C O M P L I C A T E D
C R E A T U R E S
Part Two
A Novel
ALEXI LAWLESS
Copyright © 2014 by Alexi Lawless
Kobo Edition
VIVRANT Press Publishing
The following story contains mature themes, strong language, and sexual situations.
It is intended for adult readers.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission from the author and publishing house, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and for review purposes.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not be construed as real. Any resemblances to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead, are entirely coincidental.
The use of artist and song titles throughout this book are done so for storytelling purposes and should in no way be seen as advertisement. Trademark names are used in an editorial fashion, with no intention of infringement of the respective owner’s trademark.
Books by Alexi Lawless
Complicated Creatures: Part One
Complicated Creatures 1.5: A Novella
Complicated Creatures: Part Two
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Books by Alexi Lawless
Part Two
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Epilogue
Notes
About Alexi Lawless
Thank You
Part Two
AUT VIAM INVENIAM AUT FACIAM
—Hannibal
“I’ll either find a way or make one.”
Prologue
End of November—Late Night
Hospital Copa D’Or in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
S A M A N T H A
“Get it together. Get it together,” Sam chanted, pressing a hot palm to her chest, trying to slow the sharp beats of her heart as she slumped against the door jamb of the small room she’d shut herself in. She glanced around, taking in the small conference table, the soothing pastel colors and bland watercolors, the potted orchid, realizing where she was. The critical care waiting room was the place people were told horrible things or given a piece of relief, delivered news or information they shouldn’t receive publicly—a confessional of what medicine could and could not do.
She’d known that she’d see him again, but goddamn, nothing had prepared her for the full effect of Wes Elliott or her reaction to laying eyes on him again. Sam felt like she’d gotten singed by that vivid amber gaze, the air between them crackling with latent tension. He looked… arrestingly good. He’d been a head-turner and a rascal when he was young, but now… Sam swallowed, her throat working against the dryness. That riotous mess of golden curls she’d run her fingers through as a girl had darkened to a burnished hew. His once boyishly good-looking features had seasoned into planes and angles so breathtaking her hand had nearly risen of its own accord to trace them. No, the pictures in his file hadn’t done him justice—they couldn’t. The distant memories of her once-lover and childhood flame had nothing on the intensely-handsome man who stared at her like he’d been given some kind of reprieve.
Sam pressed hot palms to her eyes, groaning. Wes Elliott was the ex of every woman’s nightmare—the one you never forgot, never forgave and for damn sure still ached over because everyone had their kryptonite, and that man had been hers since she set eyes on him years ago. He reminded her with one look why she’d loved him so passionately and with such abandon. Wes had been it. The Guy. Her Guy. And long ago, Sam had naively believed they’d last a lifetime, before she’d learned the hard and inevitable truth that nothing lasted lifetimes, even if you thought you had the power and endurance to manufacture the outcomes.
Sam’s phone rang in her pocket, and she snapped upright, palming it and looking at the screen. Jack. She felt her face heat as if he’d just caught her out at something.
“Jack,” she answered breathlessly. “I just finished speaking with one of the surgeons. Jaime’s out of surgery.”
“Tell me,” Jack responded, his low voice urgent.
“The surgeons handled the primary hemorrhaging and lung damage from the gunshot wound during the surgery, but they’re worried about atelectasis—another minor lung collapse,” she explained. “He has a postoperative fever so he’s still in the ICU. I should get another update from the surgeon in a couple of hours,” she explained.
“Have you seen him?” Jack asked.
“Not yet. The risk of infection is still too high. They said the soonest I could see him would be sometime tomorrow. How’s Maddie?” she asked, her voice softening as she asked about Jaime’s daughter.
“She’s okay,” Jack sighed. “We decided to keep her in the dark for now. Mom and Dad got here a couple hours ago.”
“Will you stay with them?” she asked.
Jack remained silent.
“Are you coming here?” she asked instead.
He sighed again. “I don’t know.”
“Jack…” she breathed.
“Don’t,” Jack bit out. “Don’t tell me not to come. He’s my baby brother.”
“I know. I had one too once. Heaven and earth couldn’t have kept me from him if something like this happened,” she reminded him quietly.
“I’m angry,” Jack admitted after a moment of tense silence. “And I’m scared for him, Samantha,” he breathed.
“You’d be a stone not to be,” Sam assured him. “I know how much he means to you. He knows how much you love him.”
Jack stayed silent on the line.
They listened to each other breathe.
“My dad wants to fly down, but the State Department is dead against it. We both think I should fly out instead,” he told her after long moments.
“I understand,” she answered. “Carey and I are here. I’ll call you again with any updates.”
“Okay,” he responded, his voice distant and tired.
