Losing Lola (Mercy's Angels Book 5)

by Kirsty Dallas

  Of course, her gaze darted back to the injury.

  “Nuh huh,” I murmured, and she tried valiantly to look away. She pulled a deep breath through her nose and out her mouth. “You good?”

  She nodded, but I got the impression she was far from good.

  Turning my attention back to the curious guards who were standing alert and ready, I moved forward and raised my hands. I could feel Lola pressed against my back, her trembling body too cold.

  “My name is Drew King, and I am with Montgomery Security. Braiden Montgomery said to say Vasily still owes him five grand.”

  One of the guards raised a handheld two-way radio and quietly whispered into the device. Whatever reply quickly followed had all the soldiers stand at ease.

  “Come,” the guard with the two-way said, signaling us to move forward.

  Taking Lola’s hand, we followed him through the gates.

  “I had some trouble about two miles back, two dead. I left their bodies and bikes in the jungle, about fifty meters in from where the road forks.”

  The guard called out orders for four men to go clean up the mess as we were guided down the long driveway and around the massive home that looked like a mansion better suited to the Bahamas than a Russian Mafia home in the outskirts of Bangkok.

  As a man approached us, I pulled Lola closer to my side. I recognized him instantly. He was an inch shorter than me and just as wide. His long, dark hair was pulled back into a bun at the nape of his neck, and his dark eyes were shrewd and assessing.

  “I’ve got it from here, Yut. Get back on the gate.” The heavy Russian accent rolled off his tongue, and the guard gave a short nod before leaving us. “Good to see you again, Drew,” he continued, casting a quick, clinical eye over Lola before turning and heading to the back of the property.

  “You too, Vasily. It's been a long time.”

  Vasily grunted as we followed him. He wasn’t much of a talker, which I was fine with because let’s face it, neither was I. Vasily had worked his way through the ranks of the Toporov empire, and if rumors were correct, had replaced Braiden as Alexander’s right hand man.

  We followed a path around the massive home to a jet sitting quietly on a makeshift tarmac, one that wasn’t quite as long as a runway should be, which would have make me nervous had I not been lifted out of similar settings before.

  Vasily came to a stop and reached into his jacket. I tensed, my hand itching to reach for my weapon, but common sense telling me to stand down. I’d left the organization on good terms; the threat of dismemberment if I ever spilled the beans on Toporov was a threat I knew he’d follow through with. I’d never so much as whispered a word of my life working for the Russian, nor would I ever. It wasn’t exactly a job I would boast about, and I liked my body parts where they were . . . attached.

  “Tell Braiden that I want a chance to win my money back.”

  He held out a wad of cash. I nodded with a smile and accepted the money.

  “I’ll pass on your message.”

  Vasily grunted again, giving a short nod of dismissal before he turned and strolled away. The door to the jet was propped open and the stairs engaged. Two men stood talking not far from the bottom, and from the way he was dressed, a pilot stood at the top. I had never met any of them before, which wasn’t a big deal, there were quite literally thousands working for Toporov, and I hadn’t known so much as a third of them.

  With a hand on her lower back, I guided Lola up the narrow, steep stairs, and the pilot stepped aside with a welcoming smile.

  “My name is Kolya, and I am your pilot. Is there anything you need before we take off?”

  “First aid kit?”

  I turned my body to show the man my torn up shoulder. He nodded thoughtfully and smiled.

  “My co-pilot Pavel can take care of it for you once we are in the air.” Kolya handed Lola a thick towel. “He’s a trained medic. Use this to help stop the bleeding, and please, have a seat.” He nodded to the seven luxurious seats behind us. “And try not to get blood on the leather.”

  Casting Lola a sideways glance, I noticed the pale color of her skin and took the towel from her.

  “This seat okay?” I asked her, standing by the second row of chairs. She nodded, and I allowed her the window seat as I sank into the leather chair, using the towel to slip behind my back and catch the blood. It stung like a motherfucker, but the fact we were finally on the jet and on our way back to Claymont brought a smile to my face.

