Power Play

by Tiffany Snow

  Up until then, I’d hoped there’d be some way out of this. Foolish and naive, but also not wanting to accept the inevitable, which horrified me. At the sight of that hallway, I began fighting, the kind of fighting you do when the alternative is too terrifying to consider. I screamed, I clawed, I bit. They retaliated, hitting me so hard my teeth clacked together and I saw stars, but I kept going.

  We were up close now, their breath rancid in my face and I saw the glint of gold teeth in the sneer of baseball guy. The sidekick had my arms locked behind me now and I tasted my own blood. I screamed again, the sound pure rage and fury, abruptly cut off by the smash of a fist to my cheek.

  Blackness crowded my vision and I sagged, the pain in my shoulders from the position of my arms the only thing keeping me conscious. Though I wished it wouldn’t. It was obvious I wasn’t going to get away from the men, couldn’t escape the fate that awaited me. Blissful oblivion seemed preferable to full awareness. Tears stung my eyes, both from pain and hopelessness, and I could taste despair.

  By now they’d dragged me into the darkened hallway. A faint light gleamed at the end—an EXIT sign glowing red over the dark outline of a door. But that wasn’t where they were taking me. Baseball Cap fumbled with another door, finally shoving it open. My body was tired and hurting, every ounce of adrenaline and energy I had now gone.

  “What the fuck are you doing?”

  A shadowy outline of a man stood in the corridor. I blinked slowly, trying to focus, but he swam in my vision. My eye stung as blood seeped into it and I had to close my eyes.

  “She was outside, man,” Baseball Cap said. “Just going to have a good time with her, dump her after.”

  What a Romeo.

  “Look at her, asshole,” the new guy snapped. “She isn’t from around here. Someone will come looking for her and then she’s going to point the finger at you and here. We don’t need that kind of attention.”

  “Then we’ll just get rid of her.”

  I heard a slap and jerked my eyes open. The new guy had hit baseball cap guy, the flat of his palm a sharp sound in the dark.

  “Idiot,” the man said. “As if that would be better. Hand her over and you two fuckwads make yourselves scarce. If you’re lucky, I won’t tell Viktor about this.”

  Wait…had he just said Viktor?

  Baseball Cap, the one who’d been using me as a punching bag, looked pissed, but scared, too, which impressed and terrified me. Who was this new guy that could tell him what to do, hit him, make him obey? What worse things were in store for me at his hands?

  Glancing at Sidekick, who still had my arms pinned, Baseball Cap gave him a nod. Without any warning, I was suddenly released. My knees couldn’t hold me and they buckled, dumping me on the floor. I landed in something faintly wet and I prayed it was just spilled booze.

  There was the shuffle of feet as legs moved past my line of sight and then they were gone.

  Fear made me pull my body up on all fours, my arms trembling at the weight of my body; then I felt an arm sliding around my waist.

  “Come on, let’s go,” the man said.

  I stiffened, my hands scrabbling fruitlessly at the arm pulling me to my feet. “Let me go,” I said, the words sounding pathetically more like a sob than a demand. I finally got a good look at him, and when I did, I wished I hadn’t.

  It was the man Parker had been secretly talking to in New York.

  “Tell Parker he owes me.”

  And those were the last words I heard before I blacked out.

  * * *

  I woke to a pain that felt worse than the roughest hangover I’d ever had. My head throbbed and my body was sore. Baseball Cap and Sidekick hadn’t only hit my face, they’d thrown punches at my midsection as well, reminding me of when I punch a pillow—it leaves an indentation, which is exactly how my stomach felt. My insides hurt, and as I carefully opened my eyes, I realized my face felt swollen, too. One eye wouldn’t open all the way, so it was a blurry form that I saw approaching where I lay.

  I made a noise and tried to sit up, my only thought being to get away before I got hurt again.

  “It’s okay; it’s me,” the form said, and I recognized the voice. Ryker. Relieved, I fell back against the cushions of the couch I was lying on. My couch. “This will help,” he said.

