by Jax Garren
She curled into a ball, cramming herself into the hidey-hole, and slid the tile back into place, this time going the correct direction.
A moment later the door opened. “Mr. Barnett?” Quiet. Then the woman muttered, “I could’ve sworn I saw you come in here.” More silence.
Jolie sighed. She had a show tonight and was going to be late if this woman didn’t get her ass out of the office so she could climb down with her prize. Although things were about to get a lot tougher if the woman checked behind the desk...
“Mr. Barnett! Grant! Guards!”
Shit. “Plan B, Brayden,” she muttered into the microphone.
“You okay?” her partner in crime asked. “Hauk will kill me if anything happens to—”
“Hauk’s not going to know, because I’m getting out of here.” Somehow.
Wesley Haukon was normally the one the Underlight sent on missions of corporate espionage, but right now he was hidden while he recovered from traumatic injury dealt by these assholes. Jolie still burned with rage every time she thought about it. But right now she didn’t have time for anger; she needed to figure out her next move.
If he were here, Hauk, her...boyfriend? Was that the right word? They hadn’t exactly worked those little details out two weeks ago in the hospital, when they’d agreed to start whatever it was they had agreed to start. And since he was in hiding, she hadn’t been able to visit him since to work it out.
Two weeks without her workout buddy and his intense blue eyes and contagious laugh had felt surprisingly interminable.
But if he were here, Hauk, her whatever, would charge down the hall, guns blazing. For all her dancer’s strength, Jolie had nothing on the six-foot-seven, ex-Army Ranger behemoth and his combat skills of doom. So that couldn’t be her plan.
She waited until the woman’s footsteps clacked down the hallway, surely to seek those guards she’d been yelling for. Jolie dropped back down with the folder, replaced the tile, grabbed the phone (it had whatever it had) and glanced out the door before darting down the empty hallway.
She’d memorized the layout of the complex and had a good idea which direction she needed to move in. She rounded the corner, heading for the factory floor. Once there, she had options instead of being stuck in a maze of hallways with—
Guards bearing down on her. Three of them, startled to see her. Unlike the big-wigs of Ananke, they didn’t recognize her, which was good and bad. Good because they didn’t know what she was worth. Bad because (one guard raised a gun) she was dispensable.
Hands of Atropos. The mercenary soldiers of Ananke were the shoot-first-don’t-even-bother-asking-questions type. They got big promises of women, beauty and luxury, plus a fat-ass paycheck, in exchange for undergoing a magical lobotomy that stripped their will and made them mind-slaves to Ananke.
Yeah, magic. Jolie hadn’t believed in it until she’d seen it. Ananke was into some seriously dark shit, specializing in various forms of mind control. There would be no negotiating with Atropos.
Like Hauk had taught her, she dropped to the ground and rolled. Bullets clanged against the wall above her. She kicked off a wall and skidded toward a perpendicular hallway. Out of range, she flipped up to standing and dashed forward. “Map...map...map...” She thought over the map and readjusted her course. She needed a lot of turns to avoid the bullets.
There was a route that would work.
Footsteps pounded behind her as she jerked around corners and sprinted down stretches. The factory floor was close. She could hide in the machinery there. Or if she was lucky...
An oversized door was directly down the hall. She readied Grant’s badge as she ran, slipped it through the reader, and the doors opened before her just as the guards appeared around the corner.
The doors wouldn’t shut in time to stop them.
A chain above her head connected a machine to the ceiling. She ducked to the side where her pursuers couldn’t see, gathered her strength and jumped. The chain was cold under her fingers as she hauled herself up. Loud, too, but the last of the machines were still shutting down, the AC gusted and in general there was enough clanking and whirring and ambient noise that she hoped they wouldn’t notice.
The guards dashed in beneath her and immediately started a search of the ground. Hand over hand, she pulled herself up the chain to the rafters. From here, a maze of beams could take her to a window and then out the side of the building. Brayden had a distraction waiting at the north entrance—Plan B. She checked her phone’s compass for south and headed that way.
She was going to make it. She touched her earphone. “I’ll need that distraction in sixty seconds, my friend.”