  “Wow, you’re smiling,” Lola whispered, the exhaustion behind her words clearly evident. “That’s, like, three times now. What’s got you so happy?”

  The stairs to the jet were rolled away and the door closed. Kolya disappeared into the cabin up front, and soon after, the sound of the jet gearing up made my smile widen.

  “Successful mission, and we’re going home.”

  Lola relaxed back into her seat and watched out the small window as the jet’s engine became a loud roar.

  “Home,” she whispered, the word sounding so lost and forlorn from her lips. “There are demons waiting for me at home.”

  It broke my heart, and I couldn’t stop myself from reaching out to take her hand, wincing as the wound in my shoulder stretched.

  “Then you’re lucky you’ve got me to help you slay those demons, Mouse.”

  Her lips almost tipped into a smile. “A plane takes off against the wind, not with it.”

  When she went quiet, I watched her curiously, wondering what the hell she was talking about.

  She caught me staring, then blushed and shrugged. “It almost feels like the plane and I share a common bond. I’m always pushing into the wind, never going with it . . .”

  “You won’t always be headed into the wind, Mouse. Remember . . . we got this.”

  Not long after we were in the air, the co-pilot stepped out of the cockpit. A man of small stature with dark hair neatly styled. He smiled as he approached me and knelt beside my seat with a first aid kit. Quickly and efficiently he saw to my wound and I thanked him in Russian.

  “Пожалуйста.” You’re welcome, he replied. “I’ve cleaned it, but it will need a couple of stitches when you get home.” I nodded before the Russian disappeared into the cockpit.

  “Was that Russian?”

  “Yes.”

  “I didn’t know you spoke another language.”

  “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Mouse.”

  Lola nodded.

  “Get some rest.”

  Those pretty eyes rolled. “So bossy,” she murmured.

  I helped her recline her seat and watched as her lids fluttered shut. It was only moments later her breathing deepened and her entire body went lax. Her face was soft and youthful in sleep; however, that ever-present frown remained. That was the frown I would conquer, and I wouldn’t rest until she was at peace.

  CHAPTER 12

  LOLA

  I slept in a heavy, dreamless state, but the jarring of the plane landing nudged me from the warm embrace of darkness and into the land of reality. Even though I had slept soundly and without nightmares, I didn’t feel rested. My eyes were gritty, my lids were heavy, and my body ached. I lifted my head from the hard shoulder it had somehow come to rest upon and cast Drew a mortified look. Chancing a glance at the spot where my mouth had rested, I tried to make sure I hadn’t drooled on him. The small wet patch gave me away, and I grimaced.

  “Dillon has a team assembled, and they’ll be meeting us. It’s dark out and cold.” His eyes took in my summery clothes and he either didn’t notice I had drooled on him, or didn’t care. “I should have had Dillon pick you up something warmer to wear.”

  I sat up and licked my dry lips, my gaze moving to the dark window beside me. It was so dark I couldn’t make out anything, not even the tall pines that cushioned the town of Claymont.

  “It’s okay, the car will be warm,” I murmured, my voice rough with lingering sleep.

  Drew grunted. It was like hi
s own language which I was quickly coming to understand. English, tick; Thai, tick; Russian, tick; Neanderthal, big tick. This particular grunt was one of agreement, I think.

  He shrugged off his jacket and handed it to me. There was a small hole in the back, and a little dry blood where the bullet had ‘grazed him.’ “Gross,” I muttered, observing the hole which sure as hell looked like more than a graze. Nevertheless, I pulled my arms into the jacket, sinking into the warmth and scent of Drew King. Noticing an uncomfortable bulge coming from somewhere within the warmth, I pulled the jacket away and reached into the internal pocket.

  “That’s Braiden’s,” he murmured as I took in the large wad of cash before stashing it back in the pocket.

  Drew’s seat belt was unbuckled and he was standing before the jet had come to a complete stop, which I’m pretty sure was against the rules. The pilot, whose name eluded me, was quick to open the door and steps were rolled up against the opening and engaged. Thankfully, the co-pilot remained in the cockpit. He reminded me of Ben. His countenance was nothing like Ben, but he was a nice looking man, stylishly dressed for a co-pilot, and that kind of confident style from a stranger unnerved me.

