Envy: An Eagle Elite Novella

by Rachel Van Dyken

  “Renee?” Nixon called, startling me.

  I jerked back around, forgetting not to make eye contact. His icy gaze locked on me, intense, beautiful. Then again, they were all good looking—it should be a crime for killers to look like super models.

  He sucked in his lip ring and crossed his arms. “Did you hear anything I just said?”

  Heat spread across my cheeks. Please don’t kill me. “No, I’m so sorry, it won’t happen again, I was just…I’m tired.”

  His eyebrows drew together in concern. “I know, that’s why I don’t want you driving. Plus…” He looked back at Trace. “It’s not safe. In fact, I wanted to talk to you about something…”

  My skin started to itch all over.

  “…but it can wait until you’ve slept a few hours.” His smile was warm. I couldn’t read him. I’d nannied for them for a few months, and he’d never really smiled at me, at least from what I could remember. Maybe Trace helped make him more human. “I’m going to have Vic take you home.”

  My ears started to ring.

  Anyone but Vic.

  He was too intense. He rarely spoke. I couldn’t read him and got constant anxiety around him—It didn’t help that I’d never once seen him without a sneer on his face like he was pissed off at the world and was hellbent on destroying it.

  Heck, I would take Phoenix and I’m pretty sure he dreams of killing in his sleep, with a smile on his face and death as his own personal lullaby.

  Vic chose the perfect moment to walk in. He turned his head slightly toward our conversation, kept walking, then tripped.

  “Shit! Damn it. What the hell!” he roared.

  I jumped when his hand thrust a race car in the air.

  Whoops.

  “Curse jar!” Trace laughed.

  Vic stood to his feet and slammed the car onto the table, leveling me with a glare in the process, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a twenty.

  “It’s only five dollars per curse word,” Nixon pointed out.

  Vic held up his hand. “Who left the damn car on the floor?”

  “Ah, and now you’re at twenty. Got it.” Nixon’s laughter joined Trace’s.

  “Um, it was probably me. I thought I cleaned up but…I must have missed one.” My voice sounded weak. I felt stupid.

  Vic’s face actually softened. “Should have watched where I was going.”

  “That’s as close to an apology as you’ll get.” Trace nodded to me. “Vic, take her home? Please?”

  His face visibly paled.

  Seriously?

  At the thought of what? Being alone in a car with me?

  Fantastic.

  He looked ready to puke.

  Nothing like feeling wanted.

  I mean, if a murderer can’t even sit next to me, what hope did I have for marriage? Good thing I had an on-again-off-again boyfriend that liked me enough to kiss me and see me naked.

  Though it had been weeks.

  Months.

  Who was I kidding? I hadn’t heard from him all summer.

  “What about you?” Vic pointed between Trace and Nixon.

  “We have security, we’re fine. Just keep her safe and check the house, all right?” He grabbed Trace’s hand, kissed it, and led her out of the kitchen.

  I gulped and stared at Vic.

  He stared right back.

  His eyes reminded me of Nixon’s, too pretty for a man, unfair that his eyelashes were long too. His face was all hard angry lines, his jaw had absolutely no fat on it, and I truly wasn’t sure if he had his teeth anymore, on account of the fact that he didn’t smile.

  His eyes locked on mine. “Should we go?”

  “Yeah.” I tried to keep the shaking out of my voice as I walked through the kitchen, grabbed my purse from the table, and stood next to him.

  He didn’t budge.

  “Um?” I pointed to the door.

  Which made him smirk.

  And made my jaw nearly detach from my face.

  That smirk.

  It shouldn’t be sexy.

  It had no right to be sexy.

  Straight white teeth.

  Dimples.

  The man had dimples!

  Who knew?

  “I walk behind you, always behind you. If I walk in front of you, I can’t protect you. And that’s my job.” It was the most he’d ever spoken to me.

