Enforcer: Reckless Desires (Wolf Shifter Romance) (Alpha Protectors Book 4)

by Arran,Olivia

  Enforcer

  Alpha Protectors

  Olivia Arran

  Arran Publishing

  Contents

  1. Chapter One

  2. Chapter Two

  3. Chapter Three

  4. Chapter Four

  5. Chapter Five

  6. Chapter Six

  7. Chapter Seven

  8. Chapter Eight

  9. Chapter Nine

  10. Chapter Ten

  11. Chapter Eleven

  12. Chapter Twelve

  13. Chapter Thirteen

  14. Chapter Fourteen

  15. Chapter Fifteen

  16. Chapter Sixteen

  17. Chapter Seventeen

  18. Chapter Eighteen

  19. Chapter Nineteen

  20. Chapter Twenty

  21. Chapter Twenty-One

  22. Chapter Twenty-Two

  23. Chapter Twenty-Three

  24. Chapter Twenty-Four

  25. Chapter Twenty-Five

  26. Chapter Twenty-Six

  27. Chapter Twenty-Seven

  28. Chapter Twenty-Eight

  29. Chapter Twenty-Nine

  30. Chapter Thirty

  Epilogue

  From the Author

  Copyright © 2016 Olivia Arran

  All rights reserved worldwide. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18 and all characters represented as 18 or over.

  Edited by CM Editing

  Cover Design by Jacqueline Sweet

  If you’d like to know when Watcher, Book 5 in the Alpha Protectors series, releases, please sign up for Olivia’s newsletter!

  Chapter One

  Abel

  Asphalt dug into my knees as a cool breeze caressed my hair. Northeasterly, I noted automatically. Street lamps flooded the sidewalks below with crisscrossed balls of light, leaving scattered shadows at their edges. The street was nearly empty save for a couple of pedestrians striding with purpose, their heads down and collars pulled up against the unseasonal bite to the air.

  Steady. My breathing slowed as I dug my elbows into the ledge.

  The doors to the restaurant swung open, saturating the air with the smell of garlic and oil.

  My finger locked into place, the movement smooth and practiced. A slight pressure, just enough to know it was there.

  A woman stepped out into the night.

  Not my target.

  Relaxing my finger, I stroked the cold metal.

  I watched as she fished out a tiny cell phone from her bag, the shrill ringtone breaking the silence. She wandered off, the phone jammed to her ear, stiletto heels clicking against the sidewalk and echoing like gunfire.

  The target would be on the move soon. The restaurant was due to close anytime now.

  “What’cha doing?”

  I thought about ignoring the voice, hoping she’d go away. But I knew better. Not moving a muscle, I grunted. Let her figure that one out.

  “Aw, Abel, that cuts deep! Are you not going to say hi?”

  “Go away, Frankie.”

  The sound of feet deliberately scuffing asphalt reached my ears.

  I gritted my teeth. I hated people sneaking up on me, and she knew it. She must have kept downwind or I’d have smelled her coming; she was good … too good.

  Hot breath dusted my ear; it smelled like chocolate. “I’ve missed you,” she whispered, her voice throaty and suggestive.

  Then she sat on my back.

  What the—?

  Strong hands traced a path down my spine as her fingers deftly dug into my poor, cramped muscles.

  “I’m a man with a gun,” I ground out, fighting the urge to melt into her wicked fingers.

  “I know. It’s hot.”

  I could hear the smirk in her voice, could visualize her face as clearly as if I were looking at her. One eyebrow would be arched and her generous mouth—the bottom lip fuller than the top and perfect for nibbling on—would be stretched in a cat-got-the-cream kind of smile.

  My wolf whined inside of me as he rolled onto his back, wagging his goddamn tail.

  Traitor.

  “I’m working.”

  “I can see that.”

  “So … get off me.”

  “Only if you promise to turn around and talk to me.”

  Nothing changed, Frankie would always be … Frankie. Stubborn, headstrong, dangerous, and a little unhinged. Basically, my perfect woman.

  Which was why I had kept my distance. Or tried to.

  The restaurant doors swung open again. A man emerged. He was dressed in an expensive looking overcoat—wool, I was guessing, if you were into that sort of thing—a briefcase in his hand, his blond hair bleached white by the artificial light.

  Yup. Target confirmed. I brushed my finger over the trigger, everything around me melting away except for the man in front of me.

  Another man burst out of the restaurant, blocking my view.

  Narrowing my eyes, I tracked my target’s movements, waiting for a clean shot. Filtering out all other sounds, his heartbeat echoed in my ears, a steady thud that would soon be silenced.

  “I don’t like being ignored.” Frankie’s voice boomed in my ear, only inches away.

  I slowed my breathing, checking the wind for what must be the hundredth time.

  A sharp dig in the side of my ribs reminded me that I still had a passenger. This has to be the weirdest job I’ve ever.…

  Another sharp dig, and this time I heard the soft pop as leather gave way.

  What the—? “Are you prodding me with a knife?”

  “How else am I going to get your attention?”

  I let out a pointed sigh. “And you can have it, just give me one more minute.”

