Unlawful Attraction: The Complete Box Set: Alpha Billionaire Romance

by Parker, M. S.

  The hitman noticed my attention, and his brows arched. With a smile curling his lips, he walked over, cutting a wide circle that kept me in his line of sight as he moved to the phone. He held my eyes as he picked it up, a different kind of amusement in his gaze. In the other hand, he lifted the weapon, pointing it at me.

  “Hello, Mr. Porter’s residence. Can I help you?”

  In the faint pause that followed, I could make out nothing about who was on the other side. He was too far away and the caller spoke too quietly. A part of me wasn't sure I wanted to know, because if it was someone I cared about, I didn't know how I'd react.

  Though who would...?

  Shit. Dena.

  If that was her...

  My stomach clenched.

  “No, I’m sorry,” he said, head cocked. “I’m a friend. I’m afraid Mr. Porter is indisposed for the next few minutes. May I take a message? He will be back presently.”

  The man sounded like a damn diplomat’s personal assistant. He barely had an accent at all.

  Amusement glinted in his eyes as he looked over at me. “Oh, hello, Mrs. Pott – oh, Miss Pott, I apologize. May I say, you have a very...no, forgive me. That is inappropriate. I just feel as though I know you because Mr. Porter speaks of you so often.”

  Jaw clenched, I fought not to come off the chair and go after him. The only thing that stopped me was the fact that I wasn’t bullet proof, or faster than a fucking bullet. My assistant at the firm seemed competent. She was certainly eager to prove herself to me. I just hoped she was smart enough to not give out any important personal information to the schmuck on the phone.

  Although chances were, the hitman knew more than I wanted him to anyway. I wouldn't have exactly counted Ella Pott as someone I cared about, but she wasn't someone I wanted to see hurt. I needed to get out of here.

  “In answer to your question, I’m a friend of Arik’s. Yes, we go way back. I’m just in the area for the evening – dropped in to ask for a favor and a...” He swirled the scotch around in a glass and smiled. “Drink. He had to step out to take a call. Business related. Shall I take a message?”

  A few moments later, he hung up. He’d delicately tried to push for more information from her.

  He’d failed.

  I’d be giving Ms. Pott a bonus.

  Assuming, of course, that I lived.

  “She is very professional.” He returned to his seat, the weapon lifted and pointed dead at my forehead once more. “You should give her a bonus.”

  I didn’t like how his thoughts echoed mine so closely, but I managed a casual shrug. “I should. Good help isn’t always easy to come by.”

  When he grinned at me, I decided that I wanted to see him choking on that shit-eating grin. Hitmen really shouldn’t be so easily amused, especially not when they're contemplating how to kill you.

  “She says that a woman called for you.” He really seemed to be enjoying himself now. “Said she was from the DA's office and needed to speak to you. I wonder who that could have been.”

  Dena.

  I forced myself to keep very still, not wanting to give him the slightest hint that I cared.

  “It's getting late,” I said.

  “It is,” he agreed. “Let’s get back to business then.” He leaned forward, the gun dangling negligently between his knees.

  Yet again, I wasn’t disarmed by his supposed lack of caution. His eyes were far too alert for him to not be paying attention to everything. I assumed that he wouldn't still be alive if he wasn't good at his job. I felt pretty certain that most hit-men who were distracted rarely lived long.

  Case in point, his eyes shot to the door almost a second before the knock came.

  “You are a busy man for somebody who didn’t seem to be aware he had plans this evening, Mr. Porter,” he muttered, looking vaguely disgusted for the first time that evening. As he rose again, he looked over at me. “Were you expecting company?”

  I shook my head. Keeping my voice low, I said, “Ignore it. They probably have the wrong apartment. Whoever it is will go away.”

  I hoped so anyway. I could only think of one person who knew about this place. I hadn't finished moving in until a couple days ago.

  He ran his tongue across his teeth as he flicked his eyes between the door and me.

  The knock came again.

