by Tia Siren
"No. You raced a very smart man who's dicking with you." He pulled out a slip of paper. "Here's the address on file for the guy. Whoever is toying with you is being smart about it."
"What's the connection to Marcus then, Roy? You're the damn detective."
He nodded. "I don't know. It doesn't make any sense to me, but be careful. See if Evie is out at this house and keep me in the loop. Whatever the connection is, I'll find it. Okay?"
I shook his hand. "Thanks for the help."
There was no rhyme or reason to the bullshit I was trying to work through. Why would Rodney's group lead me on a wild goose chase? I hadn't done anything to those fuckers, or really anyone else. Winning a street race wasn't a reason for them to take my goddamn wife from me and threaten everything I held dear.
Ben waited in the car outside, and Danny was in the back seat.
"What's the deal?" Ben turned toward me.
"Take me to this address." I handed the slip of paper to him. "I have no clue what we're getting into."
"Whatever it is, we're with you, man." Danny patted my shoulder and leaned back in the backseat. "Let's get this shit over with and see what's up."
"How was it?" Ben kept his eyes on the road, leaving me unsure of what he was talking about.
"You talking to me?" I asked.
He glanced over. "Yeah, man. How the fuck was it?"
"How was what? Stop being cryptic. I don't like it," I barked.
"Racing, Mase. How did it feel?"
I bit my tongue, trying to figure out if I could lie about it and get away with it. I didn't want to put false hope back into my two best friends that I would be joining them back on the streets anytime soon. If Evie was alive and mine again, I would walk away from them and anything or anyone else she wanted me to.
"It was all right." I turned to look out the window. "I'm not coming back."
I expected a fight, but I got nothing in return. The conversation ended without another word.
My past was just that, and I wasn't planning on returning to it. Not for anything.
"Who lives here?" Danny leaned in between the seats and glanced at me and then Ben. "The fucking house is dark and creepy. We're going to get shot by some rich old man, guys."
"Shut up." I got out of the car and pulled my phone from my pocket as it buzzed. Roy. "Talk to me." I walked toward the house as my friends followed me.
"I found the connection, Mason." He sounded like someone had killed his puppy.
"All right. What is it?"
The door opened in front of me as I approached the house, and I jerked to a stop.
"Marcus DeVance was the murder trial a hot new lawyer won, sentencing the perpetrator to death by lethal injection. He had no family, no friends, no one at the event other than the young man who made his name by winning that trial and saving the city."
"Owen," I mumbled as my brother stepped out onto the porch.
"I'm so sorry, Mason." Roy continued to speak, but the phone dropped from my hand into the grass below.
"What the fuck are you doing right now?" Fury mixed with pain inside of me, but shock wouldn't let either show.
"You didn't want me just like mom and dad didn't want me, so fuck you. You don't want this life on the streets because it offends your pretty wife." He shrugged and smiled. "But here's the offer, brother." He spat his words at me. "Evie will be back in your apartment in less than an hour if you agree to go back to racing."
"What?" I glanced back at my friends who looked as fucking shocked as I was. I turned back to my brother. "What the hell are you talking about? Did you take my goddamn wife?"
He lifted his hands. "No. Never, but I know who did."
"Tell me now, or I swear to God, I'll kill you with my bare hands."
Owen nodded as his smile faded. "Erik Bertinelli has her."
"No, he doesn't." I shook my head as my insides soured.
"Yeah. He does, but only because I made a trade with him." My brother wrapped his arms around his chest as ten other guys walked out on the porch. Rodney's old crew plus a few. We were beyond outnumbered.
"Why? You're my goddamn brother." I took a step toward him.
He held up his hand. "Come back to Down and Dirty for the next year, and Evie's yours again."
"I'm going to kill you. You realize that, right?"
"No. You won't. Your prissy-ass wife wouldn't put up with that." He stepped back as I moved up the stairs. Several big guys moved into his way. "Come back, Mason and all will be returned to you."
"Why do you want me back so bad, you bastard?" I screamed at the top of my lungs. My own brother. My flesh and blood. I'd given up my relationship with him and broken his heart to save him from the life I'd lived, and it was for naught. He wasn't happy and safe. He was bitter and hated me enough to plan out his vengeance.
"So, I can race against you every weekend and ruin your reputation, destroy your marriage and rape everything you love about your life." He moved back out in front of his bodyguards and smiled. "I will be standing over you when you put a gun to your own head, Mason. I want to watch as you slowly die over time until nothing matters."
"Fuck you." I reached out and punched him in the face before I found myself flying backward. I landed hard on my back, the force of it knocking the air out of me. I rolled over and stood to face my brother again.
"Give him Evie back." Ben moved up. "He'll race. He's back. Just give him his woman back. Now."
I locked eyes with my little brother as everything I believed to be good and true wilted within me. "Do it."
"You're in?" He smiled like the devil himself.
"Yeah, motherfucker, and I'm going to stomp you into the ground with every step I take."
He laughed. "I love it. She's at your place, Mason. Love her while you can. She's not going to be around to watch you self-destruct. You'll make sure of that." He turned and walked back into the house as the goons he had around him watched us with cold eyes.
