His Devil's Desire (Club Devil's Cove Book 1)

by Linzi Basset

  She slipped into a relaxed state and soon fell asleep.

  Rhone stared at her, his mind in a whirlpool of confusion. His mother had taught him that love wasn’t a spoken language and that they should always be on the lookout for silver tongues, sprouting false love. According to her, love was in kind deeds, thoughtful actions, truthfulness, trustworthiness and self-sacrifice; not to be confused with lust, which was just transitory satisfaction.

  Then why was he confused? Hadn’t she shown all of that to him already? In this short period of time they’d known each other. He wanted her, there was no denying that he lusted for her—all the time. But her confession of love, it had sounded so sincere that it had knocked him with the power of a blow that had almost whacked him on his ass.

  How do I know whether these emotions are love? Fuck, I’ve never experienced anything like this.

  He’d never wanted to. Rhone had seen enough during his time. How power and greed could tear happy couples apart. It had made him weary.

  And even with Samantha, he couldn’t get his built-in radar to turn off. Not with a sword still hanging over their heads. She was still a sniper, paid to kill him.

  How would her love for me measure up when the time came for her to choose between me and her sister?

  She sighed and snuggled into his arms. His expression didn’t change.

  Rhone knew that he would do anything he needed to, to keep his brother safe. And so would Samantha, her sister.

  Her love for him wouldn’t stand in her way.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “You’ve never been to France? Vraiment?” Enzo glanced at her but continued to lightly mix the batter for crêpes in the bowl.

  Samantha leaned her chin on her palms. Her legs swung back and forth, where she sat at the counter on a high kitchen stool, watching Enzo cook. It was food-porn, the way he lovingly folded the batter with the spoon.

  It was early Saturday morning. Rhone had gone for a jog, laughing at her when she’d snapped at his question if she wanted to join him.

  “I’m not allowed to climax, or did you forget?”

  “What does that have to do with jogging?”

  She glared at him. “You’re supposed to be the mighty Dom. You should know that jogging will only aid in arousing my clit, so no, thank you. I’m not going for a jog. And just so you know, your amusement isn’t appreciated,” she snapped at him when he continued to grin.

  Her body was still sizzling. Her nerve endings tingled with every movement she made; her lower body throbbed incessantly. If he didn’t allow her to climax soon, she was likely to combust.

  Rhone had taken the time to explain to her that edging over a long period of time caused a cascade of the physiological responses she was still experiencing.

  Fuck, it was more like an avalanche in the arousal landscape!

  She felt constant vaginal contractions—which was always the primary sign of an oncoming orgasm for her. Samantha could sense the release of neurotransmitters somewhere in her brain and hormones that caused nonstop sensations, euphoria and joy.

  Her mood swings were extreme. One moment she was smiling, the next she wanted to smash plates and cups.

  She took a gulp of the sweet tea Enzo had made for her and nibbled on a piece of toast. Her mouth was already watering to taste the delicious crêpes with the raspberry coulis. Apart from the tension in her body, she felt carefree and was dressed in a white, flowy sundress that ended just above her knees with a pair of white flip flops.

  “Ugh, who would be looking for me this early?” she complained when her cell phone started to buzz.

  “Samantha speaking,” she said in a brisk, professional voice.

  “It’s been two weeks, Ace, and you still haven’t taken out your target. What’s the delay? Wasn’t the money enough? Have you become that greedy?”

  Samantha went cold like she did every time she heard his voice.

  “What money?” she barked into the phone, her voice raw and chilled. She chose to play ignorant. After Keon had informed her of the transaction, she’d verified it herself. She was still furious that Bulldog had set her up for a fall once again. Threatening her sister’s life hadn’t been enough.

  Enzo stopped mixing the batter and watched her with concern. Her face had gone from a rosy glow to pasty white.

  “Come now, Ace. Stop playing innocent or the victim, for that matter. We both know it’s in your blood.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she rasped.

  “The five million, Ace. And don’t insult me by denying it.”

  “I don’t want your fucking money!”

