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

by Arran,Olivia

  “Looks like she got in a fight while inside.”

  “Inside?”

  Neil scanned the screen, clicking through a couple of pages. “Yeah … she made a big jump, straight from the petty stuff right into the big leagues.”

  “Murder.” It was there in black and white. Frankie had stabbed a guy, and not just once, she’d stabbed him twelve times. She’d been found with the knife on her, her victim’s blood soaking her clothes.

  “She was tried as an adult and sentenced to twenty years.” He continued scrolling past pages of legal tech jargon, then stopped. “She was killed by a fellow inmate, just thirty days into her sentence.”

  None of it made sense. Someone powerful had made it look like Frankie was dead? But why bother? Why her?

  I grabbed the printout and strode out of the door, ignoring Neil’s startled yell. Frankie had been yanked out of the system for a reason, and I didn’t have to think too hard why. This Agency she had mentioned working for was behind that. But it had never crossed my mind that she hadn’t had a choice when she’d been recruited.

  And I would bet my last dollar they’d had something to do with Frankie being sent down in the first place.

  So, who the hell were they? And, more importantly, where could I find them?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Frankie

  Checking my watch, I stifled an inappropriate sigh. The arches of my feet ached, I’d lost all feeling in my toes over an hour ago thanks to the ridiculous stilettos that were a part of my uniform for tonight’s job. I was hanging onto the last shred of my dignity by the tips of my fabulous sparkly-purple nails.

  Gulping in the cool night air, I elbowed a path through the throng gathered outside the trendy nightclub, previously mentioned fabulous nails digging into my client’s sleeve.

  The client’s hand landed on my ass, a big meaty paw squeezing my buttocks like a stress ball.

  “I’ll give you two seconds to remove your hand, or—”

  “Or what? You’ll remove it for me?”

  Ten points for not being a complete idiot as well as a lecherous fool.

  His breath whispered past my ear, moist spittle landing on my cheek. “You work for me.”

  Uh oh. He wasn’t going with the whole—

  “I own your ass for the night.”

  Yeah. He’d gone there.

  “Get yourself a new bodyguard, then,” I replied, flippantly, intercepting his hand mid-swoop and wrenching his pinky finger back. It was a damn shame, this gig had been easy money so far, but a woman had to have standards. Ground rules. I sauntered off, his high-pitched wail ringing in my ears. Maybe I can claim an hourly rate?

  “Where do you think you’re going?” It was a pitiful whine.

  Oh, geez … Cocking a hip, I planted my hand. “Do I have to spell it out for you?”

  He actually looked embarrassed. “I thought …”

  “What? That I was a part of the deal?” I couldn’t believe my ears.

  “Well … yeah,” he replied, a sheepish expression on his face.

  “Do you molest your male bodyguards?”

  “No!”

  “Exactly.” Point made, I continued my saunter toward a well deserved bubble bath and mug of hot cocoa.

  “What do you want? I’m sorry. I won’t touch you again!” It was a quiet hiss.

  My poor feet ground to a halt. Dammit! I sucked in a deep breath. Focus on the pay check. The nice, big, fat, easy pay check. Plastering a smile on my face that was two steps above a scowl, I turned around. “Okay. Where to?”

  “There’s a new club I want to try downtown, newly opened, it’s supposed to be the place to be seen. Very exclusive.”

  Oh, goody.

  I joined him as we walked back to the crowd, linking my arm in his to protect my cover. To anyone watching, our disagreement would have looked like a lovers’ tiff. “Don’t go getting handsy on me.”

  “I won’t. But you can’t blame a guy for trying.” White teeth flashed in my direction with what was presumably meant to be a sincere smile.

  Rich, famous, and reasonably good looking—if you could see past the way his nostrils flared alarmingly every time he took a breath—he probably wasn’t used to women turning him down, but he didn’t do a thing for me. Too clean cut and smooth and blond and smooth and—

  Not Abel.

