by Sybil Bartel
Copyright © 2017 by Sybil Bartel
Cover art by: CT Cover Creations
Cover Photo by: Michael Stokes Photography
Cover Model: Raciel Castro
Edited by: Hot Tree Editing
Formatting by: Champagne Book Design
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
Title Page
Copyright
Books by Sybil Bartel
André
Dedication
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Nine
Forty
Forty-One
Forty-Two
Forty-Three
Bennett (The Uncompromising Series Book Four)
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Books by Sybil Bartel
The Uncompromising Series
TALON
NEIL
ANDRÉ
BENNETT
CALLAN
The Thrust Series
THRUST
ROUGH
GRIND
The Unchecked Series
IMPOSSIBLE PROMISE
IMPOSSIBLE CHOICE
IMPOSSIBLE END
The Rock Harder Series
NO APOLOGIES
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ANDRÉ (The Uncompromising Series Book Three)
André
The Marines trained me to set my sights and wait for the shot. For eight years, I guarded my brothers and defended my country. Now I protect my clients. My personal security firm is the best in the business because I leave nothing to chance… until a dark-haired, hazel-eyed spitfire crosses my path.
She and her sexy-as-hell striptease were supposed to be a one-night distraction. But too late I noticed the branding on her back and my blood ran cold. This woman wasn’t a distraction—she was a death sentence.
Knowing who she was left me no choice. I took her on as my client. But running from her past and hoping we wouldn’t get killed wasn’t an option.
The Marines didn’t train me to retreat. They taught me to engage.
One shot. One kill.
For My Husband
PERVERSE DIDN’T CUT IT. I might as well have been standing with my dick in my hand in a crowded Afghani marketplace. I shook my head and wondered for the thousandth time what the fuck I was doing.
Roark spoke through the headphones. “Nine minutes.”
“Copy.” Shit.
Five hundred and forty seconds. Enough time to calculate distance and wind speed and set my sights on a target two-thousand yards out. Enough time to make a woman come twice. And enough time to change my fucking mind before it was too late.
Roark started our descent. “You’re nervous.”
“I don’t get nervous.” Nerves were for pussies. The Marines taught me better.
He let loose with a rare laugh. “Your leg is bouncing, you’re switching your cell from hand to hand and you’ve checked the instrument panel more times than I have. What the hell did Talerco ask you to do?”
Fucking Talon. “Check on her.” Then fire her. And my stupid ass wanted to hire her.
“What’s in it for him?”
Good question. “She runs his shop.”
“How’s she going to run it if you extract her?”
“Who said that’s what I’m doing?” Kendall Reed didn’t do anything she didn’t want to do.
He banked east toward land. “You’re having me wait on the tarmac, you’ve got nothing but your sidearm and you’re acting like a virgin on prom night.” He glanced at me. “You’re going to try to bring her home.”
Fucking Scottish Neanderthal. I gave him side eye. “I don’t know what’s more disturbing, you putting on a tux or actually going to a prom.” He’d probably go commando in a kilt before he’d wear a tux. “And she’s not a damn dog in a shelter. I’m not bringing her home.” At least, not to my house.
Half of his mouth tipped up, and he ignored the dog comment. “Never made it inside my high school prom.”
“Of course you didn’t.” I shook my head. If my father had spent his hard-earned cash on a tux rental for me in high school, you better believe I would’ve made it inside.
“But that’s beside the point.” He dropped the half smile. “You’ve got something planned for this woman, or you wouldn’t be in my plane. There are two dozen ex-marines collecting a paycheck from you, any one of them could’ve handled this.”
“Twenty-seven ex-marines,” I corrected.
Roark lined the plane up with the runway and spoke with the tower before glancing at me and giving me a look that said he knew I was full of shit. “You got an exit strategy?”
“Fuck you.” And no, I didn’t. Kendall wasn’t gonna come with me no matter what the hell I offered.
Roark wouldn’t drop it. “You always need one when a woman’s involved.”
“Dios mio.” He was fucking exasperating. “This isn’t a damn extraction.”
He smirked. “Then what are you doing?”
Fuck, if I knew. “A wellness check,” I ground out.
He grinned. “What are you going to do? Take her pulse?”
I rubbed a hand over my face. “If I have to.”
He burst out laughing. “Then what?”
“Hold my dick and hope like fuck she doesn’t kick.” The memory of our first meeting hit me like a blast wave.
Six months ago.
STANDING OUTSIDE MY OWN DAMN place, not even one foot in the door of my penthouse, and she was already fucking with my head. Mother of God, this woman. Sighing, I punched in my security code, then pushed open my steel-reinforced front door.