“You got it, Red Hots.”
She smiled at the nickname and checked her phone’s clock. With a little hustle, she’d be in time for her show tonight, too, although Pussy Will-Oh!’s manager, Catrina, was an associate of the Underlight and would forgive her if she missed over a mission.
But Jolie liked dancing, and she didn’t want to let her troupe down.
She glided along the beams of the ceiling toward a window. Hauk would be proud; he couldn’t have done better himself. As soon as he was home from the hospital—please let that be soon—she’d tell him all about it.
And maybe, if she was feeling really brave, they’d discuss that “boyfriend” thing.
Right now, anything seemed possible.
Chapter Two
A cry of “Churros!” silenced the laughter behind the abandoned electric company where Pussy Will-Oh! performed. They had a few minutes before the ordeal of costuming needed to start, so the eight ladies and two gentlemen of the troupe lounged around the loading dock in the light of an old flood lamp, some smoking, most just chatting.
With squeals of joy, dancers swarmed the new arrival to collect cinnamon pastries. Jolie stayed on the railing, kicking her high heels against the metal and letting the cool night air slip over her skin. A package was tossed her way, and she caught it.
“Gluten-free. Didn’t think I’d forget ya, did ya?”
Jolie grinned and opened the Tupperware to find four sugar- and cinnamon-dusted rolls made just for her. “You kick ass.”
“I know.” Madam Mercy—real name, Mercedes Salvador—winked. “But now you have to invite me to your birthday party next week. You are having a party, right?”
Jolie scrunched her forehead as she added up days. “Holy shit. Next week is my birthday. Twenty-five. Does hitting a quarter century make me old?”
She ducked a churro and laughed as several of the dancers—all of whom were older than her—grumbled in protest.
She’d known the day was coming up, but the last few months had flown by. She munched thoughtfully on a pastry, and the cinnamon, her favorite spice, had just the right amount of bite. “Okay. Party at my place. All of you are invited.” She waved the Pyrex. “Mercy, bring me churros wrapped in a bow.” Her first birthday in Austin, and she had a party full of people to invite and no pressure to include anyone from her father’s address book. The thought made her happy. Hopefully Hauk would be out of the hospital and well enough to attend, too.
Hmm...hopefully Hauk would be willing to attend. He didn’t like public events, which she understood, but she liked to think he’d make an exception for her birthday. It wasn’t like anyone she’d invite would call the cops on him, so it was only his self-consciousness that would stop him from attending. Hauk had been in a fire in Afghanistan, which had taken his leg and left burn scars on the rest of him. Jolie liked to think of herself as someone who didn’t judge people based on appearance, but at first she’d had a hard time seeing past the way the scarring drew a never-ending labyrinth on his skin, or the way dozens of skin grafts had made a patchwork of flesh tones that didn’t match up, or how the cartilage in his face had melted, leaving the impression that a kid had taken a blow torch to a wax sculpture.
Plus, Hauk had covered himself in tattoos and piercings. She was pretty sure it had been his way of reclaiming h
is skin. Many of the tats were beautiful—she particularly loved the phoenix spreading its wings across the back of his bald skull—but all the metal and ink did give his scarring a more menacing aspect.
Honestly, she’d been scared shitless the first time she saw him.
But then they’d worked together, and his sense of humor and generosity had helped her notice what pretty eyes he had. Working out with him had helped her realize what a perfectly shaped ass he had. She couldn’t wait to get her fingers on that. Somewhere along the way she’d gone from frightened to fascinated. Hauk was totally unique, and she itched to explore every bit of him.
Hauk, however, knew he wigged people out when they first saw him. He hated meeting new people and despised crowds—not that she blamed him. So was it fair of her to expect him to go to her birthday party?
And was she okay dating somebody who wouldn’t go anywhere in public with her?
Jolie shook her head to clear it. No sense borrowing trouble, right? They’d deal with that when it became a problem.
The door opened behind her. She turned, expecting to see Catrina wagging a finger at her “girls” and demanding they get their asses inside.
Instead she found a knife pointing at her.