  I felt a cold pack press gently to my cheek and swollen eye. It felt so good that I moaned. Raising my hand, I held the pack to my face, realizing it was a bag of frozen vegetables. Peas, I thought.

  “This may sting a bit,” Ryker warned me. A wet cloth swiped at my other cheek, cleaning the blood I could feel had crusted there. The cut did sting, but I didn’t complain. Compared to the other pains and aches, it barely registered on the meter.

  I looked at him with my good eye. He wore a white T-shirt, minus his leather jacket and holster. At the moment, he wasn’t looking in my eyes, just involved in cleaning up my face. How had I come to get home? Last I remembered, I’d been in the bar.

  “How’d I get here?” I asked.

  “I found you here,” he said. “I tried calling, but you didn’t answer, so I stopped by. Your door was unlocked.”

  “My door was unlocked? That’s so dangerous.” The least they could’ve done was lock the door on their way out.

  “I think you’re missing the point,” he said, his voice hard. “Why the hell do you look like you’ve been beat up?”

  I adjusted the frozen peas—when had I bought those?—and grimaced. “Because I did get beat up.”

  “Why don’t you start at the beginning and tell me what happened?”

  Breathing a sigh, I closed my eyes again—because that felt way better—and told him the Reader’s Digest condensed version of Viktor, Tania, Hanna, and the men who’d wanted to “have a good time” and dump me in the alley afterward. After a brief hesitation, I added the part about the man who’d intervened and the message he’d given me for Parker.

  “What do you think it means?” I asked, gingerly sitting up on the couch.

  “You know what it means,” Ryker said, sliding an arm behind my back to help me. He was exceedingly gentle, despite the hardness of his tone. “It means he’s involved with the Russian mob and knows exactly what he’s doing, even if you don’t want to face that fact. I knew Niki. She was my informant. She’s the one who had Parker’s business card on her when she was killed.”

  My eyes slid shut in defeat. At this point, I couldn’t really argue. Ryker was right. Somehow Parker had gotten mixed up with the wrong people, and was fully aware of who they were and what they did. And to make it worse, he’d known exactly who Tania’s sister was when I’d mentioned her. Had probably even known she was already dead.

  “They have to be threatening him,” I said. “Parker’s not a criminal. They’ve got a hold over him somehow.”

  Ryker didn’t reply and I glanced up at him. My vision had cleared and he was looking at me with something close to pity.

  “I don’t know if I should admire your loyalty or curse your stubbornness,” he said.

  “And I don’t know if I should kick you out or thank you for the peas,” I retorted. I didn’t want to fight with him about Parker. I was still reeling from my close call with certain disaster. I lowered the peas and was surprised when he reached out, the back of his knuckles grazing my cheek. I lifted my eyes and our gazes caught and held.

  “You’ve got to listen to me,” he said. “You’re sacrificing yourself for a man who doesn’t even appreciate you.”

  “That’s not true—”

  “Then where the fuck is he?”

  My face paled at the restrained anger in his voice. I flinched away from his touch and knew I was going to fall apart. But I really didn’t want him to see that and give him more ammunition against Parker.

  “Just leave,” I managed to get out, my voice barely above a whisper. Though I tried to stop them, tears leaked from my eyes.

  Ryker muttered a curse, shoving a hand through his hair. “Christ,
I’m sorry,” he said. “I just—” But he cut himself off and didn’t finish the sentence. Instead, he wrapped an arm around me and pulled me closer.

  Sensing a truce, I leaned forward until my head rested against his shoulder. The fear that had overtaken me in Johnny’s still lingered. Ryker made me feel safe, despite his hostility about Parker, and right now I had a desperate need to feel safe.

  “I was so scared,” I whispered. “I thought they were going to…to…” But I couldn’t put it into words, because that would make it too real.

  “Shh,” he said, the warmth of his breath brushing my ear. “You’re safe now.”

  “How did you know I was back in town?” I asked.

  He didn’t answer.

  A suspicion bloomed in my head and I let out a heavy sigh. “You’re watching him, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Like it or not, he’s part of a murder investigation. And so are you. We keep tabs.” His answer was matter-of-fact.

