by J. D. Sloane
“There we go,” Ronan said, his voice rough and amused as he pulled her to the center of the room. “Just a little farther. That’s it. Almost home now. What do you think? Ready to earn your place on the team as my number one girl?”
Alicia dug her nails into his arm as Ronan let out a low noise of annoyance and then screamed again as he forced her to the ground, her leg striking something hard as he dragged her across the tile floor.
“Get your fucking hands off of me!” Alicia said, swiping her hand towards his face as he avoided her easily and caught her wrist mid-swing, slamming it to the ground above her.
“Now that’s not very ladylike,” Ronan said through clenched teeth, wrestling his body on top of her until he had her straddled at the waist. Alicia gasped as he dug his knees into her sides and then shot his arm out suddenly, digging his fingers into her jaw like the threads of a vise. He dipped his head close to her as his dark blond hair fell into her face, his wide eyes twirling so wildly she flinched.
“Keep playing that dirty and I’m going to make you cut them nice and short,” he said, letting her go all at once as he dug his free arm into the hollow of her collarbone.
Alicia felt her eyes go wide as he reached for something behind him and she followed his hand in sudden horror as she saw that he had swung open the door of a metal cage, shoving it aside lightly as he grabbed something out of the front of it.
Ronan whistled under his breath and then dangled the black leather collar in her face, the silver-plated front adorned with one short, scrolling name.
“You want to know when I had this made for you?” Ronan asked, his voice whispering across her lips so gently she shivered. “Hmm? Do you? It was the first time you came to see me. The very. First. Day.”
Alice, she thought, her mind beginning to tighten with a wave of panic. Oh God. That name wasn’t an endearment. No, it was his name for something else. And there were a lot of them, a whole drawer of them, all with a different color…
Alicia threw up her arms as Ronan smacked them back down impatiently, rolling his eyes with annoyance as she stated to struggle.
“Let me, Ronan! Let me go!”
Ronan jerked her neck forward and coiled the collar around her throat with a rough drag of one hand, fastening it against her throat as she started to scream. He slapped his hand over her mouth as she raked her nails across his arm and let out a low hiss of rage as he dug his fingers beneath the lip of the collar, yanking her forward like a ragdoll as he grabbed the back of her short black jacket. He coiled his fist around the leather belt as she fought him, yanking it over her head in a couple of quick, violent tugs and then grabbed the front of her white dress as she swiped at him with both hands, shoving her onto her stomach. Ronan wrestled her dress above her waist, pulling it over her head as he held her down with the flat of his palm and Alicia felt all the air leave her lungs as he jerked her boots off and tossed them aside, shoving his hand between her legs.
“I thought I already told you about these?” Ronan said against her neck, his voice low and hungry as he dragged her lace thong down around her thighs, ripping them off with one, quick violent tug.
“Stop it!” Alicia said, trying to throw her weight backwards as he swung her towards the metal crate, and felt a wild, unchecked rush of terror run through her as Ronan dragged her forward by the collar, her stomach tightening with terror as she skidded to her knees. She grabbed hold of the opening as Ronan shoved her inside and then whistled lightly as he reached for the door, swinging it shut as Alicia cried out and pulled her hand back.
Alicia cowered on the floor of the metal crate as Ronan stood up casually and then tapped on the bars with his knuckles as she wrapped her arms around her breasts, his dark eyes dancing with a wild, hate-filled amusement.
“Now that isn’t so bad, is it?” Ronan asked, crouching down in front of the cage as he tilted his head towards her. “Don’t worry. In a few days you’ll start to feel right at home.”
Alicia’s eyes widened as his dark eyes dipped and twirled and wrapped her fingers around the front door of the cage, shaking it wildly as she gritted her teeth.
“Let me out of here, Ronan!”
“Why should I? I like you in there.”
Alicia rattled the cage again as Ronan stood up and felt her terror spill over into panic as she realized that the door was locked with some kind of combination lock, the four mechanical tumblers currently reading a row of upside down fives.
“Let me out of here!” She screamed, slamming her hand against the bars as hard as she could and then slid to the back of the cage as she kicked at the door with both feet, panting wildly as Ronan watched her with mild amusement from across the room.
“You’re going to tire out quick if you keep that up,” Ronan said, raising his brows as Alicia whipped her head in his direction, her gold eyes bright and frantic. She reached for the collar, running her fingers beneath it and then began to feel for the clasp as Ronan walked back over.
“Oh, I wouldn’t do that,” Ronan said, slapping something against the bars hard enough to rattle the top of the cage, his dark eyes dancing so viciously they were practically on fire. “Not if I were you. There are so many ways this can go, Alicia. But I can’t promise you you’ll enjoy every one.”
Alicia felt her hand falter and dropped it to her knee as Ronan looked her over carefully for a moment, his expression warring between open gratification and a type of hard, reluctant hunger.
“What do you want?” Alicia asked, letting her breath out in a rush as Ronan dragged his eyes down the length of her body and then met her gaze, his expression twitching lightly across the deep groove of his scar.