"Let's go, Mason. Evelyn is going to need you, man." Danny patted my back, pulling me from the horror that was to become my life.
"Right." I turned and ran to the car. My wife was safe and soon to be mine again. I would deal with the rest as soon as I had her in my arms.
"Listen to me." Ben started the car and pulled on his seatbelt. "If Erik is involved, you can't consider him the villain."
"Are you fucking kidding me? I'll kill him, Nate, and Cane. And all their women too for touching mine." I leaned back.
"Mason. You don't look the devil in the face and survive. Bertinelli is not a racer. He's a murderer. Think about—"
I popped Ben in the chest hard with a backhand. "Shut the fuck up and drive. Don't tell me what I'm going to do. I'll make the call on who I fuck up and who I don't." I gave him a stern look. "The line is in the sand. Make sure you're on the right side of it, cause when I come out swinging, I'm not going to stop until everyone is on the floor bloody. Understand?"
"Yeah. I'm with you no matter what."
"Good answer." I closed my eyes and tried hard to push past the numbness settling in my chest.
My brother wanted to unleash the demon deep inside of me, and he had. Unfortunately for him, he had.
The little shit had no clue what he'd done, but he would soon.
Him and Erik Bertinelli.
Epilogue
"Mason." Evie crashed into me as I walked back into the house.
"Baby?" I pulled her close and buried my face into her hair, hugging her tightly before moving back and letting my eyes run across her. "You okay? They didn't touch you, did they?"
"No." She moved back into my arms, her body shaking as she started to cry. "I was so scared I would never see you again."
"I'm right here, angel." I kissed the top of her head.
"Brother, we're going to head out. Call us tomorrow." Ben patted me on the back.
"Later." I bent down and picked up my wife as the door closed behind us. "Owen didn't do anything to you, did h
e?"
"Owen?" Her eyes widened. "Why would your brother be involved in this?"
"Because he was, baby. He was the one that did this shit." I walked into the bathroom and put her down before leaning over the tub and starting the water. "Talk to me, Evie. What happened?"
Her bottom lip trembled as she reached up and brushed her fingers through her hair. She was terrified.
"I walked out of the apartment, and someone put a bag over my head, and that was it. I woke up with a dry throat and a headache in a really beautiful bedroom."
I stiffened and turned to face her as I pulled my shirt over my head. "By yourself, right?"
"Yes, baby. I was alone." She moved back into my arms and kissed the top of my chest frantically. "I thought maybe they were going to-" Her voice broke.
"No." I pulled her dress over her head and moved down to slide her panties down her thighs. I stood and wrapped my arms around her again. "No one will ever touch you, Evie. You're mine."
"And that makes it safe?" She glanced up, her eyes questioning me.
Sickness swelled in my stomach. My brother had already planted the seed of worry, of concern, of discontent. I had to turn it around and fast.
"Yes. It does." I kissed the top of her head and moved back to kick off my shoes and tug my jeans and underwear down my thighs. I got in the hot water and laid back. "Get in here and let me hold you."
"I was so scared." Her voice shook as she took my hand and got into the bathtub with me. She sat down between my legs and curled up on my chest as the water filled in around us. I closed my eyes and tried to hold back the tears.
My wife was back in my arms, which was all that mattered. My brother taking over Rodney's crew and wanting to force me into racing again wasn't going to happen. I'd put Evie in protective custody and kill all of them.
And what happens when she gets out? She won't stay married to a monster.
"Are you pregnant, Angel?" I brushed her hair back as she looked up at me and nodded.
"I think so." Her smile grew a little, and she let out a soft sigh. "You promise me that this is all over now?"
"Yeah, baby. I'm going to protect you and our baby from anything like this ever happening again. We're safe now."
"How?" She lifted up a little and pressed her soft lips to the side of my throat. Relief flooded me, and for the first time since losing her, I relaxed. The weight of the world was off my shoulders for the time being, and my world wasn't completely destroyed.
"I have to go back to racing." I couldn't lie to her about it. Sneaking around at night and having to make shit up was the last thing I was going to do. That would put a wedge between us emotionally faster than anything I could do.
"What?" She stiffened and sat up, putting her back to me. "No. I hate the man you become when you race."
I reached down and ran my hands down her back, washing and massaging her as I did. "It's not possible for me to be that guy again, Angel."
"Why is that?" She moaned softly and pressed against my hands.
"Because I have you to come home to. I'll do this for the time being to pay back the debt of getting you home safely."
"What's the alternative?" She lifted up and moved to sit in my lap, her back still to me.
My body tightened, and lust burned through my stomach. "Fuck, Evie. I can't have you like that unless we're gonna fuck. I'm too tired to hold back tonight."
"Then done." She lifted up and wrapped her soft fingers around my dick, lifting it and sliding down to tuck it deep into her body. "Answer my question."
I groaned and gripped her hips, helping her fuck me as the world faded away. Racing was my life for as long as I could remember. It wasn't painful to go back to it, but almost pleasurable. Did that make me a bastard? Probably.
