Wicked and Dangerous (wicked lovers)

by Shayla Black

  This time, Rachel’s heart stopped altogether. “What?”

  No way could she have heard that right.

  Chris nodded. “I gave him twenty-five grand on Saturday to have you dead quick. But I’ve been watching. I guess he wanted to fuck you before he killed you. I can’t wait on him anymore. If you want something done right, you’ve got to do it yourself.”

  Rachel almost couldn’t process his words. Patient, passionate Decker was a contract killer? His rough-around-the-edges demeanor didn’t hide a tender heart, but a brutal one? He’d intended all along to watch her gasp her last breath?

  Her first instinct was to refuse to believe it. No way. Decker wasn’t violent. He was protective and would never hurt her. He had feelings for her, didn’t he? She would have sworn that he did.

  Why was he so persistent about picking you up in the bar Saturday night? Other women were looking at him. Younger, prettier ones. More experienced ones. You wondered at the time why he focused on you. This would explain it . . .

  But she’d believed that whatever he felt was real. She would have bet her life on it.

  Apparently she had . . . and she’d lost.

  Betrayal gashed open her chest. She felt so damn alone and frightened. Decker had seduced her, intending all along to off her? For a brief second, she closed her eyes, but when she tried to imagine him hurting her in any way, she only saw his face, his understanding, his encouragement, his blue eyes filled with caring.

  It didn’t add up. He’d had a hundred opportunities to kill her. He could have done it in her sleep. He could have poisoned her when he brought her breakfast. And why would he have introduced her to his friends or let her go to lunch with London if he just wanted her six feet under? Granted, she didn’t really know everything about Decker, but she’d been sure that she had felt his heart. It had been big and kind and caring. It had called to her own.

  The click, the connection, the depth of her feelings . . . She refused to believe it was all a lie. He’d shown her pleasure and consideration. Affection even. Why do that, only to kill her? Before Decker she would have never believed that she was sexy enough or special enough for him, but he’d made her see something different in herself, in her heart.

  Rachel refused to doubt her feelings for another minute. Maybe this psycho had mistaken Decker’s identity. Maybe he’d been watching her and lied about Decker’s intentions to throw her off her game. Heck, maybe ol’ Chris was just insane. Whatever the problem, it was on him. Decker wouldn’t kill her.

  But he also wasn’t here, so if she was going to make it through this encounter, it was up to her now. She had to talk this guy off the crazy train and fend for herself somehow, because she wasn’t ready to die.

  “I-I’ll cut off all contact with Owen. I’ll change my number. I’ll move and not leave a forwarding address, if you want.”

  But the gunman was already shaking his head. “You moved out once. That didn’t pry you from his mind. In fact, not being able to find you might only make him obsess more. But knowing that you’re totally beyond his reach . . . Then he’ll have to move on. And my sister will be there for him. They can finally get married and she can be fucking happy. But Carly and Owen are flying home tonight.” He glanced at the clock on the oven wall. “In fact, I’ve got to be back at my place to take them to the airport in less than an hour. By the time they land, I want her to know that she has Owen all to herself.”

  And he intended to leave her lying lifeless in a pool of her own blood, staining the white tile of her kitchen floor. No way was she going to let that happen.

  Rachel swallowed, gathering her courage. Then she jumped him with a growl, shoving him back toward the foyer with all her might.

  He went careening back, flailing and trying to catch his balance. He reached out to brace for his inevitable fall. The pistol fell from his grip, clattering to the hardwood floor beneath him and sliding all the way to the front door as he landed on his butt with a thud.

  She didn’t wait for him to get his bearings, but darted back into the kitchen and grabbed her biggest knife—a huge, serrated sucker. For insurance, she grabbed the paring knife, too, and held it down by her thigh.

  When he jumped to his feet and charged toward her with murder narrowing his menacing eyes and his large hands outstretched like he meant to strangle her, she was ready. Rachel knew that once he got his hands around her neck, he was too strong, and she’d be done for. She’d never see her family or friends again. Mercy, her mother . . . She’d miss Thanksgiving, Christmas, Shonda’s wedding. She’d never know her future, her children, or see old age. She would never be able to tell Decker that she loved him.

