He lifts his left hand to show me a narrow band of gold encircling his ring finger. “I married her.”
I sink into any chair that'll hold me.
I put my head in my hands.
*
Juliette
His elbow is against my throat, and my back is on the ground.
The men I've disabled roll around beside me, moaning as they hold their various injuries.
“I do not like to hurt you, Juliette,” Shepard murmurs in French. His dark eyes are hard in his handsome face.
“I know,” I say.
I drive my knee into his nuts.
It's a glancing blow, but he loosens his hold in an instinctive reaction.
I spin away, jump to my feet and turn. He slaps my face. It doesn't sound like much, but a slap delivered by a man as strong as Shep snaps my head back like a flower bending on its stem.
My head rings as he charges hard. Shepard wraps me up tightly and pounds me against the wall.
I gasp as the wind's knocked out of me.
He kisses me, and I turn my head.
He forces my head back into place. He grinds his mouth against my lips until I submit, opening my mouth to keep from being cut by his teeth.
Shepard forces my arms open, pushing my wrists against the wall as he plunders my mouth. His strong legs pin my own.
He trained me. Shepard knows my body and how to tire me out before he got to me.
His erection lays between us, and I choke back a sob.
Thorn! my mind bellows in anguish.
“I smell him on you,” Shepard says as his nose grazes my neck. His kisses make me shiver in both memory and revulsion. “I will cover his scent with my own.”
“No,” I say.
I bite his lip.
Blood pours from the wound, and he leaps back.
I run to the door, jerking it open as his palm slams against it. I clamp my left hand against my right fist and drive my elbow into whatever part of him is behind me.
He grunts, and I rip the door open.
Roi is there.
His surprise is not greater than mine. His fist smashes into my face.
I tumble backward in slow motion.
Something soft meets me.
Shepard's arms.
His blood falls on my face like metallic rain. He's saying something but I can't hear him.
The darkness is absolute.
TWENTY-FOUR
Thorn
Dillinger shakes my hand. “I don't think you're in need, anymore, Mr. Simon.”
“Ty.” I throw him a bone in the form of a small smile of my own.
He cleans his glasses with a cotton handkerchief from the pocket of his button-down.
Dillinger holds the glasses up to the light and sets them back on the bridge of his nose, adjusting them with a tapered finger. “I will give my recommendation that you be reinstated to full service.”
“Yʼknow, Doc?”
His eyebrows rise.
“I think I'm going to take a small sabbatical.”
He grins. “You do have quite a bit of vacation time on the books.”
I cram my hands in my pockets. “That's a no-shitter.”
His smile becomes wider, more knowing.
Before, all I had was my work.
Now I have something more. Worth.
“A word of caution,” Dillinger says.
The feeling of disquiet I'd had when I first got here returns.
“Sometimes we seek the very thing we run from.”
“Riddles, Doc?”
He inclines his head. “You have not had things easy, Ty. It would be very normal for you to pick a relationship with complications. It’s a replacement for dysfunctional dynamics, because they are familiar.”
“Yeah, I know. She has issues.”
Dillinger's eyes capture mine. “Some you may be unaware of.”
“Okay...?”
“Guard yourself.”
I pull my chin back. “I always do.”
Dillinger shakes his head a little sadly. “No. Before, there was nothing to guard—no one mattered.”
We look at each other for another moment that's so oppressive, I feel as if I've stopped treading water.
The fullness passes, and he claps me on the shoulder.
I nod and walk out.
His words swirl around in my head.
That session was my last, and I'm glad. Why do I feel as though it's only the beginning?
My cell buzzes. I pull it out of my pocket and swipe.
Tag: We need to meet. ASAP.
Me: What's doinʼ?
Tag: Not here. Starbucks at Pike.
Me: Stupid parking.
Tag: Use the cherry.
I think of Juliette's story and shove it away.
Tag means the cop light.
Me: Yeah.
I jog to my Porsche and throw the red strobe on the top. I drive to Pike Place, but not before I look at the time.
An hour and a half until the jet leaves. This had better be good.
*
I pull up and double-park.
I take in the surroundings, seeing nothing unusual. Tourists dot the area with their umbrellas. I stride to the Starbucks.
Tag stands, his chin lifts in greeting, and I move around the three-foot ornate metal fence and sit in an ass-numbing metal bistro chair.
“What the fuck? What's with all the cloak-and-dagger shit?” I ask.
Tagger leans forward. His light eyes seem to storm, the bit of gray in them like an angry cloud. “That chick—Simone Balland?”
He nails the D, and my teeth clench. “Yeah?” My guts drop to my shoes. I know what's happening.
“Why didn't you tell me she was a suspect?”
Huh, wasn't expecting that.
“ ʼCuz she isn't.”
We stare at each other. Tag flops back, one arm sailing over the back of the chair to dangle behind him. “Says who? We've got a stinker at an apartment leased in her name, and signs of a beat down but no body.”
My face shuts down and I knot my hands, elbows going to the table. I rest my chin on them.