  Slowly, he walked over and looked into the hallway. “It’s a woman. She is pretty.” He glanced at me. “I know her, Mr. Porter.”

  Shit.

  He walked partway back toward me and spoke in a low voice. “It is the assistant DA. Perhaps she is the one who called your Miss Pott. I have seen you with her.”

  The smile told me that he didn't just mean in the courtroom.

  “You…well, you have an interesting relationship with her, do you not? And Bethany McDermott? She doesn’t like her at all.”

  “Fuck Bethany McDermott,” I said before I could stop myself.

  His lips rolled in like he was suppressing a laugh.

  The knock hadn’t come again.

  Blowing out a slow breath, I hoped that meant Dena had left. I needed her to be safe. More than my own life, I wanted her to be safe.

  But just as I started to relax, her voice rang out.

  “Arik? Are you in there? I need to talk to you.”

  “She’ll go away,” I said again, making it more firm this time, as if that would make a difference. Go away, Dena… please

  But he was already walking to the door. “I don’t think I want her to.”

  My body tensed and I half-rose, already prepared to shout out a warning. But he had his gun lifted, pointed to the door. If he squeezed the trigger...I had good security, but I didn't know how well the door would hold up to a bullet.

  Slowly, I lowered myself back into the seat, and when he opened the door, I saw her.

  My heart seemed to freeze inside my chest.

  This couldn't be happening.

  Chapter 3

  Dena

  I almost turned to leave after he didn’t answer the second knock. But I didn’t have any place else to go other than home. Leslie would have no problem with me staying with her for a couple days, but it wasn't like she lived in some heavily guarded building with bulky security guards. I knew Club Privé was open, and that all I'd have to do is go there and tell Carrie and Gavin that I was worried, but I didn't want to put this on them. Gavin was the type who'd want to take charge, and that would make him a target.

  I didn’t want to put them in danger.

  But, apparently, I had no problem putting Arik in danger.

  I might've been a horrible person for it, but instead of turning away, I called out. “Arik? Are you in there? I need to talk to you.”

  Several more seconds passed without an answer, and I started to turn away, certain that he'd chosen to ignore me, but then the doorknob turned. The memory of our last encounter was all that kept me from taking an immediate step toward him.

  Except it wasn’t Arik standing there.

  I recognized those eyes right away, and I supposed that was one of the things that saved me. That, and the fact that I hadn’t taken that step toward the door. A few moments ago, I’d been standing right there, but now, with a distance of a few feet between me and him, I had a precious split second for my brain and body to react.

  My brain screamed shit, but my gut took over. Later, I’d have to thank my dad for insisting I take some seriously grueling self-defense courses once he realized I was serious about going into criminal law.

  I was far from tall or muscular, but I knew how to use what I did have. What I had was the knowledge that my legs were the most powerful muscles in my body, and when he went to reach for me, I moved toward him instead of away as he probably expected.

  It also helped that he was partially behind the door, because that was where I kicked. I kicked straight at it, snapping out with my knee the way I’d learned. I hadn’t gone to class in years, but I’d studied throughout middle and high s
chool, and muscle memory was a beautiful thing. The door drove back into him and he grunted. With a gliding little half-hop, I kicked forward again, driving him back farther, and battering him with the door a second time.

  That was when somebody else joined the fight, ramming the stranger into the wall.

  Something clattered on the floor and, instinctively, I kicked at it before I even realized it was a gun. It slid away as I squeezed myself in through the tight space allowed by the two struggling bodies.

  Arik drove a fist into the man’s face hard enough to make me wince.

  He spewed out something ugly in a harsh, deep language – Russian, I thought. Of course it was Russian. I knew who he was now, and he sure as hell wasn't murmuring sweet nothings in French.

  While my mind kept up the strange babbling, another part of me stepped up and took over. I didn’t feel like me as I bent down and grabbed the gun, and I sure as hell didn’t feel like me as I gripped it and checked the safety. It had been on. How weird was that?