“When was the last time you slept, Jack?” she asked gently.
“Days. I don’t know.” Sam imagined him rubbing his brow, a habit of his when he was tired or irritated. “Maybe before you left,” he told her.
“Will you lie down? Please? I know you’re wired, but you won’t be in any kind of condition to make this trip if you don’t try to get at least a couple hours tonight,” she urged. “You need to be in operating capacity for your family. Please.”
“Samantha, what the hell are we doing?” Jack asked suddenly. “Because you’re acting like somebody who loves me, but you lie and avoid and shut me out. I don’t know what the hell we’re
doing. I don’t know what the hell to think.” The harsh words came out in a sudden whoosh, like the words were pressing up and out of him.
“Jack—” she started, her answer catching.
“I just want to be clear, Samantha,” he continued. “Because nothing else is clear right now. Or are you just acting this way because you feel guilty for lying to me and not being able to protect Jaime?”
Sam felt trapped, wedged between his anger and her conscience. But she didn’t want to be forced into emotional declarations. She wouldn’t be. Not by him. Not by anyone.
“I care about you, your brother, and your family. I wouldn’t be here otherwise,” she answered honestly.
“But besides your duty and your guilt, you’re removed, aren’t you?” he asked pointedly. “You’ve been distant since you left. Hell, maybe before—just when I thought we were getting somewhere—”
“Jack, you’re overwrought and exhausted—” she refuted. “But now is not the time to mix those conversations. What you need to be one-hundred-percent clear on is Jaime is my priority right now.”
Jack laughed bitterly. “I knew you would do terrible damage. You even warned me, you’re so kind,” he choked, “…but I thought I wanted you badly enough for the both of us,” he murmured, his voice fading.
“Jack, stop it,” Sam snapped, her anger uncharacteristically rising to the top, out of her control. “I don’t want to argue with you about our relationship over the phone in a hospital waiting room while your brother fights for his life.” She closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. “If you want to come here, okay. If you can find it to trust me to handle this, I’ll do it. Either way, please try to get some sleep. I’ll have more information for you soon.”
He said nothing.
She listened to his silence, imagining his jaw clenching. “Jack?”
“You’re right,” he said after long moments. “Call me when you hear more.”
“You’re my first call,” she assured him.
He hung up.
Sam sat in the room for a minute, collecting her thoughts, trying to calm down and praying that Wes wasn’t standing right outside, waiting for her. Her phone rang again in her hand. Relieved, she saw it was Carey, her best friend and business partner. Sam raised the phone to her ear.
“Christ, Bear—where the hell have you been?”
“He’s otherwise indisposed, I’m afraid,” a man with an elegant, British accent responded.
Sam stiffened. “Who is this?”
“We haven’t yet been introduced,” the man responded casually. “My name is Lucien Lightner. I presume I’m speaking with Samantha Wyatt?”
“Why are you in possession of Carey Nelson’s phone?” she asked instead.
“Oh, we ran into each other at the hotel. Had a nice chat. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you for some time, Ms. Wyatt. Even before you began trying to take what’s mine.”
Sam waited a measured beat while everything slowed. “What exactly are you referring to, Mr. Lightner?”
“Now, now, Ms. Wyatt. You aren’t going to pretend you haven’t poached several of my top operatives and key clients in the past few months, are you?” he replied silkily. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”
“Can’t take what you never really had, Mr. Lightner. Especially if they left you willingly,” she answered lightly, her mind racing through all the permutations of where this conversation could go.
“We’ll have to disagree on that point, Ms. Wyatt,” he answered, his blithe tone hardening. “You came after things that belong to me, so I felt it was more than appropriate to reciprocate, given the circumstances.” Lightner had Carey. He’d either hurt him or kill him to get to her. Any negotiations would be limited at best.
“Be careful, Mr. Lightner. You may think you’re exacting revenge, but you’re walking the fine line of declaring war,” she told him in a low voice.
“Oh, I’m not concerned,” Lightner replied. “My benefit here is actually more peripheral. You declared war, as you put it, a long time ago.”
Sam’s fingers tightened on the phone. “Enlighten me.”
“You killed someone you shouldn’t have, my dear,” Lightner purred. “Ibrahim Nazar has waited to meet you for a very long time.”
Sam’s eyes widened, her fingers tightening on the phone.
“You’ll come to me, or Carrick Nelson will see his last sunrise shortly,” Lightner informed her. “Wouldn’t want that, would we? Didn’t you two grow up together?”
“You harm him and I’ll spend the rest of my life dismantling you and your legacy,” she told him in a low voice.
“It may be a short life, Ms. Wyatt. In which case, you’ll want to see what you can accomplish. I know how you enjoy a challenge,” Lightner taunted. “Meet me at Santos Dumont Airport alone in one hour or you’ll find pieces of your partner scattered along Copacabana.”
