Unforgettable (Untouchables)

by Cindy Skaggs

  “This is you playing nice?” Because she’d gotten a warmer reception from the members of the club the other day.

  Mick rubbed his neck. “Just setting the ground rules.”

  “Then me let me set some rules of my own,” she said.

  Mick cupped his ear as if he hadn’t heard.

  Vicki leaned over the bar and waggled a finger to draw him closer. He leaned his head to her level and she spoke in his ear so he wouldn’t misunderstand. “I have my own rules, Muscle Man. Fuck with me, and you’ll wake up castrated in your bed.”

  He tossed back his head laughing, his blond locks flying. “I got you.” He turned back to Blake, who had been watching the exchange with a line of worry across his brow. “We’ll get along just fine. Something to drink, beautiful?”

  She shook her head. “Another time.” She glanced back at Blake. “Ready?”

  “Not yet.” He poured a glass of scotch from under the bar and came around to her side of the long counter. Scooting a barstool closer, he pulled behind her until he could align his thighs outside hers, turning slightly to focus her attention on the dance floor and the DJ booth. His left arm went around her shoulder, drawing her back to his chest. In his right, he cupped his drink on the bar.

  The roar of music made it near impossible to talk, which was fine. The way he wrapped around her made it impossible to concentrate on anything but the feel of him. His muscled chest behind her head was a solid line of protection at her back. In his arms was the safest she’d felt in days. The last week was catching up to her. The list of questions got longer while the list of what she knew wouldn’t fit on a cocktail napkin. And through it all, she’d found Blake, a man she thought never to see again, but she was thankful as hell he was here.

  No lie, she’d lost it when she found the cat. No telling what would have happened if she’d been alone. In all likelihood, the room where she found the cat was bugged. She’d given them a fine performance to stroke their egos. The last time she’d give them any satisfaction. When she found the person responsible, she’d follow through on the threat she made to Mick. Castration was too good for a man who’d done something so horrific to an animal.

  She squeezed her eyes closed. It wasn’t the first time she’d found a mutilated cat, thanks to her sick brother Nick. She’d sworn never to get another pet, to attach to another animal. She’d studied psychology to understand the kind of twisted mind that could do something so horrific, but she’d never found an answer to explain Nick. Some people were simply born crazy.

  “You sleeping there, darlin’?”

  When she opened her eyes, she found Blake’s gaze on her. The light from the dance floor reflected in pale eyes, giving them an ethereal glow. “No. Not sleeping.”

  He took a slow sip of his scotch and gave a barely perceptible nod across the room. Across the bodies writhing on the dance floor, near the front, stood the man she’d mangled in the fight. He had bruises on his face from her kubotan and hatred in his eyes.

  Vicki wrapped an arm around his neck and drew him down to talk close to his ear. “Didn’t take the bouncer long to call your friend.”

  “I told David to call,” Blake said, his voice hard to hear over the roar of the music. He nuzzled her neck. “Best to get this out in the open all at once.”

  “You like playing with fire.”

  “You’re the only fire I need.” He ran his tongue around the shell of her ear, and then bit the lobe. The snap of teeth on flesh sent a shock of heat straight to her core. “As for him, just setting the ground rules.”

  “What are the rules?”

  “My club. My woman. My turf.”

  The words were like a gust of winter wind, cooling her jets. In all these years, she’d never been a man’s possession. Neither had she needed a man’s protection. She was self-sufficient. Solid and solitary. This situation made her connection to Blake a necessity, and it chapped her hide. Even if it was Blake, a man she trusted more than most, it didn’t take away the sting of sitting in a public bar, making a scene to prove a point.

  Hands off, because a man would hold you accountable. A man would seek retribution. Never mind that she was perfectly capable of seeking her own justice. And would, because no one killed her cat and got away with it. She didn’t need some macho code. Didn’t need the Feds or Blake or anyone else. She traced her hand up and down his neck, under his hair to tug at the roots until he growled in her ear. “Careful, woman.”

