Max trusts her not to reveal their secrets but this breach he’ll forgive her for. Nausea rolls through her. If he comes back. Or any of them survive this. “She’ll protect you. If she tells Nick not to hurt you, he won't."
“Fuck that.”
Not sure if his protest comes from disbelief that Shae would ask or that Nick would accept. But, she keeps going. Keeps pushing to make him understand. Because right now it’s all she’s got to save them. “It worked before.”
His silver Glock swings from Shae to her. The same desperation that jerks his arm floods her throbbing nerves. Panic seemingly destroying his normal deliberate movements. The practiced composure his boss taught him evaporating from the hysteria invading both of them.
Not the first time she’s been threatened, the shadow of death’s grasp darkening her existence. And, probably won’t be the last. But, she can’t worry about that right now. Can’t think about anything beyond saving her friend - the woman who holds all of their happiness in her broken body. “The only thing keeping you alive was her making Nick promise to have mercy on you. She’ll do it again.”
If she can.
Precious seconds tick by in their standoff, his internal argument playing out on his face whether to accept her assertion. Sweat bubbles between her breasts and slides down her trembling stomach. Anyone who says their life flashes before their eyes when facing death is a fucking liar. That’s total bullshit. Everything lasers in on the cold metal a few inches from your face. All your racing mind can think about is the pulsing finger curled around the trigger controlling your every thought, movement, emotion.
Don't wince. Don’t blink. Don't do anything that will make him not believe her.
“Gina? What's going..."
Ignoring the voice behind her, she forces herself to hold Oscar’s attention. But, hers isn’t powerful enough to keep his. His gaze flicks from her to the other bodyguard whose realization must set in from the swear tearing from Cord's mouth before the bullets rip through his head.
Involuntary shudders rack her body. This can’t be happening. Can’t be real. But Cord’s brain splattered across the wall proves otherwise.
Revenge distorts Oscar’s features, his expression almost unrecognizable as he twists back toward her friend. Fuck no! Shae cannot die. This baby will not die. His arm feels like steel as she shoves against him, the gun tangling in her shirt.
The carpet chafes her bare arm as she slams down, clutching at the weird burning sensation radiating out from her torso. Wetness covers her fingers. What the fuck? Goosebumps erupt on her trembling body. Why is it so cold in here?
“You no do this. No hurt them.”
Marta’s voice scolds from the doorway. Oh Jesus! Gina’s fingers claw at the rug trying to pull herself up but heaviness overcomes her contracting muscles. Sapping all of her strength. She sucks in a deep breath but can’t get any oxygen to her lungs.
“Watch out old woman.”
A thud rattles the floor before footsteps clamor on the wooden stairs, growing farther and farther away. Until she can’t hear anything. Everything silent except for the insistent ringing of her phone. She forces her eyes open, straining to see through the blackness invading her sight. Why did they turn off the lights?
Wire-rimmed glasses lie in the doorway, the bent frame surrounded by tiny splinters of glass sparkling like glitter in the thick pile. Shit! She strains for the chirping cell, vibrating only a few inches from her twitching hand. Just a little bit more. A thousand hornets sting her stomach as she stretches. Her fingertips brush the edges. Almost. Please God.
Sharp pain shoots through her knuckles from a black loafer crushing her fingers curled around the phone. Too weak to fight anymore, she finally lets out the cry burning in her throat. He squats down in front of her, holding the cell in front of her nose. Nick’s number lights up the shattered screen.
“Stupid motherfuckers can’t save you this time. Now they’ll know what it's like…”
His voice sounds strange, too far away. Why is she floating? Her eyes fall shut. She’s so tired. She just needs to rest for a minute. Then she can fix this. Everything will be okay.
"No!"
Marta's scream pierces the darkness before everything is silent.
Chapter 15
Max plants his feet, steadying his position against the swaying beneath him. The view is the same as the last time twenty times he checked. Two guys on the roof, four patrolling the beach, and five in and around the house. Outnumbered three to eleven. Not great but manageable.