  Standing in the narrow walkway between the leather seats, I shifted anxiously, trying to peer out the doorway and see something beyond. It was too dark, though, and between the pilot’s wide frame, and Drew’s even wider frame, there was little to see.

  Drew reached back for me, and I took his outstretched hand without hesitation. His grip was firm and sure, but not painful. It felt secure, and I felt safe as we stepped out into the night air. Cold was an understatement; the air held a frigid chill that was downright icy. Coming from the heat of Thailand to this was a shock to the system. A quick glance over the edge of the stairs, and I noted the ground was snow free. Go figure. It felt cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey. I snorted at the image of a chilled looking monkey with a big set of brass balls from my old quote-a-day calendar, which earned me a curious glance from Drew. Unable to prevent the shiver that shook my frame, I gave Drew a stern look.

  “Did winter forget to end here?”

  Drew made another soft grunting noise of assent as he led me down the stairs. As soon as my feet hit the asphalt, a familiar dark figure stepped out of the shadows, and I couldn’t help my startled yelp.

  “You scared her,” Drew growled, holding my hand a little tighter.

  Braiden glanced my way and offered me a small smile.

  “Sorry, sweetheart, it wasn’t intentional.” He was dressed in black clothing, and his dark hair was tousled by the wind. Braiden was sexy and scary in a dark and mysterious kind of way. He loved his girlfriend Emily, though, and treated her like the sun rose and set with her. She’d been hurt, like me, and Braiden had been the one to walk her through each day as she tried to find her feet in a world after many years of horrendous abuse. For all the darkness Braiden tried to cloak himself in, he was kind, strong, compassionate, everything that his business, Montgomery Security, stood for. Braiden didn’t step forward to hug me, or touch me in any way; his hands remained tucked into his pockets.

  “That’s okay. I’m a little jumpy,” I confessed. “Thank you for the ride.” I glanced at the jet which sat quietly behind us.

  “You’re welcome,” he nodded.

  Drew turned and reached a hand into my jacket, pulling out the wad of cash from the hidden pocket. He slapped it in Braiden’s now outstretched hand. His handsome face held a broad grin, and it was so unfamiliar and easy-going, I found myself softening a little more to the enigma of a man.

  “Vasily wants a chance to win it back.”

  “I bet he does,” Braiden chuckled. With a slap on Drew’s shoulder, which caused Drew to stiffen in pain, Braiden walked by us. “Dillon’s waiting. Good job, King.” I watched him disappear up the stairs of the plane.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, nodding towards his injured shoulder.

  “I’m fine.”

  I rolled my eyes. He was so not fine, but I guess admitting that would make him less of a man or something.

  Drew gently tugged me toward a waiting SUV, the unmistakable frame of Dillon Montgomery leaning against its side, Larz O’Donnell, one of their employees, stood a few feet away at the back end of the vehicle.

  Dillon pushed off the car and approached us as we drew closer. He held out a hand and shook Drew’s, a serious expression on his face.

  “You did good,” he said, before turning his gaze on me. The gravity in his expression relaxed, and he even managed a small smile.

  “I’m sorry, Lola. I said I’d keep you safe, and it looks like I failed you.”

  “I’m okay,” I quickly replied, needing to assuage his guilt.

  Dillon had been wonderfully helpful. He’d gotten me out of Claymont quickly and without fuss, and set me up with a new identity, bank accounts, and somewhere to call home. The death we’d left behind in Thailand brought fresh tears to my eyes and a big, lurching roll to my stomach.

  “I’m the one who should be sorry. Norm and Pen-Chan . . .” My words caught on a sob, and Dillon was quick to pull me into a hug.

  After a moment he pulled away and narrowed his eyes, his relaxed demeanor now gone.

  “That’s not on you, Lola. Norman would kick my ass if he knew you were letting tears fall for him. I’m gonna fix this, okay?”

  Blinking away the tars, I managed a nod, my throat tight with emotion. The meltdown I had promised Drew wasn’t far away. Not here, though, not in front of these soldiers. But once I was inside, clean and warm, then I’d let the floodgates open. I’d have a good and proper meltdown.