  Oh hell no!

  As the criminal came closer, she raced toward him again, big knife stretched over her head. Rachel didn’t think she could kill him. She wasn’t sure she would be able to live with that, no matter how terrible he was. The idea of sinking this into his chest made her wince inwardly—but he didn’t need to know that.

  She darted closer, and as she expected, her assailant grabbed her wrist and tried to wrest the knife from her grip. She only had seconds and one chance to surprise him. No way was she going to screw this up.

  While he clamped down on her wrist, trying to make her release the wicked blade, Rachel drove the paring knife into his thigh, seriously close to his groin. She hoped she at least nicked something vital.

  He screamed and dropped his grip from the wrist above her head, cupping his leg protectively. “Bitch! I won’t give you an opportunity to cut me again.”

  Blood dripped from the little knife and onto her fingers, onto the floor. Rachel watched in horror as he managed to hobble away and went after his gun. She was either going to have to chase him and finish him off . . . or let him shoot her dead.

  She swallowed. Her heart thrummed, and fear laced her veins with ice. Her skin felt tight. Her thoughts raced. Why couldn’t he just leave this alone? She could try to pick up her phone and call the police, but she’d barely finish giving the 911 operator her address before he’d be back with his gun to shoot her. Same if she tried to dart out the back door to freedom.

  No choice. She was going to have to hunt him down and snuff him out before he did the same to her.

  Steeling herself, she gripped both knives and rounded the corner from the kitchen, into the long walkway to the foyer.

  The thug stood there, frozen and bleeding.

  In front of him, Decker stood, legs akimbo, arms outstretched, a gun in each hand. “Don’t move a muscle, motherfucker. If you even twitch, it will give me a lot of pleasure to put a bullet in your miserable brain.”

  • • •

  WELL AFTER THE police had taken Christian Adams away in handcuffs for a trip to the hospital to get some stitches, Rachel sat, drinking a cup of coffee for warmth. She was fully covered, but she felt chilled to the bone. An EMT had wrapped a blanket around her after he’d checked her out and doctored a cut on her finger. He’d cautioned her about some bruising and given her something for her headache.

  She had stabbed a man. In self-defense, yes. In her spinning thoughts, the moments slowed and replayed in an endless loop. More than once since, she’d tried to wash the blood from her hands, but she swore she could feel it seeping into her pores. Christian Adams hadn’t given her a choice. He would have killed her if she hadn’t fought back. That knowledge gave her peace of a sort. She’d finish reconciling it all later.

  In the interim, the police had taken her statement. They’d taken Decker to the back of the house to get his separately, and she hadn’t seen him for hours. Carly and Owen had come. Who’d called them or why, she had no clue. But her ex-husband’s fiancée had been absolutely horrified at what her brother had attempted. The woman’s pleading apologies ran through Rachel’s brain. But nothing sank in. Vaguely, she recognized that Owen had stepped up for Carly and now seemed like the man she needed. He promised her they’d get through this together and have a big wedding whenever she was ready. The w
ay Owen had looked at Carly, like she was his moon and stars, had made her really happy for the couple. She wished them well. It wasn’t Carly’s fault that Christian had taken it upon himself to think killing his sister’s man’s ex-wife was a good idea. Rachel hoped that Owen and his fiancée could live happily ever after now, despite the jail time Christian had coming. Someone should be happy.

  The hope that it might be her looked increasingly dim.

  The police told her that Christian had, in fact, hired Decker to kill her. They found the twenty-five thousand dollars and the number of a disposable phone Christian had purchased when they searched Decker’s belongings. In her head, she knew that must mean everything between them had been a lie. He had likely conned her, and she’d eaten up every morsel of the bait. She would just need time to recover, get over her anger, grieve. Maybe a decade or two would be long enough to forget him.