  Oh no he didn’t. Because this charade aside, no one owned her. She spun her chair to face him, hopped off the barstool, and moved into the vee of his thighs. He leaned back, pulled her in with a hand to her ass, cupping her like he’d been there before and would be again. Another sign of possession. A fire burned like vengeance in her soul so bright it was a wonder he didn’t burn. Time to teach him a lesson.

  Chapter Nine

  Vicki ran a hand up Blake’s chest, closed her eyes because the solid wall of muscle tempted her to forget her anger, but she was too spun up. With light, caressing moves, she slid her fingers around his neck and into his hair, where she grabbed with tight fists. “I’m no one’s woman.”

  “Simmer down, darlin’. All part of the show.”

  “All for show?” A wise man would have heard the chill in her tone, but Blake just grinned. “Fine, then. Let’s do it up right.”

  Using the hands fisted in his hair, she drew him close. “This is going to hurt you more than me,” she said against his lips, but before she could move in, he captured her lips. It wasn’t sweet like at the house. This kiss was raw aggression. He devoured her, nipping and sucking at her lips until she opened for him, then swept his tongue inside. He tasted of scotch, smooth and warm on his tongue. Her tongue. She didn’t know where one ended and the other began. She only knew that here, finally, was an outlet for her anger and frustration and damned impotence when it came to her cluster of a life.

  So she took control. Her nips turned to bites. Her nails bit into flesh. And the man took it, let her push anger onto him. Transference, a shrink would say, but she wasn’t a shrink. Not today.

  He moaned each time she lashed him with her tongue and held so tight she thought one of them might break. It wasn’t a game anymore. The bass from the DJ booth shook the floor, but she blocked it. Didn’t see the flash of lights or the throng of dancers. All she felt was Blake hard against her.

  Her skin was on fire, feverish with need. Memory was a powerful aphrodisiac, and her body remembered his touch, his taste, and the way he rocked her world. Blake was the only man she’d ever let under her skin, and his kiss yanked the memory to the surface until she was restless with emotions she’d long buried. She pushed them back, buried ’em deep, because emotional connections were a weakness she couldn’t afford. They weren’t smart or safe.

  He dug his hands into her hair, cupped her head to keep her still. She fought the simple possession, but he held firm. The move sent a jolt of electricity through her body, which she fought like a wild animal in a trap. No one controlled her. She bit down on his tongue.

  He lifted his head, then, but didn’t release her. He wiped a thumb along the line of his lip, flicked out his tongue. “You’ve gotten treacherous with age. What are you trying to prove?”

  “I’m no one’s woman. Not now. Not ever.”

  His eyes narrowed, and the pale light of his green eyes wasn’t visible. The flashing neon turned them an otherworldly hue. “For right here, right now, you’re mine.”

  The possessive tone did not just make her panties wet. She yanked back, out of his embrace. He released her hair, but not until it pulled, aggravating the headache throbbing in her temples.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Boom. He was gone. He ditched her, midargument.

  Vicki turned, ready to pursue. He wove his way through the crowded tables, skimmed the dance floor, and approached the bruised man. From a distance, it looked— Victoria squinted through the dim room. Sure enough, two men, the one wit
h visible bruising clenching a fist at his side, flexing so tight the muscles in his right arm bunched. Right behind him was the other man she’d wrestled on this very dance floor. As Blake approached, the men glared, settling on her like they’d just as soon kill her as look at her.

  Mick jumped the bar, faster and smoother than a man his size should move. “He can’t afford this right now,” he said, his voice low so no one overheard.

  “Can’t afford what?”

  “You.”

  Victoria watched the mini drama across the room. A few dancers turned to watch the scene unfold, but most kept gyrating to the music.

  “You’re a little blunt for my liking.”

  “And you’re an entitled brat,” Mick answered.

  Nice. She was putting her trust in a man who hated her. Great. Fabulous. Rotten luck settled in her gut like an anchor tying her down. She needed this man’s overpowering size to keep her pursuers at bay, and she’d really appreciate it if he kept his opinions to himself.

  One man took a swing and Mick moved. “Get behind the bar,” he ordered.