  Jumping into his town car, I managed to survive the short trip without falling into Mr. Smooth’s lap, something his driver was obviously being paid to try and make happen, considering the way he threw the car around corners, tires screeching and engine gunning. Two minutes later we were downtown, and I catapulted from the car. “Are you sure this is the place?” Glancing around, I eyed the neighborhood with undisguised skepticism.

  The row of houses at one point would have been impressive, their wide sweeping steps clinging to dreams of grandeur and better times. But, once white, they were now shades of gray, their wood cladding cracked and worn with time and neglect.

  Unless the club was in a soundproof basement, we were at the wrong place.

  Mr. Smooth pulled out his phone, confusion on his face. “This is the place … no, wait, we’re at the wrong end. It’s down here.” Rather than climbing back into the waiting car, he set off down the road, expecting me to follow.

  The car didn’t move, a spark of flame highlighting the driver’s face as he lit a cigarette.

  Didn’t he know my feet hurt? Biting back the urge to throttle him, I minced my way after him in a half jog, half shuffle.

  “Here we are.”

  “Here?” It looked no different from the house we’d been staring at a minute ago. Just as neglected and most definitely empty.

  “This is where—”

  I tapped him on the shoulder, breaking off his intense perusal of the house in question. As if a party would suddenly appear. “I hate to break it to you, but I think someone’s pranking you.”

  I watched as understanding dawned on him, disbelief coloring his eyes before they darkened with fury. “I’m going to—”

  Movement caught my eye, and I cut off his rant by slapping my hand over his mouth. Not the most elegant solution, but effective. “We have company,” I hissed.

  His eyes widened as he mumbled wetly against my palm.

  Ew.

  The car was still at the top of the street, the interior pitch black.

  “Start moving, but slowly. We don’t want to tip them off.” Grabbing his arm, I steered him around.

  “Going somewhere?” A disembodied voice called out.

  Feigning shock, I forced out a whimper.

  Mr. Smooth sped up, dragging me with him.

  A man stepped out of the shadows, blocking our path. He was thick set, with arms that bulged and hands the size of dinner plates.

  Lucky me.

  And he wasn’t alone. Two more men glided out into the light, both tall and heavy and mean looking.

  “We don’t want any trouble,” Mr. Smooth declared in a voice sounding surprisingly calm, but he was an award winning actor, after all.

  “And we’re not going to give you any, so long as you do as we ask.” The first man—the ringleader—decided that now was the perfect time to reinforce the stereotype by smacking his fist against his hand, cracking his knuckles and grinning at us.

  I almost groaned out loud. Really? That was the best he could come up with?

  “Is this what you want?” Mr. Smooth pulled out his wallet, flicked it open and pulled out the largest wad of cash I’d ever seen. He shoved it toward the ringleader.

  I was pretty sure that letting him get mugged meant I wasn’t doing my job right. Which meant I wouldn’t get paid. And I needed to get paid, even if only for my poor feet. I grabbed his arm, yanking it back.

  “Hey!” The shout came from one of the men behind me.

  A meaty hand shot out and grabbed my arm, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. “Someone here needs to practice sharing, boys.” The ringleader smirked at
me, oozing confidence along with a good dose of garlic.

  Easing my shoes off, I wriggled my toes on the damp sidewalk, keeping my eyes locked on his. Then I looked pointedly at his hand on my arm. “I’ll give you to the count of five to remove your hand.”

  Ringleader guy smirked, tightening his grip. “Or what?”

  My hand slid into my pocket, closing around the hilt of my knife. “One … two … three …”

  “Where did you find this one?” he quipped at Mr. Smooth, who had sidled behind me.

  “…Four …”

  “Shut your mouth, bitch,” he snarled, yanking me toward him.

  “Five.” I spun into his arms, drove my elbow into his stomach, my knife whipping through the air.

  Howling, he let go, clutching an arm now dripping blood tight to his chest. “The bitch fucking cut me!”

  “It’s only a surface wound, you big baby,” I replied, placing myself between the remaining men and my pay check.