  “Evenin’, honey,” came Larz’s Texan twang as we stepped toward the waiting SUV. “Jump on in and warm up.” Larz held the back door open, and Drew held my elbow as I climbed in.

  “I hear you tore up Thailand, King.”

  Drew did that thing he does, grunted, before climbing in the backseat alongside me. Larz chuckled as the door closed, and both he and Dillon climbed in the front.

  “What about Braiden?” I wondered, as the car began to pull away from the airfield.

  “He brought his Corvette out tonight, said it needed a run. We couldn’t all fit in the ostentatious vehicle, so Dillon rolled us on out here in somethin’ a little more suitable,” Larz answered.

  “Oh,” was the only reply I could manage.

  “We’ve got an apartment free above the office,” Dillon said, glancing at Drew through the rear-view mirror.

  “By Sam?” Drew asked.

  “Right next door.”

  “The apartment has all the basics,” Larz said, glancing over his shoulder and offering me a gentle smile. “I have no doubt the girls will set you up with clothes before you even have time to think about online shoppin’.”

  Three sets of eyes seemed to take me in at the same time, and being the center of attention had never been my favorite place.

  “Drew got shot,” I blurted out, which did exactly as I hoped, drew Dillon’s and Larz’s gaze away from me.

  Drew grunted, or maybe that was a scoff?

  “Grazed,” he mumbled, shifting uncomfortably under the other men’s scrutiny.

  Larz chuckled. “Grazed means shot.”

  “Through and through?” Dillon asked.

  “Barely clipped me.”

  “Don’t worry, Lola, Larz and I both have field medic training. Larz here has a better bedside manner than me, though, so we’ll have him patch up the big oaf as soon as we get to the apartment.”

  Drew cast me a what-the-hell look, and I shrugged, giving him my best what-did-you-expect look. I mean, he’d been shot for freak’s sake!

  Larz and Dillon began talking security stuff. Drew grunted every now and again to insert his own version of effort into the conversation, and I quietly tried to put a lid on my rising panic. The closer we got to town, the more overwhelmed I began to feel.

  Numbers, I needed my numbers, so I began counting the mile markers along
the highway; their monotonous blur of white as we passed soothed my chaotic mind. The counting helped center me; it dragged my thoughts away from the horrific memories threatening to drown me. My heart rate continued to speed up the closer we got to the lights, though, and my stomach was in knots as we began to pass houses. When we reached the turn off that would have taken us by the laundromat I used to live above, the place of my worst nightmares, Dillon took a right, steering us away. It was a longer route to their office, but one I was grateful for.

  When the car cleared the security entrance beneath Montgomery Security and came to a halt in a parking garage by a set of heavy, steel elevator doors, I sucked in a deep breath and climbed out. As I stood beside the car, I fidgeted nervously before Drew’s big hand encircled mine. I automatically flipped my hand over and laced our fingers together, squeezing his hand too tight. If it was uncomfortable, he didn’t say anything. In fact, he didn’t even look my way. He simply held on, his determined presence helping to keep me grounded.

  CHAPTER 13

  DREW

  The apartment was modern and clean, with thick carpet in a creamy shade, a large well-lit kitchen that appeared to be full of state-of-the-art, stainless steel appliances, which opened into an adjoining dining area and large family room. A decent size grey leather sectional sofa sat before a wall-mounted flat screen TV and glass coffee table.

  “Two bedrooms,” Dillon explained as he led us down a short hallway.

  Glancing over Lola’s shoulder, I took in the room she had entered. It was a comfortable size with a king bed, side tables, and grey black-out curtains pulled across one wall. Peeking behind the curtains, I found wall to floor windows.

  “Bullet proof,” Larz murmured from beside me.

  I nodded in approval and slid open a door which revealed a large closet space for clothing.

  “The second bedroom is right beside this one,” Dillon announced, leaving the room, and I followed him into the next room which was a mirror of the one we had just been in. “There’s only one bathroom,” he pointed across the hall.