I didn’t know what hit me first, her scent or the sight of her standing in front of the wall of windows overlooking a Miami Beach sunrise.
“He returns.” In a little silk number barely covering her ass, Kendall didn’t even spare me a glance as she dished out her own special brand of charm.
“Afraid I wouldn’t, chica?” Tired as fuck from a rescue mission last night, I unholstered my guns and set them on the kitchen counter.
She turned with a drink in her hand. “I’m not your chica. You can drop the bullshit, Cub
an Boy.” Her lips touched the glass, but her gaze zeroed in on me.
Half my mouth tipped up because that’s what her attitude did to me. Jesucristo, she was gorgeous. And a fucking handful. “Hitting it early, aren’t you?” I inclined my head at her glass to give her shit, but in truth, I’d have liked to see her a few drinks in. See what happened when she let her guard down, because even at sunrise, her dark, straight hair was picture-perfect.
“I’m not hitting anything.” She spun back around. “Yet.”
I let the smile go wide and shook my head. “But just give it time, right?” I shrugged out of my vest and tossed it on a chair.
She ignored my question. “How long are you going to keep me locked up here?”
I stepped up next to her as she stared out at the view. “You’re free to go.” Now. Yesterday had been a different story.
“Right.” She snorted. “Like I’m free to live with who I want?”
Sunlight hit her face, and I sobered. “Never said you couldn’t.” I didn’t want her going home. I wanted to wrestle her sexy ass down and cuff her to keep her from going back to him.
She swirled the ice in her glass. “Then why am I here?”
I looked down at her. Most biker chicks I’d met weren’t like her. Yeah, she had the attitude, but she was something else too. I couldn’t put my finger on it. “You know why.” She was there yesterday when I’d extracted her from a bar full of bikers. I’d walked in like I owned the damn place, grabbed her and walked the fuck out because that’s what her biker boyfriend, Candle Scott, had wanted, and that’s what I did. Personal security.
This time when she turned to face me, there was something different in her expression. The distance, the aloofness, it was there, but there was also something close to desperation, and it immediately put me on high alert.
Every ounce of hostility disappeared from her tone. “Where’s Candle?”
“No clue.” But if I had to guess? Neck-deep in shit. The ex-Army Ranger turned biker was always in the middle of it. I just couldn’t figure out what he was doing with Kendall. Both of them denied being a couple, but I didn’t buy it. “Who is he to you?” I’d checked every thread on her background I could get my hands on, looking for information about her or Candle, but his records were sealed because he was a former ranger and hers were clean. So fucking clean in fact, it was almost as if someone had made the whole thing up. Nothing about the woman standing next to me fit the trail I’d found. She wasn’t a small-town girl from a stable family who played team sports. I’d bet my business on it. But I’d found it all, including a high school yearbook picture that looked like it’d been taken yesterday, not five years ago. None of her background added up to the mouthy woman in front of me who was shacked up with south Florida’s most notorious motorcycle gang’s sergeant at arms.
Her attitude came back. “Why? You jealous?”
“I don’t get jealous.” Because I didn’t get involved with women. Ever. Except here she was, holed up at my place because I’d stupidly convinced myself it was a favor for a biker.
I could’ve had one of my men drive her home hours ago. I owned the best personal security business in the country. Every one of my twenty-seven employees was a military-trained ex-marine. Any of them could’ve gotten her home safely, and I never would’ve had to see her again. But she was still in my fucking penthouse, because I’d stupidly wanted to see her sexy ass one more time before I let her go.
“Lucky me.” She downed her drink and moved past me in a wave of exotic perfume and attitude. “But now that I’m free to go”—she said free just sarcastically enough that I took notice—“I’ll be on my way.” She spared me a glance as she set her glass down and hefted her bag over her shoulder. “How am I getting back to Daytona?”
Stalling, I tipped my chin at her lack of clothing. “You leaving in that?”
All of a sudden, her body language changed. The angle of her head tilted, and the usually proud set to her shoulders took on a fake relaxed pose as her voice went deceptively soft. “You don’t like my outfit?” Despite her tone, the words were exactly as she intended them to be. A dare.
Schooling my expression, wanting to see if she’d squirm, I didn’t say shit. I stared at her.
She didn’t even blink.
Damn, this woman was a dangerous fixation. “I didn’t say one way or another. I only asked if you were leaving like that.” I stuck to the script because I was quickly learning that any information you fed her, she used against you.
“Like what?” Her voice still quiet, her body language was submissive as hell.
I wasn’t an idiot. I knew her intent wasn’t seduction. Hell no, this woman was throwing down a challenge. I just couldn’t figure out why. She’d been nothing but cold to me since I’d met her yesterday, and this felt like a test where touching was a guaranteed failure. I wasn’t gonna engage in this shit, but, damn, I wanted to fail her test. “Nice try, chica.”