“Okay.” Tag leans forward, cupping his hand toward himself. “What level of fucked up is this?”
I blow out air.
Tag whistles. “Must be bad.”
I nod and glance at my watch. One hour, eighteen minutes.
“Got a hot date?”
Yes. “No, I just—I'm meeting Simone to fly outta here.”
“Shut up. You—” Tag plows fingers through his sandy hair, then points at me. “You do not-do not... run off with a suspect in a murder.”
“It was self-defense.”
“Well, great, so she flees? Pfft.” His front chair legs slam on the concrete as he leans forward.
I nod. “Listen, it's a long story...”
Tag leans back again, spreading his arms. “We're all ears at the precinct.”
Truth time.
“She's running from the French Mob.”
The legs come down with an echoing clunk, but the pedestrian traffic and noise of the market mask it. “No shit.”
I nod in the face of his shock. “Yeah.”
“So you're what, hiding her?” Tag’s eyes narrow, and he shakes his head. Then his eyes light up. “You're boning her? God, Thorn, grow up. You've had more tail than I can shake a stick at.”
I don't know what my face does, but Tag puts up his palms in supplication, offering benevolence.
I stare at him.
He stares back, his face going through an assload of speculations. Finally, he settles on the right one.
“You're gone on her.” He clasps his hands together, shoving away the coffees we don't touch.
My head bows. My hands dangle between my knees as I neither confirm nor deny his statement.
“Holy fucking crow—I never. Shit, man.”
I don't look up. I feel embarrassed, vulnerable as hell, and exhilarated all at the same time. I never share shit
.
Tag's chair scrapes back.
I watch his feet come around to stand by my chair.
He waits, and I lift my head. His hand is there.
I look at it.
Then I take it. He hauls me up and I tower over him.
“I'm happy for you, you morose dick.”
I grin, and he claps me on the back.
“It's okay, Thorn. Now let me help you.”
I leap. Again.
“Okay.”
We take off toward the airport, cherries flashing like a pulse of blood on our cars.
My stomach settles to something like normal.
I can save Juliette.
I can save me.
TWENTY-FIVE
Juliette
The slap wakes me.
“Please, Roi—do not.”
“She is alive only because she is your wife. Look at the trouble she has caused.”
A sharp pain like a million bee stings lights up my cheek. The same one Shep backhanded.
His felt like a love tap compared to the King’s.
I catch Roi’s wrist and roll off the surface I'm on.
I stumble, driven to my knees from dizziness. “Stop hitting me.”
The King crouches next to my face. “No.”
He shoves me backward and my forearms cross to defend my face.
He hits them away. I scuttle backward, flipping to my feet and gliding into a defensive crouch.
“Juliette, no,” Shepard warns.
My eyes flick to him. His face wears our fight, as mine does.
“I can't let him beat me and not defend myself.”
My gaze shifts to Roi, and I see his resemblance to Thorn. His huge body is all Thorn, his nose, jawline, the shape of his eyes. It catches my breath.
Only his pale skin and soulless eyes speak of their differences.
Shepard closes his eyes. “I know.”
Roi moves in, and I smile. He says, “You can't win against me.”
“Then I'll die trying, you murderer.”
“Sticks and stones, my lovely Juliette. I will do more than beat you. I will break you.”
Shep begins to move forward.
“Do not think it, my little Shepard. I have given you your leave to keep this one all to yourself. But she lost the sanctuary you provided when she chose to leave our nest.”
I search for weaknesses. Though Roi must be nearing fifty, his body is rock solid. He expects perfect physical condition in his employees. Combative readiness.
He expects it most of himself.
*
Thorn
We pull up to the airport and disengage our lights.
I pop out of my car, and so does Tag. We look around.
Something doesn't seem right. Too quiet.
Tag gestures toward the sliders. “Shouldn't she be milling around on her cell in the lounge area?”
The place is a ghost town.
I nod slowly.
I have an idea. “She might be in the private lounge.”
Tag looks again. “I don't like it.”
My head swivels toward him. “Why?”
He shrugs, moving his neck as though to release tension. “I don't know, dude. Feels wrong.”
Good enough for me.
We pull our guns at the same time.
He sweeps his eyes to my weapon. “Same thing?”
I think about my growing gut feeling. “Yeah.”
“Hang on.” Tag makes a quick call, then we move in, sliding along the wall.
I hear a distinctive noise.
Flesh being slapped.
Then a feminine noise. The deliberate stifling of a whimper.
Tag's arm is across my chest. He shakes his head.
I didn't realize I’d moved.
I know it's Juliette.
But I nod at Tag, and we wait, listening.
I've never wanted to move more than I do during those three minutes of conversation.
Finally Tag gives me the signal, and we go through the door. I know who I'll face. It's the most important turning point in my life. I’m meeting my nemesis.
As I see her face, I know something has eclipsed my revenge.
*
Juliette
I gulp when I see his erection. He laughs in delight when I realize his intent.