  Too depressed to argue the point, I pulled away. “I want to take a shower,” I said. I felt dirty, like the grime that had covered the floor of Johnny’s now coated my skin.

  Ryker stood to give me room to stand, but the act of getting to my feet proved to be harder than it ever had been before, and this coming from someone whose overdose on squats at the gym had made sitting on the toilet torture for nearly a week.

  I about collapsed back onto the couch, but Ryker’s arm was around me, steady and firm. My stomach felt like I’d done a marathon session of crunches.

  “Don’t be a martyr,” he said. “Let me help.”

  I didn’t argue, and with his help, we made it to the bathroom. He left me leaning against the sink while he turned on the shower and adjusted the water temperature. I watched him move, the muscles in his arms flexing. His T-shirt was white tonight and well-worn, the fabric so thin it was on the verge of being transparent.

  “Any chance you need some help?” he asked, turning back to me.

  “You’re not trying to use this as an excuse to see me naked, are you?”

  He grinned. “That would be taking advantage of the situation,” he said. “So, basically…yeah.”

  His unrepentant admission made me smile. It was real tempting to say I needed help, but then that would be two men I’d bathed in front of in as many days, and that seemed a really high number for that short a period of time.

  “I’ll be all right,” I said.

  “Okay, then. I’ll be outside the door. Just call out if you need anything. Like someone to wash your back. Or your front. I’m not particular.”

  I pushed him out the door with a huff of exasperation before easing my way slowly and painfully out of my clothes. The hot water felt amazing and I took my time. Angry bruises were already darkening my abdomen. Good thing it wasn’t bikini season yet.

  I wrapped myself in a towel and wiped the steam from the mirror. My cheek had a bruise that leeched under the skin toward my eye. Nice. But at least I could open my eye now. Granted, it looked like I was the victim of domestic abuse, but a huge pair of sunglasses tomorrow would help with that.

  I brushed my wet hair and opened the door. Ryker was sitting on my bed waiting and he glanced up when I stepped out.

  His eyes took a trip down my bare legs and back up, lingering slightly where I had the tail of the towel tucked inside my cleavage; then he cleared his throat and stood.

  “Feel better?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, that really helped.”

  “I found some pretty hefty painkillers in your kitchen cabinet,” he said, getting to his feet. He held a prescription bottle still half full from when I’d badly sprained my ankle (I’d never worn those particular five-inch stilettos again). “Here,” he said, dumping a pill in his palm and handing it to me. “Take this.”

  I glanced down at the small tablet in my hand. I really wanted to take it. But— “I can’t,” I said regretfully. “This’ll knock me out for too long and I need to work tomorrow.”

  Ryker looked at me like I’d grown two heads. “Don’t be an idiot,” he scoffed. “You’re not going to work tomorrow. You’ll be lucky if you can move enough to pee tomorrow.”

  My toilet habits were the last thing I wanted to talk about. “I’ll be fine,” I said. “A good night’s sleep and a few ibuprofen will do wonders.” Make that a handful of ibuprofen.

  “You’re going in because of him, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question, and neither of us needed to ask who Ryker meant by “him.”

  Okay, my toilet habits were the second to last thing I wanted to talk about.

  “I have a job and it’s not like I do manual labor,” I argued. “I sit at a desk for ninety percent of my day. I can do that with a few bumps and bruises.” And maybe a shot of whiskey in my latte. “And I don’t appreciate being called an idiot.”

  “Then don’t act like one,” he retorted.

  Okay, helping me or not, I was getting pissed. He must have read that I was close to throwing him out, again, because he gave a sigh of resignation and scrubbed a hand across his face.

  “Fine,” he said. “I’m not going to argue with you, even if it is a shitty idea. But if you’re dragging yourself to work, come down to the station tomorrow. You can look and see if you can identify any of the men.”

  “Okay,” I said, glad to change the subject. “What time?”

  “Whenever is convenient,” he replied. “I’ll come pick you up.”