Chapter 1
End of November—Late Night
Hospital Copa D’Or in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
S A M A N T H A
One hour.
It would take at least twenty minutes to get to the airport, never mind the time to set the perimeter. Sam bolted out of the conference room, sprinting down the hall. Evan Rush, one of her top operatives, turned as he saw her approach, eyes sharpening on her, his expression alert. Wes glanced up from his laptop as she hurried toward them, swiftly setting it aside as he stood beside Rush.
“Gimme the car keys,” she told Rush, her voice urgent. “I want six blood bags from the lab.”
“What type?” Rush asked, barely blinking at the bizarre command as he tossed her the keys.
“Doesn’t matter. I don’t care if it’s plasma—just get it now. Then meet me outside where you parked. You have five minutes.”
Rush turned and disappeared down the hospital corridor.
Sam rounded on Wes, glancing down at his shirt. “You’re not wearing your bulletproof vest. Where is it?”
“In the SUV,” he answered, taken aback at her sudden change of demeanor. “What the hell’s going on?” Wes asked, clearly concerned as he closed a hand on her arm. “Did something happen to one of the film crew?”
Sam ignored the sudden jolt and the familiar tingle of his touch. After all these years, he still had an effect on her. She shook him off.
“They’re fine,” she replied brusquely. “I’ll explain when we get to the car; just take me there.” Sam palmed her phone, preparing to call Talon while Wes snatched up his laptop and led the way toward the elevators. “No time—” she told Wes. “Let’s take the stairs.”
He immediately changed direction, pushing open the stairwell door as Sam phoned Lee Talon, her sharpshooter.
Talon picked up mid-ring. “Boss—”
Sam hit the speaker button. “I need you to get to Santos Dumont Airport immediately with as many men as you can bring with you—no delays. Have a team remain with the camera crew and keep everyone in the hotel. No one goes anywhere. Lock it down,” she directed. “And send Jaime’s guards back to the hospital. No one even breathes on him in the ICU without our eyes on them.”
“You got it,” Talon replied. “What’s going on at the airport?”
“We have an unknown number of hostiles holding Carey. I don’t know if he ever made it to the hotel, but he was kidnapped. We’re doing an exchange there in—” she glanced at her watch. “Fifty-four minutes.”
“Boss, what do they want in exchange?”
“Me,” she stated flatly. “They want me.”
Wes jerked to a halt so fast, Sam nearly ran into him. He spun around on the steps in front of her, his amber eyes electric with alarm as he grabbed her arm.
“Make sure you bring at least a couple bags of tricks,” Sam said to Talon, her eyes on Wes.
“We’ve got tear gas, frag grenades, C-4, and a couple M203 Punishers along with our regular arsenal.”
Wes made a strangled sound of disbelief, his eyes widening. Sam pushe
d around him, jogging down the stairs. “If Carey is at the airport, we need to know exactly where. They’ll have at least one private jet on standby. If they’re holding him there, he could be on the jet or in one of the buildings. I need you guys to locate him.”
“Who has him?” Talon asked.
“Lucien Lightner, the head of Leviathan,” she answered. “Get a hold of Simon Michaelson and Julien Henri. They’ll know how Lightner operates from their years of working for him. Call me back as soon as you guys are headed out to Santos Dumont. I’ll tell you the plan then along with everyone else.”
“Got it, Boss,” Talon answered before hanging up.
Sam exited the stairwell onto the first floor, Wes close on her heels. He grabbed her hand, jerking her toward the side doors leading to the parking lot. The lot was quiet this time of night, with only a few cars parked close by.
Before Sam made it the few steps outside, Wes whirled and hoisted her into his arms, burying his face in her neck as her feet left the ground.
“If you think for one second that I’m letting you risk your life after seeing you for the first time in years,” he said into her throat, “You’re outta your damn mind, Sammy.”
She held her breath in surprise, her arms rounding his shoulders automatically. The ghost of familiarity pushed against her unwilling memories. Wes squeezed her harder, forcing the breath out of her. Sam felt his heart pounding against her, his scent assailing her, triggering powerful emotions she was completely unwilling to deal with at this precise moment. It actually hurt to be so close to him, to feel his presence again like some phantom limb after so many years.
“Sammy…” he whispered gruffly before pressing a kiss under her jaw.
But it felt… right, too. Familiar.
“Wes—” Sam struggled, pushing back. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Christ almighty, I’ve missed you,” he interrupted, squeezing her tighter.
“Put me down, Wes,” she muttered, irritated at the frisson of awareness. “We don’t have time for this,” she said, shoving him back.
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