“I won't let you rape me,” I say through my teeth.
“Let is not part of the equation, Juliette.” The King’s face darkens. “Allowance is no longer afforded you. Shepard cannot keep you safe. I will take you until you beg. Then I will take you more.”
Shepard makes a strangled noise.
A small sound of air moving causes me to look toward the door.
“No one is taking shit,” a low voice says, filling the room.
Commanding it.
A thrill courses through my body like electrical current.
Thorn.
Roi surges into my space, and I strike the soft underside of his jaw with my knuckles.
He's so fast. I have only that thought before he wraps his arms around me like a pretzel, jerking me against his chest.
His body fits against me like Thorn's, and I cry out at the injustice of genetics. All that strength will be used against me in violence instead of the vicious tenderness Thorn uses to bring me tighter to him.
Thorn's eyes meet mine.
A man I don't know follows closely behind him, gun drawn.
My eyes zero in on the barrel. That black endless circle of metal bearing down on Roi.
On me.
“Thorn,” I say in a miserable voice. The voice of a broken female I've never been in my life.
His eyes flick back to mine from scanning the room for hidden dangers.
The answer's in them. He'll die to save me.
“You have no jurisdiction here, cop.” Roi's smug voice teases Thorn.
Thorn will not be teased.
“Diplomatic immunity—there is nothing you can do.” Roi turns my face and gives the wounded side a long lick.
I squirm, trying to get away.
Roi’s eyes find Thorn again. “However, you may watch as I break one of my whores.”
“I don't think so, Dad,” Thorn says.
Roi's body stiffens.
I try to move away, but he clutches me tighter.
They look at each other as the seconds swell to a minute. I see an arrogant smile wash over his face from the corner of my eye.
His palm captures my jaw. He jerks it from left to right. “She is beautiful, even wounded, no?”
My eyes plead with Thorn. I hate Roi’s hands on me. I hate what he's done to the man I love.
“She is mine,” Thorn says and charges.
“Thorn! No, fuck!” the other man cries and lunges after him.
Roi’s hand slides to my neck and squeezes.
I gasp.
“I will break her neck. This fragile bird so many men care about.”
He seems to pause thoughtfully as Thorn circles us.
Thorn’s tats are like stripes of anger that cradle his face, slithering into the crevices of his open shirt.
His forearms bunch in readiness.
“Or we can share in the breaking of this one,” Roi offers.
Thorn grins like a shark. It’s the only time he reminds me of Roi.
“You're a sick fuck,” Thorn says in French.
Roi laughs from his belly.
“I know who you are,” Roi states conversationally.
I wait.
The room holds its breath.
“Your mother was a good lay,” he clucks.
Thorn makes a noise deep in the back of his throat. Anguished.
Roi watches him closely. Thorn doesn't rise to the bait.
“I see your face go soft when you look at our Juliette. You love her.”
Thorn doesn't answer.
His eyes do.
Roi nods. “You might love her less if you understand she belongs to another.”
I struggle in earnest then. Thorn can't learn this way.
Not this.
Thorn moves forward as I bite down on Roi's arm, and Roi hits me again.
I stagger and fall into Thorn's arms.
He drags me against him, cradling me like a precious package. My consciousness is fuzzy around the edges. I’ve been hit too many times.
Roi strikes a pose, his finger moving to his jaw.
“Shepard?”
I see the stranger’s gun move toward the silent Shepard.
“Tell the good policeman and my wayward relative who Juliette belongs to.”
Shepard raises his chin and shoots his gaze at Thorn like a laser.
I close my eyes in a grief so absolute, it steals my thoughts. Nothing is left but my lost hope.
“Juliette is my bride.”
Thorn's hands convulse around my arms.
He turns me to face him, and my head falls back. He captures my head in his palm gently.
I can't look away.
Betrayal is all I see.
Roi reaches behind his back and raises a gun as Thorn curves his body around mine.
An explosion sounds from behind us.
Deafening—complete.
Roi pivots, his arms flung out as he spins like a marionette whose strings have just been cut.
Blood flies in an arc that hits Shepard's face.
He blinks at me, then he’s gone.
“Stop where you are!” the man who shot Roi bellows.
Thorn keeps looking at me.
I close my eyes against what I see in his face.
Sirens are close, wailing their song of protection.
I feel Thorn lift me.
Though he's all around me, I know he’s no longer there.
Hope flees, and along with it, my heart.
TWENTY-SIX
Thorn
People in white swarm around me like bees. I fight against swatting them away. My irritation has its own zip code.
“We were lucky, so lucky,” Tag says.
It's been hours since Juliette was admitted to the hospital. She's been cleaned, dressed, and questioned.
That prick Shepard is missing.
Her husband.
Roi... my father, and the slow murderer of a dozen women, is dead.
It should feel final. Vindication is finally mine.
Instead, I feel as if a giant came along with an ice cream spoon and scooped out my guts as I lay gasping for air.
savage 07 - the dark savage Page 34