  “Now, now, Ace. I would never expect you, a high-class sniper, to do a job for free. Very well, I understand that you might have grown close to him . . . what do you call him now? Ah yes, your Master Razor. So, I’ll up the prize. Another five mil. How does that sound?”

  “Fuck you, Bulldog. I haven’t accepted the fucking job and you know it!”

  “Do I? If memory serves me right, the previous time we chatted . . . hmm, where was it again? Oh, yes, at the opening of the club in the maze. Remember? You very succinctly told me then that you still had three weeks.”

  Samantha bristled.

  “I’m getting highly annoyed with you, Ace. You should know me well enough by now to know I don’t appreciate games. You will do this fucking job, or—”

  “Or what? You’ll kill Lauren and lose the only leverage you have over me? I don’t think so, Bulldog. Even I am not that gullible.”

  “You think you know me so well, that you’re so fucking clever? Think again, you bitch. Or did you forget what happened at your precious Woodcraft Carpentry? Why don’t you take a walk to the main gate? I had a suspicion you might need a little incentive. Clearly you don't value your sister’s life as much as you like being pounded by Greer’s cock—”

  “You don’t know shit about me, Bulldog. Not anymore and I—”

  “I do hope you’re not too squeamish, Ace. Your gift is in the mailbox. Go and have a look. You’ll see that I don’t make idle threats. I’m tired of this game. You have five days. If he’s not fucking dead by then . . . well, let’s just say, the next package will be exponentially bigger.”

  With those cryptic words, he ended the call.

  “Tu vas bien, mon petit?” Enzo asked worriedly. “Samantha? Where are you going?” He cried after her, watching her run to the front door.

  She ignored him and ran to the main gate, cursing the entire way there. She was filled with an ill sense of foreboding.

  She reached the gate, gasping for breath. She’d never realized just how far it was from the house.

  She yanked open the mailbox lid and reached inside. Her fingers closed around a square box. She stared at it, not moving. Suddenly, it felt like her lungs were being squeezed tight, like there was no air. She gasped for breath but there was a lead weight inside her chest.

  “Oh god. What has he done?” Her voice sounded foreign to her own ears. She blinked at the box. It was small but twice the size of a usual ring box, black and shiny; the kind that came from an exclusive jeweler. She shuddered, but with a determination that she didn’t feel, jammed her nail into the crack and pried it open.

  The raw scream was cut short as she flung the box from her, falling to her knees on the grass, her back pressed against the palisade.

  She began to tremble as she sat staring at the box lying in the flowerbed, taunting her with its content.

  “Samantha? What the hell—”

  She hadn’t heard the gate slide open and looked up at him with vacant eyes, unaware that tears were streaming over her cheeks.

  Rhone hunched down in front of her. He brushed the tears away but it was useless.

  “Baby, what’s the matter? Talk to me, luv,” he cajoled her gently.

  She tried to talk but couldn’t get a word past the sobs. She was so distraught, she didn’t even register the loving tone in his voice. He followed her gaze which
was glued on the flowerbed behind him.

  “Fuck,” he snapped and picked up the ring box. There was a ring inside but it was still on a pinky finger that looked pale against the black velvet, contrasting sharply with the bloodied, jagged edges on the one end and the red painted nail on the other. He snapped the box closed and jammed it his pocket.

  He picked her up and carried her to the house. She clung to his neck and continued to cry against his chest.

  “Shh, luv. I’m here. I won’t let him get close to you.”

  “Don’t you get it, Rhone? He won’t hurt me. I’m too valuable to him, but he’s a monster, a fucking demon. He’s never gonna stop.” She had to swallow down the dry lump in her throat before she could continue. “It’s hers. It’s Lauren’s finger!”

  “How do you know? Come on, baby, stop crying. It could be anyone’s,” he said lowering her into a chair in the kitchen.

  “The ring. It was . . . sob . . . my mother’s. And the nail on that . . .” A shudder shook her body. “Lauren slammed her finger into a door when she was seven. Her nail grew back at an odd angle. It’s hers, Rhone. I know it is.”