  I nodded dumbly and walked ahead of him, feeling a slight touch of his fingertips on my lower back as he steered me to the garage.

  Toward his G-Wagon.

  It wasn’t just that he was paid well.

  He was an Abandonato.

  The guy could shit money every day of his life and still have enough to buy a small country and outrun the FBI.

  He could do it ten times over. That’s what happens when you’re mafia royalty.

  I could feel the pulse of his body heat through his fingertips on my back as he reached around me and opened the door.

  I crawled in, dropping my purse at my feet, and was ready to slam the door when he ducked his massive body in and buckled my seatbelt for me—and pulled to make sure it was connected.

  “You good?” he asked in a soft voice.

  I gaped and then mutely nodded my head.

  The door clicked shut.

  I shivered.

  I wasn’t cold.

  It was the way he’d stared at me.

  It was every brush of his fingertips.

  Yeah, I must be really tired.

  I gave my head a shake when he got in the driver’s side and his cologne floated toward my face. He smelled rich. Expensive. The mixture of leather and spice danced around my nose as he started the engine.

  And then his hands were by me as he hit the seat warmers, clearly mistaking my shivering for being cold. He turned on the heat and directed it toward me, all before he even put on his seatbelt.

  “Do you want a water?” he asked, casually pulling out of the garage and through the security gates.

  “Um…” I licked my lips. “Sure.”

  He stopped the car.

  Unbuckled his seat belt and reached behind him. Then handed me a cold bottle, only to get buckled again and take the car out of park.

  Stunned, I held the cold water and stared at him. “You could have done that without stopping the car or unbuckling your seatbelt.”

  “Yes.”

  “So? Why waste the time?”

  “We’re outside the gates of Nixon’s house. Anyone could be out here waiting. We have enemies coming at us from all sides. I refuse to take any chances. All it takes is for me to hesitate. It takes one second. One second where I’m not paying attention. I would regret that one second for the rest of my life; it would hang over my head. I wouldn’t wish that guilt on anyone, I have enough deaths to pay for—I would not survive having yours on my head too.”

  “Because you would get killed?” I croaked.

  That smirk, that beautiful smirk, crept across his face again. “No, Renee, because I wouldn’t want to live—not knowing that I was allowed to and you were in the cold, hard ground.”

  I started to sweat.

  My body was overheating at his words. He acted like he cared. He acted like I mattered. It didn’t make sense. I was a nobody. My dad was high up in the ranks, sure, but I was his daughter.

  A college student.

  A nanny.

  Why would Vic even care?

  I chewed on that thought the entire drive to our house.

  The lights were low since my mom and aunt had decided to go away for the weekend—which they did often when my dad wasn’t home. It took her mind off his potential death. Lucky her.

  Vic reached across the consul and grabbed my arm. “Why is the house so dark?”

  I shrugged. “My mom’s gone, it’s just me for the next few days.”

  “No.” He unbuckled his seatbelt.

  I let out a humorous laugh. “Uh yeah, they’re gone. Look, it’s fine, I stay by myself all the time. I
’m twenty-one.” I was ready to graduate this year! “Plus I know how to shoot a gun—and I’m not a target, believe me.”

  He shook his head. “I’m calling Nixon.”

  “You’re not calling Nixon. It’s seriously fine, don’t bother him with—”

  He was already tapping like a maniac on his phone.

  It filtered into the car on speaker.

  “Everything okay?”

  “She’s alone. The house is dark.”

  “Shit.”

  I threw my hands into the air. They were all overreacting.

  “Exactly.” Vic looked at me out of the corner of his eye, his expression almost smug. “What do you want me to do?”

  “You can’t stay with her alone.”

  Vic rolled his eyes. “Because I can’t take care of her?”

  “Because her father would kill me if he knew I left his only daughter with one of the cousins who used to sleep his way through most of Eagle Elite University—didn’t you screw a professor?”

  Vic winced. “Yeah, you’re on…speaker.”