“The only thing I’ve ever wanted, Alicia,” he said, running his hand down the length of the whip he was holding as he crouched down in front of her. “For you to figure out what your one, true place is. And believe me when I say that I’m willing to take as much time as I need to help you figure it out.”
Chapter Thirteen
Byron stirred the large pot on the stove as Michael walked into the living room. He watched him look out over the skyline, that image of him as his father strangely and unshakably eerie, and then uncorked the wine on the counter, pouring a glass without looking over his shoulder.
“That was an odd choice for you,” Byron said, rolling the neck around the rim as he reached for another glass. “To help that girl. And her father.”
Michael glanced at him, his shoulders tensing and ran a hand through the back of his hair restlessly as he threw him a look of annoyance.
“I should’ve let them die, you mean.”
“No, not at all. I said it was an odd choice, not the wrong one.”
Michael sighed and walked into the kitchen, resting his back against the wall as he watched Byron taste the sauce and then reach for a small shaker of oregano, tapping it into the mix with a fussy air.
“I don’t know why you’re bothering. I told you, I’m not hungry.”
“I don’t need you to be hungry to cook Michael. Believe it or not, occasionally I need to eat myself.”
He poured a handful of what looked like coarse pepper into his hand and then tossed it into the sauce as he took another bite.
“But you will be missing out on one of the great pleasures in life. My red sauce is truly unequalled. Even Margot admits as much.”
Michael gave him a sullen look and then picked up one of the glasses of wine, swirling it around with one hand before taking a drink.
“Margot will say anything to get out of cooking.”
Byron smiled and then set down the spoon, holding his finger up as he reached for a towel.
“That’s true. She is a woman of singular talents. But she also knows what she likes. And absolutely uncompromising when it comes to…”
Byron paused as a soft buzzer chimed above his head and glanced at the door, setting his wine glass down as he walked into the living room. Michael followed h
im with his eyes as Byron tapped at his computer screen and two black and white images leapt into view, one of the elevators and one just outside his doorway. He raised his brows as a petite blond woman with a youthful face stepped out of the elevator and glanced both ways down the corridor before heading for the door.
He put his glasses on as he tapped the image twice and then wiped his hands on the towel as he glanced in Michael’s direction.
“I believe you have a visitor.”
Michael’s dark brows flew together as he heard a tentative rap at the door and gave Byron an accusatory look as he walked into the living room. He looked at the computer screen and then flinched as the girl glanced from side to side, reading the numbers on the doors carefully before turning back around.
“No, Byron,” Michael said darkly, shooting Byron a look of sudden anger. “Absolutely not.”
“Normally I would agree with you, Michael. But you did just snatch her from the clutches of death. Perhaps she simply wants to thank you.”
“Do whatever you want,” Michael said, buttoning up the collar of his white dress shirt as he reached for his jacket. “But leave me out of it.”
He started to head for the back door as the girl knocked again and Byron sighed deeply, tapping the computer screen as the image went to black.
“She is a police officer, isn’t she?”
Michael paused, glancing over his shoulder as Byron took his glasses off and fixed him with an inquisitive stare.
“What does that have to do with anything?” He asked, his low voice tight and clipped.
“Nothing. Nothing at all. But it may be better to know what they have as opposed to not. That’s all I’m suggesting.”
Byron saw Michael consider it, his pale eyes running towards the door as he shook his head and then sneered deeply as he tossed his coat onto the back of the couch, his posture tensing as he shook out his cuffs.
“Fine,” he said, rebuttoning his right cuff quickly before shaking out his arm. “Just so we know where we stand. And for the record, I think this is a terrible idea.”
“Three for dinner then,” Byron said smothering a triumphant smile as Michael cut his eyes in his direction. “What a rare surprise. Would you mind playing host while I set an extra place at the table?”
Jessica raised her hand to knock at the door again, her eyes narrowing as she heard a shuffle of footsteps inside.
I heard voices, she thought. I know I did. It sounded like people arguing there for a second. Well, if they think I’m leaving then they have another thought…
Jessica snatched her hand back as her knuckles grazed the door and peeked around the corner as a tall shadow loomed in the darkness of the hallway, the door creaking open slowly before swinging wide all at once. Jessica swallowed as she looked up, the man in the doorway rolling his jaw slightly as he stared down at her. She blinked quickly as the man tipped his head towards her without speaking and felt her heart flutter into her throat as his clear blue eyes bored into her, his pale olive complexion making them seem incredibly exotic and intimidating all at once.
Not the drugs then, she thought. He really is insanely good-looking. I could’ve sworn my imagination had run away with me just a little in the hospital.
“Can I help you, Miss Nolan?” The man asked, his low, clipped voice so familiar that she almost missed the casual way he used her name, his expression softening slightly as he looked her over. “I mean, any more than I already have?”
Jessica snapped her eyes up as his words hit her like a slap and tipped her chin up slightly as she raised one of her wrists, turning it towards him as his brow furrowed.
“I know your name too, Mr. Vaughn. And you’re right. I didn’t get a chance to thank you the other night. You left before I could.”