  The problem was, her own stupid heart insisted that what they’d shared was real. Even if Decker hadn’t been completely honest, somewhere in the midst of his ruse, she’d seen his heart, how good and kind and genuine he could be.

  “You all right?” a woman’s gentle voice asked behind her. Rachel turned to find London standing at her back, her pale hair loose over her slender shoulders. London draped an arm around her with a face full of soft empathy.

  Rachel wanted to crawl into a corner and lick her wounds, even as the thought pissed her off. Where the hell was Decker so she could at least have a good scream at him? How dare he lie to her and hurt her?

  “I’ll be fine,” Rachel murmured, hoping that her fibbing wasn’t too obvious. “You don’t need to be concerned about Decker’s sham. I’m sure you had nothing to do with it.”

  “It’s not what you think,” Xander insisted a moment later, hovering protectively beside his wife. “He never had any intention of hurting you.”

  Rachel ached to believe him. But her head kept telling her heart to stop being so damn naïve. “With all the evidence to the contrary, that’s hard to buy.”

  Yet somehow, she sat there, waiting for Decker to emerge from his interrogation so she could catch a glimpse of him, wait for him to say something to her. She yearned to believe that she’d know the truth by seeing it on his face, but . . . that was another foolish notion.

  Or she’d settle for someone delivering the punch line to this really awful joke. Everything seemed surreal.

  “Honey . . .” London moved closer to hug her, and Rachel felt the smallest swell of the other woman’s baby bump. A little jolt of envy pierced her.

  She’d probably never feel a child growing in her body. Quickly on her way to thirty, divorced once, and then deceived by the man she’d probably always regard as the love of her life, she didn’t see motherhood in her future. And she didn’t want to swing a third strike. Maybe she was just meant to be alone. Or she should try devoting the rest of her days to a cause she could be passionate about and get lost in.

  Of course nothing would ever give her the kind of mind-bending passion Decker had. Or would make her feel as special. She’d always want to believe all the wonderful words he’d spoken to her, all the pleasure he’d heaped on her, but Rachel feared nothing and no one would ever fill the void he was leaving behind in her life.

  Good gravy, she sounded maudlin and woe-is-me. Because she loved Decker and knew that no other man would do. Somehow in the span of a few golden hours, she’d ended up surrendering her heart to him.

  “I’ll be all right.” She stood and hugged London. “It’ll just take time.”

  The pity in the woman’s blue eyes made her heart lurch. Xander hovered nearby, his face grim.

  “Don’t give up on him yet. He’s really a good guy,” London murmured.

  “He cares a lot about you,” Xander swore.

  Maybe. Maybe not. She didn’t know what to think anymore.

  With another hug and a squeeze of her hand, London left, clinging to Xander’s arm and promising to call next week. She waved them out with a wan smile, then sat staring at the wall.

  As they departed, sunlight slanted through her back windows, illuminating her house in a gorgeous glow. And yet for her, the world felt as if it were coming to an end.

  Seriously, she was going to have to pull herself up by her bootstraps and stop crying in her beer.

  Suddenly, the EMTs came by and took the blanket. They inquired after her again, and she sent them away. There was nothing wrong with her that first aid or a trip to the ER could fix.

  Shonda texted that her brother was being discharged from the hospital. Rachel sent her a smiley face back, too exhausted and dazed to manage more. She didn’t know whether thirty minutes or an eternity passed.

  Finally, there was a flurry of activity at the back of her house. Men yelled. Doors shut. Someone laughed. Then a pair of uniformed officers and a detective made their way toward the front door, sparing a smile for her.

  “We’ll call you if we have any other questions, but otherwise you’re free,” the detective said. “Rest up. We’ll leave a few uniforms outside so you feel safe.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  “Thanks, guys. I’ve got it from here.”

  Decker.

  Rachel whipped around at the sound of his voice. He stood at the opening to the hallway, still wearing yesterday’s clothes. He hadn’t shaved. He really hadn’t slept much. And he still looked not just sexy as all get out, but so familiar and beloved that she felt her eyes tear up.

