I don’t have time to be shy.
“Did you mean what you said about me?”
My face flushes with heat because I’m aware of how high my voice sounds. And despite my bravado, it’s a little overwhelming to be in a room with him by myself. I’m afraid that he’ll see right through me and laugh.
But he doesn’t laugh. He lets his arms fall to his sides and he takes a step forward, grabbing the head of a chair. I’m pinned to the spot as his eyes hold me still, and then he makes an odd noise—something impatient, like a frustrated growl. It rumbles from the back of his throat and the sound hits my pussy as if his hand is right there, teasing me.
Of course he meant it.
“Your dad said that if I talked to you, I’d get my balls cut off.”
“What Daddy doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Right?”
The chair makes a loud, scraping sound as I stand up and walk around the mahogany table.
Silas watches me, heat blazing in his eyes as he abandons all attempts to ignore me. I’m wearing a dress, one he’ll probably appreciate because it clings to my every curve. The straps are annoyingly thick, but he still has a good view of my breasts.
Dimples carve into his cheeks, and his eyes narrow into slits. I’m close enough to count the hairs on his cheek and study the fine wrinkle lines near his eyes.
“How long are you staying in San Francisco?” When he doesn’t say a word, I keep talking. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
“Are you trying to get me killed?”
“Relax. He’s not in the room.”
“That doesn’t mean he can’t watch this later.”
“There are no cameras in this room,” I hiss into his ear. A surge of frustration hits my face. “It’s rude to ignore, you know.”
“I’m not ignoring you, hon.”
Another glow spreads over my chest. He called me hon. No one does that.
“So, how long are you staying here?”
“A couple more days, no more.”
“Oh.”
Even Silas catches the despondent tone of my voice. “I guess you’ll have to find some new guy to tease.”
“That’s what you think I’m doing? Teasing?”
I reach out, fingering one of the buttons on his suit. I trace it as I watch his chest rise and fall.
He moves his head a fraction of an inch. “Ms. Haines—”
“No. Drop the Ms. Haines crap. I know you’re not what you’re pretending to be.”
“What am I pretending to be?”
“A gentleman.”
A smirk pulls at his lips, and somehow that small gesture sends a line of pleasure down my spine.
“You need to stop this.”
He turns his head toward me, and I finally have his full attention. Shit, it’s overwhelming. I can feel his body heat, just inches from mine. I can see the freckle on his bottom lip. His eyes are dark green with flecks of brown, and they look pained. Silas is pissed off—at me.
But I can’t help but keep pushing his limits, hoping he’ll break. “Stop what?”
I glance down at the fabric stretched taut over his thick, muscular legs. Then I gently touch his leg. He inhales a sharp breath as I curve my hand around his thick muscle.
“Fuck this.”
The throaty, harsh voice I’ve never heard before erupts from his chest. He takes a step forward, his hip bumping into mine.
Oh my God.
I feel his breath before I taste his lips crashing over mine, and then his hand is at my waist and his rock-hard body pushes me right up against the wall. My first kiss in over five years. Every inch of him digs into my flesh as his hand gropes up my side and then slides over my tits. A moan escapes my mouth as every inch of me singes with his touch. His fingers slide as his mouth devours mine, hardly leaving me with any breath as he takes my nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Then he pinches hard. My moan echoes down the hall, and he swallows the noise, his tongue dancing. His tongue. His lips. His hands. I’m nearly crying with relief.
He tastes mature—I feel the kick from his rough mouth. He bites down on my lip hard, until I yelp with pain. I feel his cock digging into my hip. Oh, please.
He pulls away, and I feel his breath over my wet lips.
“Is this what you fucking want?”
He’s never talked to me like that before.
“Si-Silas.”
The pads of his fingers scrape my skin, and then he reaches under my dress. I look down to see his freckled arm buried under the black fabric. My back spasms when I feel his fingers grazing my lace panties, just over the line of wetness beginning to seep through.
“Kiss me again,” I beg him.
His eyes gleam with savage triumph and his lips pull into a smile as he buries his other hand in the thick of my hair.
Fuck, it hurts!
His hand yanks, and my head bends backward over his arm. My heart hammers, but then the fingers stroking my panties reach to the side. They hook into my panties and pull so hard that I feel the stitches tear.
“Kiss me, please.”
A crooked grin. Burning eyes, glowing against his pale skin. He lowers his head and drags his mouth over my neck. He keeps blowing hot air over the sensitive skin, and his fingers graze my pussy. Holy fuck—he’s actually running his fingers up and down my soaked pussy. Is this a dream?
“Please!”
His mouth stops over my ear. “No.”
Then he pushes through. He hooks his fingers through my pussy and shoves. Oh my God, it feels amazing. My thighs tremble and I feel completely powerless. I treated him like my toy, but I had no idea who I was dealing with. He’s a hitman—a predator by nature.
“Answer my question.”
What did he ask me?
“Yes. I want more.”
His eyes twinkle with amusement. “I know you want more.”
Is he going to fuck me right here? I don’t even care if we get caught, I just don’t want his hands to stop. This feels so fucking good, just having a man’s hands on me, feeling his breath on my face, and that heavy-lidded look. It’s amazing.