“Hmm. It seems like a good detective would’ve picked up on a clue like that. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m afraid I was about to…”
“Invite you in to dinner,” Byron said from behind him, his kind, brown eyes sparkling with interest as Michael threw him a quick look over his shoulder. Jessica saw Michael’s jaw clench and he shook his head as he let out a long breath, stepping aside as Byron took his place in the doorway.
“Please excuse my houseguest, Miss Nolan. I’m afraid our line of work doesn’t exactly encourage politeness to strangers. My name is Byron Laine. Won’t you come in and dine with us? I’m afraid I’m used to cooking for more than two people and I’ve made far too much for us to finish alone.”
Jessica glanced at Michael as he tipped his eyes in her direction and bit the inside of her cheek as she saw him struggle to head off a grimace, his expression so unwelcoming she almost declined.
“My line of work doesn’t really encourage it either,” she said, stepping into the cheerful tiled foyer as Byron gave her a smile. “But I’d love to stay, thank you.”
Jessica glanced around the modern looking bachelor’s pad, grinning slightly as she noticed the old-fashioned movie posters on the wall, all of the titles in French.
She winced as she slid her navy-blue pea coat off her arms, the shallow arc of motion still causing every tendon in her arms to scream in unison and then looked up as Byron helped her automatically, breezing the coat away from her as he swung it over one arm.
“Your accent,” she said, turning her eyes towards him as he led her over to the table and then made a show out of pulling out her chair. “Is it French?”
“It is,” he said, raising his voice as he walked back towards the kitchen and hung her coat in a closet next to the kitchen. “Do you speak it?”
“Only a little,” Jessica said, following Michael with her eyes as he poured himself a drink at the tidy looking bar next to a tall café table. “My grandmother was from Quebec. She used to pray in French.”
“Ah. My wife is from Quebec. Did you hear that, Michael?”
“Every syllable.”
“Don’t mind him, Miss Nolan,” Byron said, bringing over two bottles of wine, one red and one white. “He is from a line of men who believe that being rude is the same thing as being mysterious. And never so pronounced as when he’s in the company of a beautiful woman. Would you care for red or white?”
“Red is fine, thank you,” Jessica said, tucking her hair behind one ear self-consciously as Michael walked over with his drink.
“Why don’t you tell her what you did before you started playing the butler du jour at dinner parties, Byron?” Michael said, meeting Jessica’s eyes over his glass as he took a long drink. “I’m sure Officer Nolan here would find it positively scintillating.”
“Perhaps I will,” Byron said, raising his voice again as he walked into the kitchen. “Just as soon as you tell her what you did before you started rescuing damsels in distress from the top of tall buildings.”
Jessica’s brow furrowed in embarrassment as Michael glanced down at her wrists, his face shifting with a moment of annoyed unease.
“He’s right, you know,” Jessica said, pressing her lips together ruefully as she took a seat at the table. “You’re going to have to get over that whole mysterious thing if you plan on rescuing anymore damsels in this town.”
“I wouldn’t get your hopes up,” Michael said pulling out the chair across from her. “That was kind of a one-time thing for me.”
Jessica rolled her glass as she tried not to stare and looked over his crisply tailored suit as he rested his elbows on the table, his strange blue eyes fixed on her face with a kind of cool, singular interest.
“Twice if you count my father,” she said quietly. “He’s alive because of you.”
She glanced around the tasteful, industrial looking living room as Michael let out a low sigh and took a drink of her wine as she glanced over her shoulder, raising her brows as she heard Byron set something down on the counter.
“That gadget you were using,” she said tapping the side of her glass with her fingernail. “I’m sorry I don’t know what else to cal
l it. I’ve never seen anything else like it.”
“Yes, well. Sometimes it’s important in my line of work to be able to get out of tight places quickly.”
“And what line of work would that be?”
Michael let out a quick, aggravated sigh and then leaned forward as he tipped his head in her direction.
“Why are you here, Miss Nolan?” He asked, emphasizing each word so curtly it was barely a question. “What is it that you want?”
“I told you. I wanted to thank you.”
“But not only to thank me, isn’t that right?”
Jessica met his gaze, her fingers fluttering with agitation and then leaned forward, her blue-green eyes glowing as she curled her fingers around her glass.
“You know him, don’t you?” Jessica asked. “Ronan White. That’s what the other night was about. Is wasn’t about rescuing me or anyone, was it? It was about not letting him win.”
Michael face registered a moment of surprise and then smirked slightly as he picked up his glass.
“I’ve never met the man,” he said taking a drink as he shifted his gaze towards the kitchen.
“No,” Jessica said, tapping the table with her finger as she tilted her head to meet his eyes. “It’s the only thing that makes sense. I’ve thought about it all night and that’s the only thing that fits. You have some sort of history with him. Something we would’ve missed.”
“We all miss something eventually,” he said rolling the ice in his glass around as he glanced towards the bar. “Speaking of which, how did you find me here? I haven’t exactly taken out an advertisement for where I’m staying.”
Jessica raised her brows and then shrugged, her eyes blazing with a moment of petty triumph.
“The guard at the strip club. He remembered your car. It was registered here, under this address. In the future you may think about driving a more forgettable vehicle.”