Four men in ominous black exited backstage onto the loading dock and spread out amongst the company. Everyone went silent. Mercy, the only other dancer who was also in the Underlight, caught Jolie’s eye and glanced at her wrist.
Jolie grimaced. Ananke created the Hands of Atropos with a spell that forced them to be obedient and loyal. The spell was sealed by a magically inked tattoo Atropos usually wore on their wrist. These weren’t any old thugs.
They’d gotten pretty damn bold, coming all this way for her evening’s ill-gotten goods, which were, unfortunately, still in her trunk.
Jolie quirked an eyebrow, faking calm. “Hey, boys. What can I do for ya?”
He twisted the knife, slicing the air like a figure eight in front of her throat. “You know what we’re here for, Jolie. Let’s make this easy and hand it over. Nobody’s gotta get hurt.”
Great, a verbal one. Most guys came out of Ananke’s spell practically mindless, but every now and then someone with a particularly strong will would still be able to cop attitude to anyone not in Ananke. They were smarter than average, usually the ringleader of a gang of Atropos, and real pains in the ass.
But she didn’t show her dismay. “Ooh, I’m famous. I’m sorry, but I don’t know your name—”
He grabbed her arm and yanked her forward, painfully twisting her shoulder. With a shove he slammed her against the cement walls. Her face stung from impact, and the uneven grit of the wall dug into her cheek.
Crap, he was serious. She could hear the other dancers stirring behind her, debating their actions. She waved her free hand backwards. “Stay back, guys, I got this.” Somehow. Really. She had this.
The guy gave her a shake, pounding her bruised cheek back into the wall. “You got this, all right,” he said, his vodka breath in her face—vodka and something metallic. No, it wasn’t coming just from his breath; his shirt was wet with it. “You ‘got this’ by taking me to wherever you put Grant Barnett’s folder and handing it over real nice. Along with anything you took from the computer, so I’ll be returning with this.” He rifled her pockets, fingers digging aggressively into her until he retrieved her phone.
“What’s your name?” Jolie asked.
He leaned closer, pressing her into the sandpaper of the wall as he finished checking her pockets. “Why you wanna know?”
She shot him the nastiest smile she could. “Call me old-fashioned, but I’m gonna let my boyfriend kick your ass. It’ll be a fun show. For me, anyway.”
The guy chuckled. “I heard that freak of a giant was following you around all puppy-dog-eyed. Decided to unlock those knees, eh? You must be desperate for a bodyguard to face that in the night.”
Jolie stiffened as the protectiveness she’d always felt for Hauk rebelled against the remark. Unfortunately, kicking this asshole in the nuts was a bad idea when he already had her arm wrenched tight. She hated the assumption that a girl like her couldn’t be interested in an awesome guy like Hauk just because of his looks. It was an insult to both of them. “I’m not dating him to—”
“I’m sure he’ll take real good care of a pretty thing like you. If he’s not dead or disabled, anyway. Last I heard, he got himself a few new scars to add to that mess he calls a face. Now, come on. We’ve got paperwork to return.” He hoisted her away from the wall. “You know you can hire a lot of muscle with that bank account of yours, right?”
“You underestimate the importance of strong fingers and a dexterous tongue.”
That got a laugh. “I got those, sweetheart.”
“And a moral compass.” Jolie shuffled toward the parking lot, surveying the crowd of dancers versus well-trained, overly aggressive fighters as she tried to plan her next move. She could fight a little, but staying out of trouble was her usual M.O. Right now that wasn’t an option.
“Ooh, morality lessons from a stripper, her drag queen boss, her felon boyfriend and their anarchist club. I’m sure I’ll learn a lot. Please, dazzle me...as you take me to the files.”
She would have to give him the file back. Dammit. Her first mission had gone so well, too.
“Party I’m not invited to?” a new voice rumbled across the gathering. A man stepped from the shadows. His face was hidden by a hoodie, but Jolie knew that towering profile, the raw power in those broad shoulders and the perfectly sculpted arms his baggy shirt couldn’t hide.