But, the party can’t start until the guest of honor returns. Dimitri Giavan. King of Greece’s largest drug cartel and Paul’s deadliest enemy.
And, now Max’s target.
He drops the high-powered binoculars on the table and scrubs his hands down his face. Beyond exhausted and forcing himself to stay alert for a man he despises and a girl who isn’t his.
All for a broken woman who may not be anymore, and an innocent child who no one could survive her loss. Damn. How did his world get so fucked up so fast?
He flinches at the door slam behind him. More from the person than the clatter of Katrina busting out from the lower deck. Still fuming over the betrayal that cost her cash as well as her dignity. The former she can withstand but the latter will end in someone’s death. Either hers or Paul’s.
Fucking great. By the end of the night, he’ll be disposing of one of their bodies too.
The worst part is he should care. Maybe not about Paul. He’s too far gone to bring back, entangled soul deep in a black market web of drugs, diamonds, and human trafficking. Katrina is lost too, if he’s honest with himself. But, admitting she’s irredeemable hurts.
Because she’s him, and he’s her. The same evil weaves through both their hearts. He likes to think he’s different. Wants to believe he’s a bit more moral because he actually has the ability to love, to care about someone besides himself. But, that virtuosity may not be enough.
Nothing erases the sins of a killer for hire. No mercy for taking the lives of others, even if the reasons behind the deaths call for the severest punishments. No absolution for playing judge, jury, and executioner.
Her fingertips trail over his arm as she brushes past him. Trying to rebuild the connection between them, even in her fury. Angry sex one of her favorites. Bile rolls through his gut, still disgusted by the things she wanted him to do to her. Her desire only intensifying at his refusal.
Those were kinks she would have to get off with someone else. He’s no prude, yet there some lines even he refuses to cross. No matter how much he thought he loved her at the time.
She blows out a deep breath, boredom egging on her irritation. “Anything new?”
He wishes for a status change as much as her. Get this over with and go the fuck home. “Nope. Still only the guards and a housekeeper.”
“What the fuck? Paul fucking forced us out here for nothing. They’re probably not even here.”
Another thing she’s wrong about. Dimitri and the woman, Vivian, are definitely staying at the secluded mansion. The signs of her presence are subtle but discernible. Pastel colored towels spread across the lounge chairs, turned to face the sun. A two-seat convertible parked crookedly in the driveway. The fresh flowers, cut in the small garden by the maid a few minutes ago, and carried inside. Probably to make a bouquet at the dinner table or for Vivian’s night stand.
All the details Katrina misses. Always just ready to run and gun. Yet, they provide the proof, reflecting Dimitri’s attempt to please his captive, to erase her fears and sway her from prisoner to girlfriend. Must be some lady as much as both men seem to want her.
Which makes all of this so much fucking worse. Vivian’s not a pawn for control anymore. No longer a tool to try and dominate the other man. Ego’s bad enough in war. Love makes men stupid.
A bitter chuckle escapes his lips. Himself included. God, he misses Gina. Her unwavering determination to overcome all the bullshit that comes her wa
y. Her almost sweet giggle when she lets her guard down. The fire that burns in her cocoa eyes, always flaming at his touch.
Fuck. He needs to get back to her.
Covering Katrina’s tapping fingers with his own, he meets her darting gaze. “I know patience isn’t your strong suit, but try. Hard. When it’s time to go, we’ll have to move fast and you can’t be distracted.”
“I’m ready, baby.” Her hand slides off the wooden railing and she tugs on his shirt. “Always ready.”
Crazy and delusional. But now’s not the time to get into all that. “Did you confirm the jet ski is gassed up and--”
She jerks away, annoyance cooling her passion. “Yes, I already fucking told you that. Stop fucking...”