  Samantha had calmed down by the time Rhone’s team arrived. They gathered in his study, each armed with a plate filled with Enzo’s delicious crêpes and mugs of coffee. Samantha had no appetite and sat silently, sipping the chamomile tea Enzo had made for her.

  Rhone’s thumb drew circles on her palm while he told the rest what had happened.

  “He cut off her finger? Are you sure it’s hers, Samantha?” Max asked. His plate clattered to the coffee table in front of his as he reached for his laptop.

  “Samantha believes it is. She recognized the ring as her mother’s and the distinctive shape of the nail.”

  Max did a couple of searches and after a while picked up his plate and continued eating.

  “We need to get eyes inside that house. There’s been no movement in or out of it since Thursday when Beckie went to a school camp, as far as I can tell. Lauren’s bracelet tracer seems to be inside the house but that’s as much information as I can supply.”

  “Then when did he have the opportunity to cut off her finger?” Keon queried.

  “He might have intercepted her on the way from school. If the bastard is as clever as Samantha says, he might be suspecting that we’ve put a watch on that house.”

  “He’ll know,” Samantha confirmed dully. She looked around and settled her gaze on Rhone. “There is only one way out of this mess, Rhone.”

  “Faking my death,” he said in a quiet voice. So far, the investigation that Max, Quinlan, Quade and Hagan—a senior FBI agent friend, have been working on has not given them any leads. He was on the edge of wringing Bulldog’s name out of her.

  “He won’t stop until he believes you are dead. Why he believes the senator won’t introduce the bill then, I have no idea, but either way I don’t believe it’s the only reason he wants you killed.”

  “I don’t either. Kevin Douglas is no pushover and won’t stop until he’s reached his goal. The only thing that might stop him is if his family was in mortal danger. Even with me gone, my team will continue to protect them and Bulldog should know that. If not, he might not be as clever as you seem to think. But, yeah, I guess you’re right. He wants me dead for other reasons.”

  Keon’s gaze sharpened. A silent message was communicated when his eyes met Rhone’s. “It also tells me that whoever the fuck Bulldog is, we know him and he sure as hell knows us. Personally.”

  He seared Samantha with a scorching look that could’ve set the entire state ablaze. She lowered her eyes. Maybe she should just tell them. They were a formidable team and knew how to take care of themselves.

  She suppressed the thought just as quickly. Because, Samantha knew how cruel Adam Baxter could be. The package just proved as much. She was going to be the one to end his miserable existence.

  And she had every intention of doing so.

  “Very well. We need to set a plan in motion for your fake death, then,” Lance intoned in his usual calm voice.

  “No. No plan. It has to be real. But, from now on, you don’t leave the house without a bulletproof vest—one with a double plated front.” Samantha interjected quickly.

  “Samantha—”

  “No, Keon. It’s the only way. None of you must know how, where or when. Bulldog is too sharp not to find the smallest detail we might miss in a cleverly laid out plan. No one, not even Rhone, must know when I’m going to shoot him.”

  “Isn’t your MO a shot between the eyes, Ace?” Jack asked.

  “Yes, but if he knows Rhone as well as you seem to believe he does, he would assume Rhone would somehow feel the vibration of the bullet and duck. Only this time, honey, don’t. I’ll be aiming for your heart. If you move, it might just end up between your eyes.”

  “And then what? He’d want confirmation that he’s dead,” Max said.

  “Yes, but he won’t go to the morgue himself. You have the resources to fake the dockets, Max and a photo of his body would suffice. Oh, and be sure to patch a pouch of fake blood over your heart on the outside of the vest. If there’s no blood . . .”

  “You thought of everything, didn’t you?” Keon asked thoughtfully, his gaze rested on her with intense scrutiny.

  Samantha didn’t respond. There was always the unexpected but she’d be damned if she allowed even a marginal error to slip in when she took the shot. She needed Bulldog off her back so she could concentrate on getting Lauren and Beckie to safety and then . . . his days were numbered.