  “Sorry, no can do!” She sang the words, digging the knife in again. “You see, that’s my target and if I allow you to kill him then I won’t get paid.”

  Ah. That’s why she’s here.

  “Of course, if you’re too much of a scaredy cat for a little challenge …?” she murmured, pressing a kiss to the side of my neck.

  My skin burned under her lips.

  Still no clear shot.

  “What are you suggesting?” I asked, despite the warning bells blaring inside my head. Life had been dull lately, the days and jobs blending into one big ball of fucked up yawnsville.

  “Remember that time in Rome?” Her teeth nipped at my neck and I bit back a groan.

  Oh, yeah. I remembered Rome. Suddenly, it wasn’t just the ground that was rock hard. “Yeah … I think so. What about it?” I knew if I turned around, she’d be pouting at me.

  “I demand a rematch.”

  “And why would I do that? I’ve got eyes on this guy, fair and square. Go find yourself another pay check.”

  “Uh, check again, sugar.”

  I almost groaned out loud at the obvious glee in her voice. I scanned the street. My target was almost into a dark town car, just the tip of his shiny loafer poking out. Then … he was gone.

  “Whoops! Sorry!” She sprung off my back.

  Taking a deep breath, I lowered my rifle and rose up onto my knees. With rapid movements, smo
oth with years of practice, I dismantled the gun and laid it in the cushioned box beside me, snapping the case shut with a soft click.

  Then I turned around.

  Frankie was perched on an air conditioning unit, her legs swinging back and forth. Dressed head to toe in some sort of stretchy black fabric, my gaze feasted on every contour of her body. Not that I couldn’t describe every dip and curve with my eyes shut, recall in an instant the warmth of her skin under my hands, the scent of her as she heated for me, and the sounds of her cries as she came apart beneath me. Or on top of me. Or against a wall.

  So I scowled at her.

  “Grumpy,” she called out, flicking a knife between her fingers. Probably the knife she’d just used to distract me.

  Grabbing my case, I strolled over to the stairwell, watching her out of the corner of my eye.

  She paused, the knife poised for another round of eenie-meenie-minie-mo with her fingers.

  Dropping the case at the door, I made my way over to her, taking my time. Call me a fool, but I liked the way her eyes ate me up, her gaze heating with frank appreciation.

  Not many women looked at me like that.

  None that I cared to notice, anyway.

  I was about a foot away when she stuck her leg out. Topped in a chunky black biker boot that was made more for practicality than fashion, she’d done her usual thing and stuck two fingers up at the assassin code of conduct, if there was such a thing. The soles were painted with a pink glitter that had me wincing.

  “Nice boots.”

  “Thanks. They’re a bitch to clean, though. And don’t get me started on the cost of glitter paint.” She rifled in her pocket, eventually dragging out a mangled looking bar of chocolate. Ripping the top off, she waved it at me. “Want some?”

  “Is it a peace offering?”

  “Nope.” She snapped off a chunk and popped it into her mouth. Rolling her eyes with exaggerated pleasure, she groaned. “There’s nothing in this world better than chocolate.”

  “Not even …” I couldn’t help the grin that tugged at my lips. Frankie always did that to me, no matter how hard I tried to remain aloof.

  “Hmmm. Depends on who with.” Her face creased up, as if she was trying to solve a tricky equation, or something equally puzzling. “Oh, you mean, with you?” She winked at me, her tongue darting out to lick at a stray smudge of chocolate.

  As if she was thinking of anyone else.…

  This time my grin was full on. “You never change, Frankie.”

  She sighed, shrugging her shoulders. “Life’s too unpredictable to change. And I like this look on you.”

  I glanced down. I was wearing the same battered jeans and leather jacket I’d always worn. Or, at least, had worn for the last five years since joining up with F.U.R—Freelance Undercover Resolutions. A five-man team, all alpha wolf shifters, all with a chip on our shoulders. Though mine was more like a boulder, which was why I chose solo jobs even if it meant killing someone. All right, especially if it meant killing someone.

  “I meant the smile. But you look as yummy as always. I kinda like your bad-ass-hell-if-I’m-spending-money-on-clothes look. It’s hot.”

  How the hell did I answer that? I chose silence.

  “And now you’re glowering again.” She jumped down off the vent and slid the knife back into wherever the hell she hid them.

  I didn’t want to look too close.

  Okay. I did. But I shouldn’t.

  “Are we on then?” She shoved a now empty candy wrapper into her pocket—where the hell was she hiding those damn pockets?—and circled me slowly.

  “You really want to challenge me?”

  Sugar sweet breath drifted by my ear as she whispered, “Oh, yes, sweetcheeks. I do.”

  Damn, there’s something hot as hell about a woman who’s tall enough to look me in the eye. A reminder that if her eyes line up, so does her … The thought trailed off, my mind circling the fantasy I knew to be true.

  Shoving my hands into my pockets to keep them from going AWOL, I gritted my teeth. “Okay. Winner takes all?”

  “Yup. Same as always. Winner’s pick.”

  I was an idiot for agreeing, had told myself the last time that I was done. But here I was again. Torturing myself with the sweet certainty that I would get to taste her again. Either on her terms, or mine. And I was definitely killing myself with the knowledge that when it was done, we would both walk away. Again.