She breathed a sigh of relief and called across the lot, “Be my guest.”
Hauk strolled to the edge of the dancers and dropped his hoodie. Blue eyes, bright as a summer sky, held hers for a breathless moment, and Jolie knew everything was going to be okay. The rest of the crowd, however, took a collective gasping hiss. Hauk’s jaw clenched, but otherwise he ignored it. “I dunno, Red Hots. Three on one seems unfair. To them.”
Jolie’s attacker tightened his hold. “Can you not count? There are four of us. Four on one.”
Hauk waved a hand dismissively. “Nah, I got these three.” He pointed to the crowd. “You’re about to get your ass handed to you by a woman.”
Any lingering nerves dissipated. Jolie didn’t have to worry about her troupe. Hauk would take care of them. Plus, his words were meant to remind her she knew how to break the hold her attacker had her in. Hauk winked, calm as he always was, and she smiled. With a twisting push, she had her wrists free and stepped into position for an arm lock.
* * *
Hauk was having a shitty day. Started in the hospital, a crap way to start any day, where he’d been attacked by a gang of these damn Atropos. Then he arrived here to check on Jolie and found her in their hands. Shitty fuckin’ day.
Jolie knew the escape from that hold; they’d drilled it until it should be second nature. But if that ass so much as nicked her, Hauk was going to lose it in a murderous way. He kept Jolie in his sights as he turned to the other three goons. With the authority gained from his years as a drill sergeant he yelled, “Down!”
Most of the dancers dropped, clearing a path to a goon. Two strides forward, and Hauk grabbed him. Threw him over his hip.
Goon Number Two threw a punch.
Hauk dodged under and threw an elbow to his solar plexus. Rotated his fist up for a backhand to the face, and the guy’s nose popped with a spray blood.
A back kick to One, already writhing on the ground, knocked the wind out of him. Knee up, and Hauk jammed it into the gut of Two. Two crumpled, and Hauk tossed him to the ground.
Jolie had her attacker on the ground. Good girl.
Hauk faced Number Three, threw his hands out and stepped forward, threatening. “You wanna pick up your friends and get out of here, or join ’em groveling in pain? Same difference to me.”
Three stepped back, hands raised in a pacifying gesture.
“Then get the fu
ck out of here while I’m feeling generous.” Hauk threw a glance at Mercy, and she started pulling dancers away from the sprawled goons, just in case they decided to do something fancy.
Hauk jogged up to Jolie.
“I asked you what your name was,” she was saying.
The guy yelped, “Ric Suarez!”
“Nice thumb lock,” Hauk commented with far more cool than he felt. He loved sparring with Jolie. He despised seeing her in a real fight.
“Thanks!” Jolie said brightly. Damn though, he did like to see that smile of success. “Hauk, this is Ric Suarez. He threw me into a wall.”
“You okay?”
“I’m fine. Thanks for the assist.” She retrieved her phone from the guy’s pocket then released the thumb hold.
Suarez stood up, eyes blazing like he was about to do something stupid.
So Hauk punched him.
Suarez stumbled back into the railing. His buddies had already scattered and, seeing that, Suarez turned tail and fled.
A scan to ensure they were really gone, and Hauk faced Jolie. “What happened?” A bruise had started to color across her cheekbone. He gently touched her jaw, tipping her head to give him a better view. “Did he give you that? I’m going to kill his ass.” He turned to go do that.
Jolie tugged him back around. “You’re out of the hospital.”
“Yeah.” Even with that bruise spreading down her jaw—Jesus, how hard did he throw her? Ric Suarez had better run in fucking terror next time Hauk saw him—Jolie was magnetic, grinning up at him with those gleeful green eyes. Every time she shot him that smile, he wanted to kiss every freckle on her nose and anywhere else she had them, too. He couldn’t remember ever wanting a woman so much.
The anxiety he’d felt during the time they’d been apart started to close up his throat. For two weeks he’d lain in that damned hospital bed, fearing she’d change her mind, that once she had the space to think about it, she’d realize he was undereducated and over-ugly. A brilliant, talented, gloriously sexy woman like her could do so much better.