Forcing himself to keep from rolling his eyes, he ignores her tantrum and checks the small island again, slowly sweeping from left to right. Goosebumps rise on his neck conflicting with the heat radiating from his core. A couple climbs out of an SUV, the gray-haired man racing to help the young lady down before they stride toward the front of the house. Yellow and pink bags swing in Dimitri’s left hand, his right curled over hers, a hesitant smile on her face.
Fucking great. He took her on a fucking shopping spree while they floated, stuck with only each other and their impromptu plan, hastily crafted during the tense plane ride. “They’re here.”
Katrina's face lights up with her vicious smile. Her eyes dance with the thrill of impending death from her own hands. Snuffing out the lives of men whose last thoughts are probably the shock of a tiny woman with a deadly aim. “Fucking finally. Let’s go.”
“Not yet. It’s too early.”
“Fuck that. I’m tired of waiting. We’re going now.”
His fingers encircle her petite wrist, tugging her back toward him. “Nothing’s changed. We go at sunset. The glare on the water helps hide our approach, and we don’t have to use headlights. It’s our best shot to go in undetected. Don’t fuck this up.”
“You’re always such a control freak.”
“Yeah, well this freak is what kept you alive all those years.”
Dropping down on the bench edging the railing, she glares at him, muttering her complaints under her breath. That's fine. As long as she follows orders for a little bit longer. Once this is over, he'll be gone and she can do whatever the hell she wants.
After about an hour, the helicopter overhead drowns out her ceaseless bitching. His body tenses, and he nods at her. It's time.
Paul's surprise attack from the air buys them just a few minutes to breach the island's security and eliminate the guards on the ground before the men in the house realize they're under attack and organize a response. Adrenaline rolls through him yet isn't enough to spark the rush he used to crave. Unable to ignite any fervor when the loss is now more than just the risk of his own life.
The handlebars hum under his fingers while he waits for her to climb on behind him. As soon as her small arms slide around his waist he slams the gas pedal. Her grip tighter than necessary at their speed but he doesn't fight her. Much bigger worries than her subtle seduction attempts filling his thoughts.
She presses her cheek against his pounding temple while her elbow squeezes his shoulder, steadying herself to gauge Paul's progress as they approach. One hundred yards from the shore she tosses the binoculars into the waves and slides off one of the rifles strapped to her back. "Roof and grounds are taken care of. Two guys exiting the house now."
Good thing his former friend's sniper skills haven't waned. He kills the engine and grasps her thigh pressing into his back. Her petite body stiffens in preparation of taking aim. Bony knees stab his taut skin, a welcome distraction to the frustration of waiting. Her deep intake of breath sounds in his ear even over the pounding surf from her reaction to the first man running toward them. She drives a clean shot through his head, but the second hit is too quick and only pierces the other guard's chest. Severe but not enough to eliminate the threat completely. The guy stumbles, clutching his shirt before disappearing into the foliage bordering the property.
"Fuck!"
He jabs the ignition button, and she fists his shirt as they rev up and speed to the shore. She hops off first, wadding onto the sand. Never even looks back to see if he's following. Bent on her mission to finish off the injured guard and restore her wounded pride. That's fine. He has his own goal to accomplish.
Cool water floods his shoes, the bottom of his pants weighing down his legs as he wades toward the rustling bushes. Follow who's running away from them. Can only be one person who's too scared to fight.
Glimpses of her blue sun dress flutter between the trees, her ponytail swaying across her back. Fuck! This will be so much worse if he has to tackle her. His thighs burn as he pumps with all his strength. He catches up with her as she finally slows, bending over to catch her breath.
"Vivian?"
He keeps his voice soft, hopeful she doesn't take off again. She whips around and blinks as if trying to determine if his presence is real. Her glassy eyes widen at the realization he is. Fucking great. Dimitri’s drugging her. This could go either way. Please God let her be cooperative.
A wobbly finger points at him. “No.” Her voice screeching as she shakes her head, panic filling her groggy gaze. “No! No more! I won't do it!”
Okay, maybe not. “You don’t have to be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Her arms wrap around her shaking body, her eyes darting from him to the small clearing next to them. Looking for an escape. He's got to figure out a way to make her understand that's exactly what he offers.