  Silence and then, “I know.”

  “Bastard.”

  “That’s another five for the swear jar.”

  “Bastard isn’t a swear word!” Vic roared. “And you just said shit!”

  I hid a laugh behind my hand.

  He turned to me, eyes wide. “Tell him!”

  I held my hands up in the air. “Oh, I’m not taking sides, too dangerous, and I like living, but if I were to take sides…always choose the boss.”

  Nixon cackled. “Her dad raised her right.”

  Vic swore again.

  “That’s ten.” Nixon laughed harder.

  “Back to the topic at hand.” Vic rubbed his eyes, and it was the first time I really saw a crack in his inhuman ability to look bored at everyone and everything. Instead, he just looked tired. Join the club, right? “What do you want me to do?”

  “Bring her back here, she can stay with us.”

  Ah, recurring nightmare, we meet again!

  “Nixon,” I piped up, a bit desperate. “I swear I’m safe. Nobody would try anything and—”

  “Are you arguing with me?” He sounded surprised.

  “No, I just…” My eyes pleaded with Vic.

  “One night.” Nixon sighed. “Vic will stay with you one night. Not a word to your father, I don’t want to have to shoot one of Phoenix’s best men because he gets pissed at me…and Vic, try to keep your hands to yourself.”

  “I’m a changed man, you know that.” Vic sounded sad, his entire body braced like he was waiting for a bomb to drop on him.

  Nixon waited a few beats then uttered, “I know, man. I know.”

  “We’ll see you in the morning.” Vic hit the end button and cut the engine. “Looks like you’re stuck with me for another twelve hours.”

  “Hah.” I saw absolutely no humor in the situation. It was the lesser of two evils. It was just Vic, just terrifying, silent, brooding, sexy Vic. What could possibly go wrong in twelve hours?

  Chapter Four

  Vic

  I would have been fine.

  Completely fine.

  Had Nixon not brought up my past. On. Purpose.

  I wasn’t stupid.

  He wasn’t stupid.

  Which meant he had a reason to warn her.

  Which meant I was a fucking idiot for thinking that I had hidden all the stolen glances I’d sent her way.

  I cringed just thinking about it.

  If Nixon knew, that meant the other guys did too.

  Which also meant they were probably taking bets behind my back to see how long I would last before I snapped and tried kissing her.

  I licked my suddenly dry lips as I followed her into the house, my eyes taking in every inch of brick, every speck of dust, every shadow that lurked from the trees.

  I held my gun out and ready while she unlocked the door. The house appeared newer, it was two stories of Nicolasi money—hell, the walls were built on blood. I wondered how many souls were taken in order to pay for this house—how many lives changed through its existence.

  “See?” Renee spread her arms wide and gave a little shrug. The moonlight cast a glow through the impressive kitchen window, giving her such an ethereal look I stopped breathing for a second before schooling my features. “Nothing to worry about, nobody here to kill me.”

  I didn’t relax my stance or lower my gun. “So you checked the crawl spaces? Closets? Dark corners?” I took a step as she shook her head slowly. “Then surely you checked the pantry, right? I mean it’s right behind you. Hell, there could be someone with a gun trained on that pretty mop of hair right now and you wouldn’t know until it was too late.” Her eyes widened like she hadn’t thought of it. Of course she hadn’t. It wasn’t her job to think about the monsters in the dark, just like it wasn’t her job to protect herself. That was why she had me.

  I reached behind her and opened the pantry, pointing my gun inside before shutting the door and facing her again. “It’s clear.”

  Her lower lip trembled. “I didn’t think of the pantry.”

  “It’s not your job to obsess over the pantry,” I whispered in a gruff voice. “It’s your job to listen to me when I’m trying to do my best to keep you safe.”

  She looked away. “Can’t save everyone.”

  “But there’s absolutely nothing wrong with trying, Renee.”

  I said her name.

  It tasted sweet on my tongue.

