for my brother and decide he needs to die, when I murdered our own father? Yes, he was a monster. The very worst parts of myself that I’ve learned to control. Is that what justifies me to make a righteous killing?
How can it, when I carry the same cursed blood as Vince?
My brother. I finally found him, and I don’t know if I can kill him. If he’s as bad as Dad, then I must. I love him too much to leave him suffering like a rabid animal.
Vincent
Urgency burned like an unbearable itch Vincent couldn’t scratch. They were in serious trouble and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it. He didn’t even have a gun any longer, because the guard at the door had refused to let him enter until he’d handed over his Glock. Not that he needed a gun to kill, but it certainly would help his odds. He’d counted thirty men so far, just on the way to the ballroom. All new faces. Vlasenko was definitely up to something.
His shoulder throbbed like a bitch but he blocked the pain from his mind. Pain wouldn’t serve him well right now. Nor would rage.
Vincent stared at the man he was supposed to kill without really seeing him. He couldn’t focus. Not with Mads’s bloody, swollen face hovering in his mind. She had to have some kind of exit plan with her team, but would she risk calling off the operation if they didn’t have the buyers? Knowing her, he doubted it. But I don’t think we’ll live to see another auction.
“MacNiall?”
The man nodded but still didn’t stand up. His entire demeanor pissed him off. The man’s hands were up, fully visible, his fingers loosely clasped. He didn’t even lean forward or brace for a fight. Maybe he had a gun stashed under his jacket and thought he’d just blow Vincent away before he could get close. “Ghost, I presume?”
Vincent nodded impatiently. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
His eyebrows arched and he smiled. He fucking smiled like he knew a secret that would blow the whole fucking boat up with one flick of his finger. “You don’t recognize me? You used to have an excellent memory.”
Vincent narrowed his gaze on the man, trying to place him. Something tickled in the back of his mind, stirring deep behind a door he didn’t open very often. Sweat beaded on his forehead, but he braced a mental lock on that door, refusing to look inside. “Get up,” he rasped out.
“Make me.”
The man’s flippant attitude almost made him laugh, even while it pissed him off. He wasn’t much to look at. No brawn, no weapons. Either the man was insane... Or he
’s just that fucking good.
Vincent wagered on the latter.
Watching the man closely, he reached up and gripped his shoulder, letting pain show on his face as he ground his thumb against the wound. Bleeding had slowed, though he still couldn’t move it much without a sheen of sweat coating his face. Clean shot, though he probably had at least a broken collarbone. His fingers came away wet with blood. Holding his gaze, Vincent lifted those bloody fingers to his mouth.
MacNiall’s sardonic confidence slowly transformed to something else. It might have been grief, before cold seeped into his eyes. “So that’s the way it’s going to be.”
Blood always sent him soaring, heart pumping, muscles hungry for battle. If the man wouldn’t stand, then he’d just take him sitting down. Literally. He leaped forward, intending to drive the man’s air out with his knees flat on his chest. Instead, MacNiall kicked his feet up, caught Vincent in the abdomen and sent him flying over the top of his chair. He hit the floor and skidded into another set of chairs. He pushed up with one hand and MacNiall slammed into his back, bearing him flat. Vincent slung his elbow back and caught him in the face, using his momentum to push over into a roll. He crouched, watching the way MacNiall smoothly flipped to his feet and faced him, head low, hands loose at his sides. His brain caught on that move, recognized it, but then MacNiall attacked again, his hands a blur.
Vincent blocked the thrust toward his throat, turned away from the fist so the blow struck his biceps not his vulnerable collarbone, though it still made him grit his teeth. Bones shifted, grinding to dust. He jabbed his thumb into MacNiall’s solar plexus, sending him wheeling back, his breathing a wheeze. Vincent jumped on him, not giving him the chance to recover. They fell on a table, shattering glass and wood beneath them. MacNiall rolled away and back up to his feet in that trademark move again, but this time he was bleeding. A gash in the head always bled like a stuck pig. That pristine white linen wasn’t going to stay clean for long now.
Idiot. That’s why you always wear black. Hides the blood better.
Two Cuts Darker Page 20