  But it didn't matter the reasoning. What mattered was that, even though I'd never owned a gun or intended to own one, a couple years ago, I'd taken a gun safety course and done some target practicing.

  When the hitman managed to flip his way on top of Arik, I stepped closer and pressed the nose of the gun to the back of his head.

  My voice was as cold as I'd ever heard it. “Safety’s off now.”

  He froze.

  A split second later, a weird, whining noise escaped his throat, and he rolled off to the side, curled in on himself and clutching at his crotch. People rarely acknowledged that, in a life-or-death situation, even a man will knee another man in the balls.

  Arik sat up, panting. His nose was bleeding, his bottom lip split. He looked at me as he staggered upright, the concern on his face focused all on me. When he took a step toward me, hand outstretched as if to take the gun, I backed up.

  “I think I can handle the fucking gun. Why don’t you tie him up or something?”

  Arik's eyes widened slightly, but I didn't really care about his surprise at the moment. I wanted to make sure the man on the ground didn't sense a moment of hesitation.

  “The…little girl…thinks she can…handle a gun.” The hitman wheezed out a laugh.

  “Fuck off,” I snapped. I'd always prided myself on my level-headedness, but that part of my self-control had snapped at some point in the last few hours.

  The hitman rolled onto one knee and I shifted, making sure the gun was still aimed at him.

  “Give me the gun. I’ll go. My…business here is done.”

  “I’m curious about that.” Off to the side, Arik was rummaging around in nearby drawers.

  I couldn't figure out what was taking him so long. He had to have something here he could use. The man was a Dom for fuck's sake!

  Then it hit me. All of Arik's bondage things were in his bedroom or playroom, not out here. And he apparently didn't want to leave the room. It almost made me laugh.

  The hitman shifted again, bringing my thoughts back to the present. I knew I was dangerously close to going into shock. I needed to focus on something, anything, to keep my head on straight.

  “While we're waiting, why don’t you tell me about those plans, and maybe about your relationship with my boss?”

  His eyelids flickered and he tensed. For a moment, I thought he was going to come after me, then his mouth opened slightly as he started to say something.

  Whatever those words were, however, died when Arik smashed something heavy down on his head. I figured out what it was a moment later when the potent fumes of whiskey flooded the air. The hitman slumped forward, his eyes rolling toward the back of his skull.

  Over the unconscious body, Arik looked up at me. His emerald gaze burned, his chest heaved. “Unconscious is just as good as tied up, right?” He swiped at the blood on his face and took a half step toward me.

  I swallowed and looked away. “We need to call the…”

  “Police!”

  “Mr. Porter, we received–”

  “Ma’am, drop the gun, hands up!”

  “Oh, for crying out loud.”

  Lifting one hand into the air, I knelt down and put the gun on the now-blood splattered carpet. Idly, I wondered how much it would cost to clean it, or if Arik would just have it replaced. Pity. The place was so new.

  Arik spoke up as he edged toward me. “Officers, you’re holding a weapon on the wrong person. This is ADA Dena Monroe…”

  As he started to explain, I closed my eyes and tried to deal with the spinning in my head.

  This was going to prove to be one long, long night.

  ***

  One of the officers approached me as I stood in the kitchen drinking water a few minutes later.

  “I’m sorry about…” He gestured toward the door.

  Shaking my head, I said, “You’re doing your job. Security alert, unknown person holding a weapon…you did what you’re trained to do.”

  He nodded. “Appreciate the understanding, Miss Monroe. Mr. Porter explained everything to us, but I’ll need to take your statement as well.”

  I really didn't want to go over anything, but I knew procedure. “Of course.”

  We were only halfway through my explanation of what had happened – with the careful but legal exclusion of the fact that I'd seen the hitman fucking my boss earlier this week – when there was another knock on the somewhat askew door. Between me kicking it and Arik’s unexpected guest shoving back, even its excellent construction hadn’t been able to hold up. It was a good thing Arik's family owned the building. Otherwise, that would've been a bitch to try to explain.

  The new addition didn't bother to introduce himself or be invited inside.