  Both men charged at once, one grabbing me around the stomach, the other hanging onto my arm and yanking it behind my back. The stench of stale sweat churned my stomach, bile rising in my throat as they crowded me.

  I reached for my other knife.

  “Not so fast.” The man at my front finally grew a pair, plowing his fist into my stomach.

  Doubled over, I retched, my throat burning as I tried to suck in a breath.

  “You fucking bitch!” The ringleader, having obviously recovered from the little scratch, grabbed my hair and yanked my head back.

  Pain burned, my eyes watering and scalp stinging as I fell to my knees. He had to go for the fucking hair!

  “You’re going to pay for that little stunt,” he hissed. “Secure the package,” he snapped out, “While I have some fun with this little minx.” The palm of his hand slammed into my cheek, sending my head reeling.

  A muffled shout sounded from behind me.

  Despite the iron clad hold on my hair, I dragged my head around. The two men had Mr. Smooth held between them, a strip of duct tape over his mouth. It dawned on me: this isn’t your garden variety mugging …

  Which meant that under my rules, I didn’t have to play nice anymore.

  My knives flew through the air, sinking into the two men with satisfying thuds. I grabbed the ringleader’s wrist and twisted hard. The crunch of bone splintering echoed in my ears. Rising to my feet, I leveled a kick at his chest, driving him to the floor. “Pass me my knife,” I ordered, arm stretched out behind me, foot planted on my victim’s chest, eyes locked with his.

  I wriggled my fingers impatiently, finally glancing around.

  Mr. Smooth stood stock still, his face tinged a sickly green, duct tape gone and mouth hanging open.

  “Knife,” I barked out.

  “You—you killed them.”

  I eyed the men on the ground behind him. Yep, dead. Brownie points for stating the obvious. “They were trying to kidnap you.”

  “But … you killed them.”

  “It’s what I do, what you hired me for.”

  “But—”

  The control on my temper finally snapped. “What did you think I would do when you hired me? Tickle people into submission? Smile and bat my eyelashes at them until the big, bad nasties ran away? Let me guess, you didn’t think beyond the eye candy, right?”

  “Uh …”

  “Well, lucky for you, I was here.” I turned my attention back to the man at the floor. Silent fury poured out of him as he clutched a very limp looking wrist to his chest.

  “Knife?” I was loosing what little patience I had left.

  Mr. Smooth looked down at the bodies, his face twisted in revulsion. “I … can’t.”

  I was cold, tired, and grumpy as all hell, I didn’t have the time nor the patience for his squeamishness. “Get over here and hold this one down.”

  We swapped places and I marched over to the cooling bodies, yanking my knives out and wiping them clean on their shirts. I turned back around just in time to see the ringleader streaking away down the street, his arm hugged tight to his chest.

  “You let him get away?” I was speechless. What kind of moron would let a man who’d threatened to kidnap him, escape?

  Mr. Smooth had the audacity to look outraged. “He overpowered me.”

  “Really? With a broken wrist? From the ground?”

  “He was bigger than me!”

  I shrugged, retrieving my shoes and tucking my knives away. For a split second, I contemplated cramming my aching toes back into the instruments of torture, but the madness passed. “Not my problem anymore.” Swinging my heels from my hand, I set off up the road.

  “Wait! Where are you going?”

  “To find a cab.” Poor guy, he hadn’t realized yet that his car had gone.

  Jogging, he caught up, falling into step with me. “You can’t leave me. I’m paying for you to protect me!”

  Great. “You owe me a bonus, some danger money. And you’re paying for the cab,” I added.

  “Cab?”

  I couldn’t take it anymore. My head hurt and my eye was already starting to close up. Another hour and I’d be half blind. “Listen, Mr. Smooth, your driver delivered you here to be kidnapped. He’s gone. There’s two dead guys lying in the street. I’m getting out of here and I suggest you do the same. If you wanna come with? Fine. But, keep up.”

  The corner of his lips twitched as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Mr. Smooth?”

  I ignored him, but his smile broadened, turning into a full blown grin. He started laughing, at first a low chuckle, then the eye streaming, snorting kind of belly laugh.