“That wasn’t trying.” She dropped her bag and reached for the hem of her dress, whipping the flimsy material over her head so fucking fast, I never saw it coming. “How about this? You like this better?”
Jesucristo. I forced my eyes to stay on hers, but I still caught a glimpse of the see-through lace barely covering her sexy rack. It took every ounce of my military training to keep my expression neutral and not grin like a fucking niño on Navidad. “You want me to like it?”
“Cute.” She stepped forward and dragged a finger down my chest. “Answering a question with a question. Did they teach you that in the Marines?”
“Did your boyfriend teach you to strip in front of other men?” Because I was damn sure Scott would kill me if he saw us right now.
She repeated the same thing she’d already told me. “Candle’s not my boyfriend.”
Fuck, she was gorgeous, but only an idiot would mess with a Lone Coaster’s woman. “He know that?” Men like Scott didn’t protect women they didn’t give a shit about.
“I have no fucking clue what Candle thinks.”
I fought a smile. “You’ve got a mouth on you, woman.” It shouldn’t have been hot, but it was. Sexy as fuck, hot.
She tilted her head and her black silky hair swayed away from her face. “You want to know what my mouth’s good for?” Her finger coasted over my junk.
I grabbed her wrist, but not before my traitorous cock jumped to attention. “How much have you had to drink?” Her blatant come-on was a one-eighty from last night. I wasn’t gonna judge, nothing wrong with wanting to get fucked, but this woman had something else going on. I could smell it as sure as I could smell the fear of my brothers downrange. “You’re not a woman who throws herself at a man.”
The attitude, the disdain, it immediately came back. “You don’t know me at all.” She tried to jerk her hand back. “Let go.”
I held on tight. “Not until you tell me what this is about.”
“Fuck you, Cuban Boy.” She spat the nickname out like an insult.
I ignored it. “You looking to get out from under Candle?” All she had to do was say the word, and God help me, I’d fucking do it. LCMCs be damned, this woman had lit a fire in me.
“Unlike you, Candle lets go when I tell him.” She kicked me.
She fucking kicked me.
The blow smarted on my shin and I let go of her wrist, but I didn’t give her the satisfaction of a reaction. “You didn’t want anything to do with me yesterday. Now you’re stripping in front of me?”
She snatched her dress—nightgown—whatever the fuck it was off the floor, and yanked it over her head. “Fuck you.” She grabbed her bag, stepped into heels worthy of a stripper, then glared at me. “Take me home.”
Her eyebrows drawn together, her hands shaking, her movements jerky, she didn’t look like a woman scorned. She looked scared as fuck.
The overwhelming urge to protect her hit me square in the chest. “Chica—”
A knock sounded on the front door.
She sto
mped to the door and yanked it open while I stood there trying to figure out what the fuck just happened.
My right-hand man, Tyler, glanced at her. “Ma’am.” Then he looked at me. “Am I—”
“Take me home,” Kendall demanded, pushing past him.
Tyler looked over his shoulder at her, then raised his eyebrows at me. “Boss?”
I nodded.
Present Day
I SWAYED AND THE DRINK in my hand sloshed onto the tile floor.
Shit.
I looked down.
The floor moved around like the inside of a kaleidoscope, and a giggle bubbled up my throat like I was one of those women. Sparkle bunnies.
I snorted, then downed the whiskey.
I wasn’t sparkly or pretty or bubbly or even fun. I didn’t bounce through life without a fucking care in the world. Men didn’t look at me and want to make more sparkle bunnies. Who the fuck wanted kids anyway?
Not Candle.
He didn’t even want me.
But he was coming home today, and I’d be able to breathe again. Maybe. If I hadn’t drunk so much. And if I could remember when the last time I’d slept was. I rubbed my burning eyes and aimed for the window. Jack Daniel’s dulled the thousand spiders of anxiety that crawled across my skin, but it didn’t kill them.
Fuck.
My short, choppy breaths fluttered the curtain before I stumbled back from the front window. The driveway still vacant. I didn’t like being alone. Empty houses were targets. Unprotected breeders are sinners.
I shook my head, pushing the ugly words away. “Be a fucking bunny, Kendall.” I tipped the empty glass to my lips. “Goddamn it.”
Playboy Bunnies didn’t drink so much they forgot their glass was empty. And sparkly Barbies didn’t go on three-day benders and ignore work. Fuck all the sparkly Playboy Bunny Barbies in the world. I wasn’t them.
I never would be.
I was short and dark haired, and I just wanted a goddamn night’s sleep without wondering who the fuck would crash through my front door… Candle’s door.