Then his fingers slide out as he loosens his grip on my hair and takes a step back. I stumble without his arms supporting me. My dress is hiked to my knees as his warmth disappears from my body.
“What the hell?”
He shoves his hands deep in his pockets as a vicious smirk pulls at his lips. “How do you like it?” Then his voice darkens. “Now get the fuck out of here.”
* * *
I get the fuck out of there.
The door flies open as I walk—no—run to my suite. My reflection looks back at me on the highly polished wood paneling.
It’s only a short walk back to my suite. I open the carbon black door and step inside the dark room. The door closes behind me and I rest my back against it as the darkness strokes my skin. If I close my eyes halfway, it’s almost as though he’s right beside me. I imagine the scrape of a footstep and his oppressive heat surrounds me again. His knuckles drag beneath my hair, his nails scraping over my scalp.
My lips heat just thinking about Silas’s mouth, even though my chest burns with annoyance. I know I basically asked for it for all these weeks I’ve been tormenting him, but what am I supposed to do? Ignore him? I have half a mind to march back in there and drag him here, if it weren’t for my father. Jesus, my life is so goddamn depressing.
I flip the light switch, letting out a shuddering breath as I walk into my suite. For a few minutes I pace around, unable to rid my mind of what he tasted like. It’s bad for me to dwell on a man I can never have, but I can’t help it. I haven’t felt like this in years.
What I really want is to curl up in bed with my Kindle in one hand and the other between my legs, but I have a shift at the infirmary. Technically I don’t have to go. I could waste my days spending my daddy’s money at Saks Fifth Avenue in Union Square like the other syndicate women, but I don’t want a forty-thousand-dollar mink coat. Besides, I like it
down there.
The syndicate prefers to use their own doctors, of course. Gunshot wounds raise too many questions from the police, so we’re better off treating our own. I’m not a nurse—more like a physician assistant. No formal training, just what I learned from hanging around there. They couldn’t turn me away because of who my father is, so they tolerate my presence.
I dress quickly in my scrubs, ignoring the ache between my legs as I leave my suite and lock the door. No honor among thieves, as they say. I take the elevator down to the first floor, my shoes walking over the giant emblem of the syndicate along with the words: Se mortem provocatio. Death before defiance.
I take a left toward the white double-backed doors, the only place in the syndicate that’s bright, and walk inside the trauma center. Raised voices hit my ears and I walk into Emergency.
“Fuck you!”
A man writhes on the hospital bed as a team of doctors and nurses crowd him. His crimson dress shirt is ripped open, exposing his chest where there’s something that looks like a white cone sticking out of him. Rivulets of blood run down his sides as the surgeon beside him twists a tube inside his chest. He screams in pain and I sprint toward the man thrashing on the bed.
“What can I do?”
“Hold him down!”
I put both hands on his muscled shoulder, whispering an apology as he turns around and curses me. Jesus, he’s young. Probably younger than I am. A new recruit? I don’t immediately recognize him.
The surgeon twists the chest tube, and a fresh wave of agonized screams pour from his mouth.
Distract him.
“What happened?”
“Stabbed.” He grits his teeth, screwing his face against the pain, and a single tear leaks out from his right eye.
My chest feels tight and pressure builds up behind my eyes. As much as I try to distance myself from their pain, every so often it’ll get to me.
Don’t fucking cry.
I smooth his shoulder, rubbing my thumb into his skin. He keeps trying to look at what they’re doing, but I take his face in my other hand and he follows the pressure. His eyes are wet.
“You’re safe. It’s okay. Just try to relax.”
And I gently stroke the side of his face. That’s another guilty pleasure of this job. It’s the only way I’ll ever get to touch them.
3
Silas
All I can think about as Ryan talks to me are his daughter’s perky tits. That, and her hard little body pressing eagerly against mine. Swollen red lips begging me to kiss her. Her hot cunt, wrapped tight around my fingers. If she stayed a moment longer, I would have thrown her over the dining table and fucked her, father be damned.
It’s been too long since I’ve gotten laid.
His lips keep moving under his bushy mustache, but I don’t pay much attention.
“Silas, you’ve done a great job.”
The saccharine tone throws me off and I snap out of my lust. Ryan throws a fatherly arm over my shoulders and tries to smile at me. It’s more like a creepy grin. I want to hurl his arm off me and take a shower.
“Thanks, Mr. Haines.”
“The next job I have for you is very sensitive. I’m keeping this one close to my chest.”
He leads me away from his guards, his voice dropping lower in volume with every word.
“Mr. Haines, I never disclose any information from my clients—”
“I know.”
“What’s the name?”
His clawlike fingers tighten on my shoulder as he quickly looks away from me. “It’s—Nick Barlow.”
Jesus Christ. Nick Barlow—one of the other members of the Council.
Is everyone in this goddamn place nuts?
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”
“Forty thousand dollars, Silas. Cash. I’ll have half ready upfront.”
I slide out from underneath his arm and give him a conciliatory smile that I hope shuts him the fuck up. “It’s not a question about money, sir.”