  Lightning-fast, Blake grabbed the first man by the throat and rammed him against the wall. Mick intervened before the other man could double-team Blake. Across the room, the bruised man’s face turned red before he nodded at whatever Blake was saying. Victoria didn’t wait around to watch. She’d been shielded from the day-to-day of her family business. The violence and the posturing. She refused to watch Blake play protector. This didn’t feel like a game or a show. The knot in her gut grew. She spun on her heel, intent on getting out, when she walked into a wall of muscle.

  “Pardon me,” she said, moving to the right. The body moved with her. The sarcastic response was instinctive. “Nice try, buddy, but I’m not interested.” She glanced up, and the words died in her throat.

  One of the men from the day she first wandered into the club stood before her. He was the one who’d intervened on her behalf while Blake had fought, but the way he towered over her now didn’t seem protective in the least. He was a good foot taller than her, and his posture screamed danger. Her pulse roared, but she smoothed her features.

  Never let them see you panic.

  What had Blake called him? “Trenton,” she said, her voice barely audible over the music. “You worked for my brother.”

  “With your brother,” he answered. “We need to talk.”

  Did she look like an idiot? “Sure, as soon as Blake gets back.”

  “Now.” He wrapped his arms around her middle and propelled her in front of him to the kitchen. His entire body blocked her so she wasn’t visible from where Blake and Mick stood. Faster than she would have thought possible, he had her through the kitchen and out the back door, her feet dangling. She struggled, trying to break away before he adjusted his grip and she really couldn’t get free. Chest to chest with Trenton, her arms were cinched tight, but her feet hung loose. She kicked, but her boots were ineffective against his shins. Sound roared through her ears, and each second felt like an eternity.

  “Be still,” he ordered.

  Like hell. The alley behind the club was dark, close to silent after the throb of music from the club, and her struggles were all she heard. He moved through the alley toward the back parking lot. She renewed her efforts. Getting into a car with a man like Trenton was a death sentence. She arched her back. The movement shook her loose enough to pull back her right leg. She rammed her knee as hard as she could to his groin.

  He let out an oath and dropped her to her feet. She ran, but he grabbed. Even doubled over in pain, he was stronger. Vicki kicked his knee, but he blocked, grabbed her leg, and pulled.

  Pain knocked the breath from her lungs. One minute she was struggling, the next she was flat on her ass. Her head knocked back and hit the asphalt in a move that scrambled her brain. He said something she couldn’t hear and then took off. More than anything, she wanted to lie back and rest, but she had no idea who else might be in the alley. She climbed to her hands and knees just as Mick got to her. He lifted her to her feet, once again demonstrating how easily she was maneuvered. Still panicky inside, she leaned away from him and tried to catch her breath.

  “Did you see?” she rasped. “Big guy?”

  “I saw.” Mick rubbed a hand along the back of her head where she’d hit, his moves gentle and at odds with the look of unadulterated rage on his face. “I told you to stay behind the bar.”

  “Really? Did it look like I went willingly?”

  “No. Remind me not to piss you off,” he teased, his tone light, but his features were pure focus. With one last withering glance, he shepherded her toward the kitchen entrance, using his body to shield. The precaution proved unnecessary, as no one came at them. Not with Mick the Mountain at her back.

  They made it through the kitchen before meeting up with Blake. The anger blazed from his eyes like he could burn someone on the spot. She took a step back, closer to Mick. Was Blake angry at her? They congregated in the wide entry between the bar and the kitchen.

  “The goons out front were a decoy,” she said, figuring the best defense was a good offense.

  He looked mad enough to skin a live chicken. “You think?”

  “Don’t get sarcastic with me,” she said. The adrenaline running through her veins needed an outlet. Blake was the easiest target.

  “That’s right. Sarcasm is your go-to response.” He maneuvered closer, the anger pushing off him staggering.

  “Calm down. Both of you,” Mick said. “This was obviously a coordinated effort. Fast, considering you two haven’t been here an hour. I’d say someone is watching the club.”