  “The coroner at the State facility is none other than your neighbor’s daughter, Lance. Lexie Calvert. You have known each other for years, isn’t that correct?” Jack said.

  “I wouldn’t say we know each other and we’re not exactly on friendly terms. She hates my guts.”

  “We’re going to need her help, Lance. You’re going to have to find a way to soften her antagonism,” Keon added.

  “I’ll see to it.”

  Samantha excused herself and went upstairs to pack. If the fake assassination was going to work, she needed to move back to her own place. Rhone mustn’t have insight into her movements. She just didn’t know how he was going to take to the news. Especially as her living with him for a minimum of a year had been one of the stipulations in their D/s agreement.

  * * * * * * * *

  “I’m not comfortable with the feedback we’re receiving from Baxter, Damien. He’s not getting the results we’re after and the next Congress seating is around the corner.”

  “What do you suggest? He’s our only leverage at this stage.”

  “And whose fault is that? We warned you years ago already that we need to establish more high-level contacts in the CIA and FBI.”

  “Where do you come off? We’re in this together and made the decision as a group of leaders. It wasn’t only me. Yes, I mentioned at the time that we don’t need additional resources because he gave us all the results we were after. None of you opposed that decision,” Damien Whittaker snapped irritably. He got up and began pacing the office. It irked him when one of the other leaders of the Sixth Order questioned his decisions. He’d been in charge of the operations for years and hadn’t failed them once.

  “Maybe not then, but I have asked you to bring in more backup. He’d been slacking lately and you know it as well as we do.” The other man’s voice didn’t rise nor did he show any sign of emotion.

  “What’s the plan, Damien? How are we preventing Douglas from introducing that bill at the Congress seating? Nothing has been done to make Senator Douglas retract his intention to propose it and from the rumors I’ve heard, the measly attempt Baxter made to kidnap his daughter, failed miserably.”

  Damien didn’t need to be reminded of Baxter’s failure to deliver this time. He was livid himself. He’d given him two orders; stop the prostitution bill and get rid of Rhone Greer. So far, he’d achieved nothing. No progress.

  “I’ve been giving it a great dea
l of thought, Mr. Burgess. We might have to intervene ourselves. I get the distinct impression something is hampering Baxter from giving us his full support.”

  “Maybe his promotion? Which, you never mentioned to any of us either.”

  “Because I didn’t know myself and that’s my concern. He might be looking for a way to bypass us.”

  Burgess’ eyes narrowed. “Are you saying he might expose us?”

  Damien sighed. He was the smallest fish in this mighty pond of syndicate leaders. Burgess was his link to the other leaders; the two who wielded the scepter over the entire operation and pocketed the majority of the profits. Damien had been the pawn they all used and to date, he hadn’t minded. He used the time to build his own private empire and to gain their trust. Now, his own misguided trust in someone not fully committed to the syndicate, threatened his future. Not only as one of the leaders of the Sixth Order but in a personal capacity.

  “He doesn’t know enough to sink the Sixth Order, Mr. Burgess. If he talks, I’ll be the one going under, along with my entire business operation. I made sure he doesn’t have knowledge of how we operate.”

  “You better be right, Damien, because if you’re not . . .”

  Damien pondered his options. Baxter had become a liability. He didn’t trust him anymore. He’d gotten the impression that since his promotion, his only interest was his own rise to power and for that he needed the Sixth Order. On the other hand, he might be looking for another associate with more power than them.

  Damien Whittaker wasn’t going to allow him to do that.

  “In the meantime, let’s get back to Senator Douglas,” Burgess prodded.

  “Leave it to me. He has the support of more than one senator. Maybe a visit to one of them would send the appropriate message. Time for playing nice is over.”

  “Good. That’s what I wanted to hear. Do this quickly and without any trace back to the Sixth Order and there’ll be a large bonus coming your way,” Burgess said. He got up and sauntered to the door, his tall, yet muscled frame fitted in a tailor-made pinstriped suit. “And do it soon. Before they decide to bring the Senate seating forward.”