The vapid grin rapidly fades. “What is it?”
“I don’t involve myself in syndicate politics as a rule. I do a couple contracts here and there, but I don’t play politics. I don’t choose sides.”
“This isn’t about politics. It’s about saving my fucking life.”
So Viper isn’t the only one out for Ryan’s blood, or it could be a setup to get me killed. Ryan might need an easy way to get rid of a hitman who has seen too much. All I’d have to do is fail. Considering the security in this place, that wouldn’t exactly be hard to do.
“What you’re asking for is a huge risk for me, and forty thousand dollars just isn’t worth the risk.”
“Are you fucking retarded? Forty grand isn’t worth it to you?”
No, but your daughter’s pussy might be.
“I can’t fucking believe this!”
Spittle flies from his mouth as he screams in my face. It burns white hot, and I can feel my heart bursting from my chest.
Kill him. Just do it now.
That cold voice isn’t mine. It’s Viper’s. Thinking of that pale bastard gets my blood flowing. I turn my back on Ryan. I can’t do him right now, when I’m this upset. I kill with cold hands. Anger, revenge, guilt—there’s no room for any of them in this business. Emotional people make mistakes.
“Don’t you turn your back on me! Do you know who the hell I am?”
“Yeah.”
I reach the door, and the guard nods at me in a tired way as he opens it for me.
“You walk out of here, and you’re finished!”
I look back. He’s still standing in the same spot I left him, his face burning with the same reddish tinge as his beard.
“Good-bye, Mr. Haines.”
* * *
Even at this height, the city smells foul. I wrinkle my nose, wondering how the hell I can smell the stench of the streets from this high up. It’s impossible. I must be imagining things.
A metallic taste coils inside my mouth the moment I feel him emerge from the fire escape to meet me.
Achilles. Viper. The blond-haired demon.
He’s like a fucking tumor, isn’t he? With enough time, I can irradiate him almost to nonexistence. It gets smaller. And smaller. Until you think it’s gone. You can hardly feel it.
Then you go back—maybe because you’re fucking dumb, or maybe because you can’t help it. It all comes back. After all that fucking self-medicating, he’s still there, lodged somewhere in my lungs like a parasitic growth. Impossible to get rid of no matter how much I try.
His round face beams at me as he steps into the light. This time he left his cronies behind. They’re probably not far away though.
“You came.”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“I thought I’d have to intercept you at SFO.”
I have multiple passports, but even they wouldn’t help me escape the syndicate. By now, people have seen my face. They would know who to look out for. I made it so fucking easy for them.
“If I ran, that wouldn’t be the way out.”
“There is no way out.”
Once again his words sound like a double entendre, like the fucking motto of this syndicate. Se mortem provocatio. Death before defiance. Is that a message to the members or to those who would dare stand up against the might of the syndicate?
“He wants me to kill Nick Barlow. Wasn’t too happy when I told him no.”
“He’s an idiot, too.”
I watch him, waiting for the weakness in his left leg to show itself, but he must have had it fixed. His one fucking weakness—gone.
We’re high enough. All I have to do is get behind him and shove.
Viper turns away from the edge and walks a short distance away. “You have a five-hour window to complete this job.”
“That is not enough time. There are guards posted at every corner. Cameras. I’ll be killed before I step a foot inside his suite.”
“I think you’ll find
it easier than you think.”
I look at him. “What exactly did you do?”
“Trust me.”
“I don’t,” I say flatly.
There’s a moment where there’s no sound except for the freezing wind playing with our coats.
“That’s right,” he says, giving me that little smile that makes my stomach turn. “You were always too smart for your own good. Too bad you weren’t smart enough to never come back.”
I just want to kill him—right here—on this roof. It would be easy to do, but then I’d die. Viper was always surrounded by powerful allies. The boy I knew hasn’t changed. He’s still stepping on other people’s shoulders to rise to the top.
“If you do this for me, all will be forgiven.”
Does he think that’s what I want? His forgiveness? I want him dead just as much as I did when I was thirteen.
“Deal?”
His hand slides out of his jacket arm like a pale snake and I look at it.
Appeal to his ego.
I take it, and the metallic taste in my mouth is overpowering. “Deal.”
His hand slides from mine a beat later. “Five hours, Silas.”
* * *
I figure I can spend a half hour to kill Ryan Haines, and spend the other four and a half hours fucking sweet Fawn.
The executive quarters where the board members live are located on the fifth floor. You need a visitor’s pass to get through security on the first floor, which can only be granted by the executive in question. That pass will only allow you access to that floor. There are men armed with semiautomatics on every corner and black globes on the ceiling.
Blazing my way through the building is out of the question. I need permission for the fifth floor. It needs to be real—I don’t have time to get in touch with one of my contacts to make me a fake pass.
Which means Ryan Haines has to agree to let me back upstairs.
“You again.” The receptionist, a bald, older man, looks up from his computer screen to glare at me through horn-rimmed glasses.
What a fucking greeting.
His Secret Baby (A Bad Boy Romance) Page 22