  The moan that wanted to follow was barely suppressed by clenching my teeth together.

  “Are you going to do a sweep of the house?” she asked quietly.

  “Did you want to join me?”

  “Am I safer with you or by myself in the kitchen?”

  “With me,” I lied. Physically she would always be safe from our enemies—but I knew the truth in my soul. I was just as dangerous to her as a bullet. My being with her would eventually kill her.

  All the wives knew it.

  They knew that eventually there would be blood.

  And if their husbands were gone—it was only a matter of time before it was theirs that was spilled.

  I’d like to think that’s why we drank wine like water.

  Because when you constantly stare down your impending doom, you start wanting to celebrate every extra minute you’ve been given.

  “Let’s go.” I nodded toward the hall. My footsteps whispered against the carpet. Nothing seemed out of place—which was almost more suspicious. People were messy. The hallways were lined with family pictures of Renee smiling with her parents. A heaviness settled on my shoulders.

  “She can’t know,” Phoenix had said earlier that night. “At least not yet.”

  I knew she was close with her parents. I also knew that they were dishonest with her. And she wondered why she was the one nannying the kids.

  Why she was constantly under the watchful eye of Nixon.

  I shook my head and kept walking with a stiff Renee next to me.

  I cleared each room, each closet, each corner, and twenty minutes later when I felt it was safe enough for her to do more than breathe at my side, I lowered my gun and put it back in its holster.

  “All good?” Renee stepped away. She rarely looked me in the eyes, but this time they locked onto me for a good three seconds before she tucked her hair behind her ear and walked farther and farther away.

  I almost reached out and grabbed her arm.

  Almost jerked her against my chest.

  Almost confessed it all.

  The lies they’d told.

  The secrets we kept.

  All to keep her safe.

  All to keep her in the dark.

  To keep her alive.

  “All good,” I rasped.

  She bit down on her lower lip then sucked it between her teeth before almost disappearing down the hall.

  Did she expect me to follow her?

  “Hey,” she called. “You coming? Or do you not
plan on sleeping tonight?”

  With a sigh, I followed her until she stopped at a bedroom and opened the door.

  A king-sized bed stood against the window. Basically, the most unsafe and stupid place to put a bed, but I bit my tongue. A flat screen took up much of the far wall. A white duvet covered the bed, along with a few red pillows, but other than that, the room was completely bare. No dresser, no chair.

  “I won’t be sleeping.” I nodded to the room. “But thank you.”

  She frowned up at me. “What? Are you some kind of vampire?”

  Would you let me bite you if I said yes? “No.”

  “I was kidding,” she said slowly. “As in, joke. I don’t believe in vampires, I’m not…” Was she blushing? It was hard to tell in the dark. “I mean, I read Twilight once, but it’s not like I obsess about them.”

  “You ramble when you’re nervous.”

  “I’m not nervous.”

  “You’re blushing.”

  “It’s too dark to tell,” she said quickly, crossing her arms.

  I smirked. “Renee, it’s okay to like vampires. It’s okay to like coloring too—”

  She scowled.

  “I kill people—for money. Do you really think I’m in a position to judge anyone?”

  She swallowed. I found myself staring. Why was I having such a hard time with her? We were both acting awkward, and I knew it was because of what Nixon said. Hell, I didn’t even want to know what she thought of me.

  “If you’re sleeping…” I tried steering the conversation, mostly because I wanted to keep talking to her, wanted to see if I could make her blush again. “…then I’ll be up watching.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “Not you!” I said quickly. Shit. Hell. Damn. Fuck. “I meant—”

  “For monsters who are apparently out to break into my house and kill me in my sleep?”

  “Yes. That.”

  “Well, I’d try to get some sort of sleep if I were you, or it’s going to be a long day tomorrow. Besides, I’m not important. I promise.” Her smile gutted me; her expression so believing of the words—that she wasn’t important.

  “You are,” I whispered.