"I'm here to take you home." He puts his palms up and crouches down, attempting to minimize their size difference. She’s already terrified and doesn’t need him hulking over her. “Back to Nassau. That’s all.”
"Yes." She nods, her bottom lip trembling as a small sob bubbles out. “I want to go home. Please?”
“Then you’ve got to trust me. No matter what happens. Keep your eyes on me and do what I say.”
Her head bobs again. Not with the same conviction as before. Can’t blame her. No one you can really trust in this fucked up world. But, he’s all she’s got. And, even with the tranquilizers coursing through her veins, she knows it too.
“Thank God you found her.” Paul’s voice pierces the silence behind him, growing stronger as he steps closer, passing him and stopping just a few feet in front of her. “Come here, baby.”
Her body almost convulses, racked with fear, her eyes huge and unblinking. Max follows her line of sight. Fucking Dimitri strides toward them, flanked by his bodyguards. First rule of attack - eliminate the boss and then his followers are much more willing to shift their loyalty to the new master. He takes aim at the drug lord's forehead, but the man on his left suddenly jets forward, taking the bullet to his throat. Fuck!
Vivian screams at the blood spurting from the hole ripped through the guy's neck before he slumps to his knees. With her caught between the battling men, Paul shifts, his arm rigid, aiming at Dimitri's heart, matching his opponent’s stance.
Guilt twists through him at body checking her. But better him taking her down than a bullet. He rolls them, knowing it’s fruitless for himself. Whichever man survives, neither one will think twice about shooting him in the back. But, he can still save her. He curls tighter trying to protect the woman trembling against him, her nails digging through his thick shirt in her fear. His muscles involuntarily clench in anticipation, waiting for the pain to sear his skin.
Only her soft cries fill the air.
No yelling.
No pain.
No shot.
Max lifts his head. Son of a fucking bitch. Paul stares at Nick's cold expression behind the glint of his boss' Glock in the fading sunlight.
“Nobody scares my wife.”
His former friend staggers backward, the force of the bullets in his chest and head too much for any man. Shock the last emotion registering on Paul’s face before his eyes sink shut and his
flailing body smacks the hard ground.
Vivian lets out a strangled gasp and struggles out of his grip, crawling a few feet away from them. Her shoulders hunch tight around her neck as silent sobs shake her body. All the bottled up fear and uncertainty of the past few weeks pours out now that she’s finally safe. He’ll let her cry for a few minutes. Giving her the cathartic release she needs before they figure out how to get her back to Nassau.
With the immediate danger eliminated, he must face his biggest fear before he can let go too. “What about Gina? Is she all right?”
“Yeah, Cord brought her back. She’s at the house.”
His body slumps. Thank fucking God. At least this time her stubbornness didn’t override her willingness to let herself be protected.
“You okay?”
Now he is. He nods and accepts Nick’s outstretched hand. “Yeah.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, it’s been fucking crazy but I’m--”
Agony blazes through his face from Nick’s fist connecting with his jaw. Not with full force but still hurts like a son of a bitch. He tumbles back, busting his ass like a pussy.
“That’s from Gina.”
He sprawls across the dense grass, his belly shaking from laughter. Maybe he’s half-crazy from exhaustion. But God damn, it’s fucking good to be alive. Now he can go home and make sure Gina knows how much he loves her. Fuck morals and integrity and ultimatums. Whether she divorces Richard or not, he doesn't give a fuck. All he knows is that she belongs with him, and she’s damn sure going to know it.
Stroking the tender muscles across his cheek, he sits up and nods to his friend. “Thanks for not breaking it you stupid motherfucker.”
“You’re welcome. I have to get you home in one piece for Shae.” Nick taps on his phone screen. Probably as ready as he is to get the fuck out of here. “But then I’m going to kick your ass for scaring the shit out of us.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
Truth About Tequila (Surviving Absolution #3) Page 12