"Mason?" She lifted up and bobbed on the head of my cock, pulling at me with her tight, beautiful body.
"What, Angel?" I pulled her back down as my orgasm built in my balls. "Don't stop, okay? I need this release."
"What's the alternative?" She leaned forward and worked me through the high my body screamed for. "To racing? Is there something else you can do?"
"No baby," I mumbled, drowning in her heat. "There's no other choice. Not one I would be willing to take."
It was a lie, but one that I needed to say to protect the most important thing in my life.
My Angel. My girl. My wife.
His American Sweetheart
Nicole Elliot
1
Eli
The cold fingertips running up my side made me uncomfortable. Like I was stuck somewhere I wasn’t supposed to be. And the foot trailing up my calf was more annoying than sultry; or whatever she was trying to accomplish.
“It’s getting late. You should probably get going before traffic gets bad.” I avoided looking at her, but I could feel the intensity of her scowl.
Why must women expect one night to turn into a happy life together? Especially when you meet in a club, like we did. To be honest, I didn’t even remember her damn name.
“Fine. Goodnight.” She sighed heavily.
The thin brunette rolled out of bed, dressing slowly in front of me in hope it would change my mind. But still nothing.
“I could call you a car.” I offered, I wasn’t a complete monster after all.
“It’s fine.” Her voice was icy, nothing at all the way it was a few hours ago.
She strapped on her heels, and stomped to the doorway. I could only relax when I heard the door shut. I sighed heavily. The act was getting old. I blamed it on having to keep my identity secret, the reason I didn’t let myself get attached to any women. But I couldn’t be celibate either. So I still had my fun. It only didn’t work out when the women, like the one who just left, wanted to drag it on.
But I could never be rude enough to tell them that I just want to take them to bed and then call them an Uber. That wasn’t me either.
It was the middle of the night, but I was still wide-awake. I pulled on my briefs and got my computer out. Hotel internet connections sucked, but I used the agency main frame to log on. It worked without a connection.
Is the job done?
My message center popped up immediately. I trusted Marx to not waste time before checking for a status update.
Done and all clear.
Good. You’re back at base tomorrow. Boarding is at noon off the private airfield.
Roger that.
He hated when I said that, so mostly I did it to piss him off.
I should probably get some sleep before then. I stripped the sheets and used the spares before I settled back into bed. Even with that woman here I had felt empty, but it was part of the job that I signed up for. I trusted the feeling of numbness to carry me to sleep.
A new suit was at my door in the morning. I rose around ten to make it on time. Marx doesn’t do late very well, and neither do I. This hotel offered full barber service, so I ordered a wet shave. Minutes later, I was relaxed in the chair as the barber trimmed my beard down to its minimum.
“Would you like a haircut?” The man was old, obviously a native of the country. France never seemed to fail with their hospitality.
“If I need it.”
Minutes later, my hair was trimmed only slightly. I tipped him well and he left. I showered, shampooing my hair and styling it the usual way—pulled back. I saw the effect of the job in my eyes. Two weeks, low security, late nights, and staying undercover. It had taken its toll.
I quickly dismissed the thought of leaving the work behind altogether and headed out to the car. The driver was quiet, and took me to the airfield. Marx was already aboard.
“Agent Stanley,” he stood long enough for me to shake his hand. I sat across from him at the circular table, already dressed with scotch, two glasses, and an ice bowl.
“Marx.” I replied. He poured me a glass, and though I hadn’t eaten yet, I took the much-needed shot.
“Very good work. Interpol is taking over as we speak. They have
been after the smugglers for years.”
I nodded simply. I was good at my job. It was all I had, so I gave it everything. What took others months or even years only took me a fraction of the time. I trained hard years ago, and I continued to get better.
I was focused.
“Thank you.” I replied simply.
One hour after takeoff, and after a brunch of eggs benedict, Marx was back to business.
He slid a thick manila folder across the table and I opened it immediately. It was the usual; a case overview, suspects, past agents on the job. It was another assignment.
“This is high priority,” was all he said as I looked it over.
It was close to home. Britain to be exact. It wouldn’t be the first time the MI6 had to take on people at home. It was hard to believe, but the evidence was here. Six men, all ex-military, were dishonorably discharged from the Queen’s Army. They were behind a few small attacks, but nothing big. Yet.
I had enough experience to know something bigger was coming. We had been keeping an eye on their finances, watching cash flow in bigger and bigger amounts. They were terrorists planning something big. It was all in plain sight.
“At first we thought it was petty crime. But then we looked closer at their cash flow. All coming from overseas, New York. They were smart, going after an industry that wasn’t that noticeable.”
“Art.” I finished. Marx nodding, rubbing his salt and pepper beard. He had been in the field for years, but was now head of operations.
“Yes. Counterfeit art. They can’t exactly sell the originals.” I nodded in agreement. That would involve stealing from high security galleries. They didn’t have time for that, and they didn’t want to be caught before they even finished their plan. Whatever it was.
“Most of it is coming from small galleries in New York. They house original art, and it is privately owned. But not small. They buy these pieces, thinking it’s the original. This group poses as curators, forging the art and selling it.”