  We turned into the adjacent street, following the sound of traffic. A silent woman clinging to the dream of a bubble bath, and a man who sounded delirious with laughter.

  The perfect end to a fucked up night.

  And there was still no fucking cab to be seen.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Abel

  I’d finally swallowed my pride and asked for help, returning to the mansion we called home, where the team spent their down time. That’s when we weren’t out trying to save the world, or the rest of them, anyway. I mostly killed people.

  It was specifically Greg’s help I needed. He’d smirked at first, his low chuckle trailing off at the look on my face, then he was all business.

  “That’s all you’ve got to go on? The Agency?” He stared at me with something akin to disbelief on his face.

  Resisting the urge to throttle him, I took a step back, pacing the length of the room. We were in the control room: a hidden computer center that also served as an armory for the team. Weapons of all description lined three walls, while TV screens lined the other, wires snaking everywhere, linking Greg up to a computer that could rival NASA’s.

  My teammate lounged in his chair, a hand stroking his chin like a mad scientist, the ends of his hair spiked from having run his fingers through it one too many times. His T-shirt was one of many he owned that all looked the same, save for the band they advertised. Today is was somebody or something called Purple Tweet.

  Never heard of them, which wasn’t surprising. Greg liked to find the most obscure bands to follow. It was kind of a hobby for him.

  I strode up to his desk and jabbed at the keyboard. The screens flared to life, floating spaceship screensavers vanishing. “How about running a search for me anyway?”

  He batted my hand away, a scowl on his face. “Hey, leave what you don’t understand alone.” He tapped away, fingers performing magic as code scrolled and flashed before my eyes. Then he grunted.

  “What?” I couldn’t make any sense of it.

  “There are twelve companies listed as the Agency in the US. Eight are legal and require no hacking, so they’re not what we’re looking for. Another one is a dating agency, standard firewall and security; probably not it.” He shrugged, flipping a pen between his fingers, drawing out the moment.

  “And the other three?” Forget throttling, I was
this close to knocking the guy out—even if he was the closest thing I had to a friend.

  “Tell me again why you’re looking for them?”

  “Greg …” I growled, leaving no need for interpretation. No way was I telling him about Frankie, I’d never hear the end of it. And worse, he might even feel sorry for me.

  “Okay, the other three are all candidates. Each uses a charity as cover, and a little digging uncovers some shady dealings. Money transfers and off-shore accounts. Give me a little more time and I could dig deeper—”

  “No need, just give me the addresses.” I’d check them out personally. I yanked open the door, my mind already on the task ahead. I had somewhere to go, people to threaten.

  “Will do.” He jabbed a button and my phone vibrated in my pocket. “Abel,” he called after me.

  I paused. “What?”

  “One of them is right here, in this city. You might want to check that one out first …”

  Hope flared, the teasing motherfucker speeding through my veins with a rush of adrenaline.

  “You’re welcome, asshole!” Greg’s good-natured shout faded behind me as I hurtled down the stairs and out into the night.

  At seven twenty-eight in the morning the shutters rolled up, silently ghosting on well oiled tracks as the impermeable metal slid out of sight. Impermeable for a fact, because I’d given it a little love tap to no avail. The building had been silent all night, not a soul in or out, all windows locked tight and secured with a system that would have had Greg itching to get his hands on it. Lasers, pressure sensors, motion detectors, plus a jamming signal that activated if you got within a foot of the building: the place was Fort Knox on steroids.

  Definitely not the children’s charity it claimed to be.

  A man dressed in black strolled to the door, taking up place just inside.

  I was weighing up the pros and cons of walking through the front door when clipped footsteps sounded from behind me. A woman walked down the small side street, her head down and hand busy rooting through a large shoulder bag. What was even more interesting: the security badge clipped to her blouse, only visible when the wind grabbed her jacket, tugging it open as she drew parallel with me. A symbol was stamped on the badge, a black circle with a single letter scrolled inside. “A.”