  Blake nodded, his lips tight. “Did you see who grabbed her?”

  “Trenton,” she answered. She wasn’t invisible, and she sure as heck wasn’t silent. “All three of those men worked for my brother.”

  Blake sent Mick a dark scowl. “Did Trenton say anything?”

  “Said we needed to talk, and then he hauled me out of here so fast I nearly got whiplash.” She swiped a hand across her posterior, brushing gravel loose. “I’m fine, by the way.”

  The look on Blake’s face went from angry to startled. Finally, he smiled. “I can tell by the way your lips are flapping.” He pulled on her until she walked into his arms. “I promised you’d be safe, and then you get nabbed within minutes of walking into my club. I’m sorry.”

  He sounded so…frustrated. His voice was stark and cold. The face he presented the world was tough, intense, and threatening, but the way he held her in his arms— He had his soft spots, his kindness.

  Vicki leaned back. “It’s all good. Mick got to me.” She glanced up at him, and she had to look wa-ay up, because the man was as tall as the entryway. “I’m sorry, Mick.”

  “For what?”

  She’d made a snap judgment, and she’d been wrong. “I thought when it came down to it, you wouldn’t be there.”

  “Like I said, we got your back.”

  Blake punched Mick on the arm. “Thanks, man.”

  “No problem.” Mick moved behind the bar and handed her bag across to Blake.

  Blake grabbed her hand and led her to the side through a dark hallway. The hall had no lights, strange alcoves, and black curtains against the walls. He moved through the hall, unlocked a door, and led her up a steep set of concrete steps. The music from the sound booth dimmed as they climbed the stairs, and the noise vacuum made her realize how chaotic it was below. The absence of extreme loudness was a relief like taking off too-tight shoes. She wanted to revel in the silence. The upper hall was brighter, wide, and led straight toward an exit sign at the back of the building.

  Blake stopped at a door just to the right of the exit. He pointed out the numbered keypad. “More secure.” He leaned to the side so she could see the numbers he entered. “Got it?”

  The adrenaline letdown was swiftly taking over. She felt numb and stiff, her mind moving too slow. She nodded, although she really wasn’t thinking about locks and keypads.
She was a little worried about what she’d find on the other side of the door. She’d been running since the near miss with Manny at Sofia’s house. The first thought, the only thought, was to get out so Manny had no reason to return. But his fight downstairs made her realize how little she knew Blake. He was a cop, sure, but she knew more crooked cops than straight, and he’d been undercover a long time. He lived in a gray world as dark as his tailored suit. And he had a punitive side she had not seen in him before.

  Harder than he had been at twenty, he was a fighter. It was in his stance and in his eyes. This was a man who didn’t back down.

  She swallowed and followed him inside. The fluorescent overhead light shone on a large, open space. It wasn’t the Ritz, but she hadn’t stayed at the upscale hotel in a long time anyway. The apartment was a compact, tidy space with an ugly plaid couch, a motel-sized dinette, and a galley kitchen with worn metal cabinets. If it had a microwave, she’d be surprised. If it had a dishwasher, she’d eat the contents of her purse. The uncovered window looked out on black night.

  Eddie walked through from a room on the right. Her brain blanked. He brought with him the scent of Old Spice and older memories. Neither belonged in this place.

  “All clear.” He waved a small, handheld device that wasn’t much bigger than a cell phone, but with two stubby antennae on the top. A bug detector. Professional grade, from the looks of it.

  “How many?” Blake asked.

  “Three.”

  “Put them back where you found them in the morning.”

  Eddie nodded, but Vicki was confused. “Why put them back?”

  “Because whoever placed them is looking for a reason to distrust me.” Blake said. “If the bugs go dead, they’ll have their reason.”

  “But—” she started.

  “But I wanted you to have a night to decompress before putting you under a microscope.”

  “Oh.” The tension in her shoulders eased. Not having to be “on” after the week from hell sounded like a stellar plan.

  Eddie asked if there was anything else, but Blake sent him home for the night. Eddie stopped and rested a hand on her shoulder. “Everything okay?”