  I thought about another confrontation between Ryker and Parker, decided I didn’t want to deal with that.

  “No, that’s okay. I’ll grab a cab.”

  He stood in front of me, his eyes on mine, his expression serious. When he didn’t say anything, I shifted uneasily from one foot to another.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked when I couldn’t handle the silence any longer.

  But Ryker didn’t reply. Instead, he leaned down and kissed me.

  It was different from before. His touch was gentle, his hand cupping my cheek and jaw. I brought my arms up to rest my hands against his chest, the soft fabric of his T-shirt warm from his skin.

  I didn’t track how much time passed, but all too soon he was releasing me. “I’d better go,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He squeezed my hand.

  “Okay. Thanks for coming over tonight,” I said. “It would’ve been really awful to wake up alone after…that.”

  “Waking up alone is a choice,” he replied. “You just let me know if you want that to change.”

  His lips tipped up at the corners in that wicked grin of his; then he was gone.

  Chapter Eleven

  I dressed carefully for work the next morning, not that I had a lot of choice in the matter. I was so sore, I could barely move. The bruises on my face and abdomen were a deep purple. I could conceal those on my stomach much more easily than those on my cheek and eye.

  The button-down blouse I wore was tucked into my skirt, but I didn’t add my usual belt. I didn’t think I could handle the press of it against my skin, at least not for an entire day. Makeup I caked on my face, which helped, but the huge pair of aviator sunglasses I wore hid more than the concealer and powder.

  Ryker’s parting comment last night had me rethinking that anti-one-night-stand resolve I had going on with him. I wanted him. He was dangerous, unpredictable, and full of sharp edges. He made no promises and asked for none from me. And God help me, I wanted to dip my toe into the fire that raged between us…even if I got burned.

  Although I’d prepared myself to see Parker and confront him about the man in New York who’d helped me last night, he had already been to the office and was gone by the time I arrived. He’d left a stack of work on my desk along with notes and a message that said he’d be out most of the day.

  Lovely.

  Not that I minded putting off the clash between him and me—I wasn’t someone who enjoyed confrontation, especially with my boss.

  People passing by took a little too long staring a
t my sunglasses, but I ignored them. It wasn’t as though it mattered for my job performance if I wore sunglasses or not. I figured most people thought I was recovering from a nasty hangover, and I’d rather they think I was a drunken lush than see the bruises on my face.

  “Are we hiding from the paparazzi?”

  I glanced up. Megan’s dry question made me smile, but that made my face hurt, so I stopped real fast.

  I didn’t want to lie to her, but she wasn’t going to buy the hangover thing, so I slid my glasses down.

  “I kinda…got mugged…last night,” I explained.

  The grin on her face changed to a look of horror. “Oh my God, Sage,” she said, hurrying around the counter to me. “Are you all right?”

  I shrugged, pushing the sunglasses back on. “They roughed me up a bit, but I’m okay.”

  “Did the cops catch them?”

  “No, but I’m supposed to go to the police station this morning and look at pictures, maybe pick them out,” I replied.

  “Let’s get some coffee and tell me what happened,” she said.

  “Okay,” I readily agreed. Since Parker wasn’t here, I didn’t feel guilty for stepping out of the office for a few minutes.

  “Any update on Brian?” I asked as we rode down the elevator.

  She sighed, following me out into the lobby as the elevator doors opened. “Well, a few of us went to happy hour the other night, and he actually came. I was hoping maybe we’d hook up after, but he left when everyone else did.”

  “He didn’t hang around, ask you to dinner or something?”

  Megan shook her head. “Nope. I managed to prolong it a little by asking him to walk me to my car, but he didn’t get the hint.”

  “Maybe he’s shy or something,” I said. “Any progress with texting?”

  “Nada,” she said. “It’s degenerated into one-word or one-sentence replies to my texts. And if I try to get him to talk about himself, he just clams up. I’ve never met a man who didn’t think he was a riveting topic of conversation.” She shrugged. “I guess he just isn’t that into me.” She looked so disheartened, I stopped to give her a hug.