  “I’ll be running the investigation from here on out,” he announced.

  I stood to the side and listened as he walked around, introducing himself to the officers, to Arik. Based on the way he was carrying himself, Lieutenant Beale considered his presence to be quite important.

  I already didn't like him.

  When he paused by the suspect, a faint smirk curved his lips and he shook his head.

  “Always knew that arrogance would trip you up sooner or later.”

  The now semi-coherent hitman sneered, but didn't say anything.

  Lieutenant Beale came toward me at last. “Ms. Monroe, I take it?”

  I glanced down at his hand and debated shaking it. Then I reminded myself that I was an ADA and there was no reason to be rude. I'd probably have to work with this man at some point and he hadn't really done anything that deserved my dislike. His grasp was firm, precise, like he'd practiced the perfect handshake.

  “I take it you’re in the middle of giving your statement?” The smile that came with the question was close-lipped and didn't reach his eyes.

  “Yes.” I pushed a hand through my hair, and tried not to sigh. “I take it I need to start all over?”

  “It would simplify things.”

  I looked at the water I was still drinking. Taking a sip, I said, “I’m still a little shocky. I need the fluids, Lieutenant. Give me a minute and I’ll start this all over again.”

  “I hate to be an inconvenience.” The corner of his mouth hitched up in a smile more infuriating than the last. “But it’s useful, as you are probably aware, to get solid facts. The sooner we can get this done, the sooner you can go home.”

  Asshole. I took another sip of my water, half out of spite, and when I lowered the glass, my hand shook badly enough that I spilled the liquid across my hand and arm.

  The officer I'd originally been talking to handed me a paper towel.

  “Thanks.” I gave him a grateful look and then looked at the lieutenant.

  “Miss Monroe,” Lieutenant Beale said my name, as if reminding me that he was still here. And that I was wasting his time.

  That thin veneer of control I'd managed to get back in the last few minutes cracked. “I'm so sorry, Lieutenant, if I'm being an incon
venience. Please excuse me.” Sarcasm dripped off of every word. “I mean, it's not like I've never had a gun pointed at me, or had to point a gun at someone else. I'm sure every native New Yorker or ADA has been in this situation numerous times. I'll try to get my shit together.”

  Lieutenant Beale's eyes narrowed even as color crept up his neck and cheeks. “Why don't you do that?” He yanked his phone out of his pocket. “I'm going to call 1PP to give them an update.” He stalked away.

  “Excuse Lieutenant Beale,” the officer next to me said. “He’s only on the force to meet the asshole quota, Ms. Monroe.” He gave me a grin. “That or the dick quota. Actually, I think he meets both.”

  I smiled to show him I appreciated the support. Then my eyes met Arik's and I saw that he didn't think any of this was funny either.

  ***

  It took forever for Lieutenant Beale to finish taking my statement, and an equally long time for him to finish with Arik. I was pretty sure he was dragging it out intentionally. By the time it was all said and done, I wanted to collapse. Actually, I pretty much did. Sitting on Arik's couch, my legs curled up beneath me, my eyes had drooped closed, and the next thing I knew, Arik was rubbing my shoulder.

  “Dena.”

  Jerking upright, I automatically swung for the person touching me.

  He caught my wrist, his grip firm, but not rough. He gave me a wry smile as his thumb brushed across my racing pulse-point. “I’ve got to tell you, Councilor. That’s one hell of a right hook you’ve got.”

  Staring at him, aware of the fact that more than a few of the officers were watching with varying degrees of interest, I jerked on my wrist.

  “Sorry,” I muttered, embarrassment making my voice sharp. Blood rushed to my face as I stood up and took a few unsteady steps off to the side. “I’m a little…jumpy.”

  “Understandable.” One of the cops moved between us and gave me a professional smile. He wasn't the one I'd given my statement to, but he seemed just as nice. “We were just telling Mr. Porter that he’d have to pack up for a few days. I doubt there’s much evidence to collect, but the techs will have to go through. And…”