  But I still said yes.

  Not trusting myself to speak, I gave her a curt nod and strode toward the door. Picking up the case, I glanced back over at her, even though I knew I shouldn’t.

  My wolf decided at that exact moment to throw himself against the cages of my mind, his head thrown back in a howl of frustration. My eyes bled from gray to gold before I had the chance to push him back.

  “Well, hello, Mr. Big-bad-wolf,” she murmured.

  I slammed through the door, and sprinted down the stairs.

  She was the one woman who knew what I was; I’d shared my secret in a moment of weakness, driven by the self-sabotaging urge to push her away. But she hadn’t run screaming, hadn’t looked at me in disgust or fear.

  She’d come back for more, and I’d let her. Again and again, we’d circled each other, pretending not to care, never saying the words.

  Which meant there was only one thing for it, only one way to break the destructive cycle. I had to win, then I had to refuse my prize.

  I had to say no to Frankie.

  Chapter Two

  Frankie

  “Hello Mr. Big-bad-wolf?” I groaned out loud, rooting in my pocket for another fix of the yummy good stuff, but came up empty. I contemplated licking the smudges of chocolate off my fingers, which was nearly as bad as licking the wrapper—something I may, or may not, have done. Once. Maybe. Giving in, I popped my finger into my mouth, sucking the tip thoughtfully.

  There was something about Abel that brought out the worst in me.

  One look at him and I could kiss goodbye the moderately sensible, slightly shy, good-girl-gone-a-little-bad me, and wave hello to the potty-mouthed, hormone crazed daredevil that liked to poke and prod a man who could snap her in half, if he wanted to.

  I should know. He’d done a pretty good job of it the last time we’d hooked up, bending me like a pretzel … and I’d loved it.

  See? Hormone crazed daredevil! Well, there was no point in hanging around here. I scanned the roof, checking for signs that we’d been here—it was never good to leave tracks. Something shiny glinted over near the edge, where Abel had been sprawled.

  Aw, come on, I wasn’t being fair. He didn’t sprawl, more like posed. Or crouched, maybe? Laid? I wandered over, scooping the object off the floor and turning it in my hand, eventually letting it dangle from my finger as I stared in abject fascination. What was a werewolf doing with a cross? And I was pretty damn sure it was silver too, which meant I had to reassess my list of known werewolf weaknesses.

  Try saying that after a drink. Known werewolf weaknesses. I smirked at my own hilariousness, tucking the cross into my pocket and making my way back across the rooftop. The wind had turned bitter and my thin leggings and vest weren’t doing a damn thing to keep it out. Should have snagged Abel’s jacket.

  I made my way down the stairs, avoiding touching the bannister which looked suspiciously sticky, while trying to decide if I should call in an update, or not.

  Not. I decided, rounding the last set of stairs and hurrying into the homeward stretch. The Agency would get all uptight and freaked out, it wasn’t worth it. And they might take me off the job, which so wasn’t happening. Not when I had a prize waiting for me at the finish line.

  A yummy, man shaped prize. The biggest specimen I’d ever had the pleasure of laying eyes—or hands—on, all wrapped up in denim and leather like my own personal chocolate bar. One that didn’t seem put off, or worse, emasculated, by a woman topping six feet with an ass to match. An ass that I happened to think was my best goddamn
feature, and fuck anyone who couldn’t handle it.

  Stepping out into the street, I scanned for threats. I need to get me one of those leather jackets. One with pockets—lots and lots of pockets—all different sizes, but most definitely hand size.

  I considered, and rejected, sticking my hands into the waist band of my leggings to warm them up, setting off at a clip back to my apartment. Taking a circuitous route, a hazard of the trade, I strolled down side streets and around houses before hitting the street I wanted. It was a pain in the ass, but I liked being able to sleep at night.

  There was also the little problem of the Agency disposing of anyone they considered a threat. And that included friends, family—if I’d had any, no worries there—and boyfriends. The only person I was allowed to have any kind of a relationship with was Dez, my handler at the Agency. She was also my best friend and roommate. The roommate thing was approved, but we kept our friendship on the down low. Safer that way—for the both of us.

  One last scan of the street assured me that I wasn’t being followed. I slipped into my building, bypassing the elevator and heading straight up the stairs to my apartment.

  Closing the door behind me with a soft click, I slid the deadbolt into place along with the security chain. After all, you never knew what kind of people were out there, roaming the streets. Dez was already home, soft snores filtering from her bedroom and announcing her presence. Making my way straight to my room, I collapsed on my bed in a big puddle of self pity.

  Ignoring the gnawing ache in my stomach, I rolled over onto my front, giving myself permission to bliss out, but only for five minutes.

  Abel. Damn. What was it about him? Excusing the obvious of course. He was built like a truck, and really, come to think of it, he should have a sign declaring wide load… Dragging my mind back out of the gutter, I allowed myself one girly sigh. Okay, two. He was it, for me. The perfect guy. Brooding, strong, deadly, knew his way around a gun. And I didn’t have to worry about the Agency offing him, because he was a fucking werewolf! How cool was that?