  The detective nodded and shut the door behind him, closing her in the house alone with Decker.

  “Why are you still here?” she asked. She didn’t want the question to come out like an accusation, but it probably did.

  “Because we’re not done, you and I.” He prowled closer, closer, until he stopped right before her. “Rachel, I don’t know what Christian told you or what you believe, but if I had really wanted to kill you, beautiful, you’d be dead. I learned a thousand different ways with Delta Force and the CIA. I’ve used a fair number of them. I’m not a Boy Scout. But I would never, ever, for any reason hurt you.”

  She wanted to believe him so badly . . . “So was it some sort of sting operation and you seduced me to catch a bad guy?”

  “No, I really do work for Xander and Javier now. Nothing I told you was a lie. I just didn’t confess that I sought you out because, earlier on Saturday, Christian Adams approached me in a bar and mistook me for someone he’d connected with online to do a kill-for-hire job. The other guy apparently backed out, but didn’t tell Christian. When he hit me up, I thought he was joking. By the time I realized he was serious, the guy was slapping down money, your picture, and giving me a few days to finish you off. I went straight to the police. I swear it, baby. They told me I didn’t have enough evidence. So I decided to keep you safe myself. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to scare the hell out of you.” He grimaced. “And I didn’t stay out of your bed because resisting you was beyond me.”

  Her first instinct was to protect herself and toss his explanation back in his face. But she took a deep breath and started turning it over in her head. She could picture Decker thinking that some guy’s “job opportunity” was a joke. If he’d actually done anything illegal, the police would have taken him into custody, so they must have absolved him of any wrongdoing. That meant . . . he probably had approached and seduced her because he’d ultimately meant to protect her. Was it that hard to believe that he’d wanted her, too?

  After years of neglect at Owen’s hands? Sadly, yes.

  “How much of what we shared was pretend?” Her voice was small, and she hated asking the question, but for her peace of mind, she had to know.

  “Between us in bed naked, with me deep inside you?” He crouched in front of her. “Not a damn thing.”

  Rachel slid her eyes shut. Her heart leapt at his words, and her mind pushed back. She hated this turmoil.

  “Was I just a fling for you?” His question cut through her confusion. He sounded
uncertain.

  Wait. Was he actually worried that he hadn’t been meaningful to her?

  She opened her eyes, falling into his blue stare, wanting to stay there forever. “No.”

  “Thank fucking God.”

  Before she could respond, Decker settled his arms under her knees and behind her back, then lifted her against his chest. He began to cart her down the hall.

  “Wha . . . what are you doing?” she sputtered.

  “Putting an end to this bullshit.”

  Rachel gaped at him, her thoughts a muddle. What did he mean?

  She didn’t have to wonder long.

  Decker carried her into her bedroom and tossed her on the bed. On her way down, she saw his suitcase in the corner of the room, wide open. Half the contents were on the floor, as if the police really had conducted a search of his stuff.

  He grabbed a few things from the little duffel and scooped them into his hand, enclosing whatever he held in his fist. She didn’t even have time to sit up and confront him about what in the heck he was doing. No, he lowered himself on top of her, tying her wrists to the slats in her headboard with two mismatched athletic socks he’d held.

  “What the devil . . .” she demanded. “Decker!”

  “The problem we’re having now is trust. You don’t really trust that I was protecting you from Christian. You sure as hell don’t believe I fell for you. Both are the absolute truth. Beautiful, you changed something for me.” He cupped her face. “No, you changed everything for me. If I’m not just a fling for you, and you’re mad that I lied, that has to mean that you care about me, too. Right?”

  Good gravy, how could he figure her out so easily? “Bite me.”

  “Love to. Where?” he grinned.

  Teasing wasn’t going to work. She wasn’t going to fall for his sense of humor all over again, even if his warm body pinned her to the mattress, reminding her just how hard and built he was all over. How good he could make her feel.