by Lora Leigh
“No. I wasn’t wounded then. I was wounded rescuing you, Amara. I spent four months working to regain my strength to return to you. Now, how’s that for someone who supposedly doesn’t give a damn.” Turning on his heel, he stalked from the bathroom as she stared back at him in shock, her lips parting on a soundless cry.
Before she could move to catch up with him, the sound of her bedroom door slamming echoed through the room, the crack of wood against wood causing her to flinch.
Why hadn’t her father told her that Riordan was part of the rescue mission? That he’d been wounded rescuing her?
A chill raced over her despite the sweater she wore, an icy breath that had her heart racing as she tried to find that memory, tried to remember her rescue. The fog in her mind was more like a cement wall when it came to her abduction and rescue—as well as everything in between.
Slowly, memories before the abduction were falling into place. Too slowly, but at least they were making themselves known again. She couldn’t forget the child she’d lost though, and the thought of that baby was killing her. Pressing her hand to her stomach, she closed her eyes, her breath hitching as she fought the pain of it.
She’d held the secret of her pregnancy even from her father, wanting to tell Riordan first. Why had she been so certain he’d want to know? She’d been excited, waiting for him. Why?
There were still too many gaps left in her many memories, and she could sense the fact that she needed to remember things quickly. Day by day she could feel an edge of panic growing inside her. There was something she needed to remember. Something she had to remember if she was going to survive this winter. And she had a feeling that that was the reason she knew she wasn’t safe—whatever had happened during her abduction. The certainty of that was growing by the day. She could feel the knowledge, almost touch it, but it still hung just out of reach.
Turning back to the mirror, she stared at the mark Riordan had placed high on her neck. It wasn’t as clear as the lower one, the one near her shoulder, but there was no hiding it either. He’d made certain everyone who saw her would know she was claimed. And she had a feeling he’d make certain everyone knew that he was the one who claimed her.
He was going to make her crazy.
Turning away, she undressed quickly, showered, and dressed in a pair of cranberry red slacks and a cream-colored sweater that hid the darker mark. There was no help for the higher one, though. She didn’t own a turtleneck, and there was no way a scarf alone would hide it. She’d just have to own that one.
She couldn’t imagine how her father was going to react. One thing about it though, she’d find out if Riordan was indeed prick enough to deal with her often too-strong, too-manipulative father. She’d worried about that …
She paused for a second before leaving the room. She’d worried about that when she and Riordan had been together before. Worried that if her father knew about their relationship, he would not have hurt her by forcing Riordan from her life, he would have played his stupid male games instead by forcing Riordan to marry her.
She hadn’t wanted that. She’d wanted it to come naturally, but for some reason she’d been certain it would happen.
Why had she been so certain?
Rubbing at her still tender arm, she gave a quick shake of her head and continued down the hall. Bit by bit, piece by piece, she told herself, she’d remember.
She only prayed she would survive the return of those memories.
As she reached the staircase, she stared down at the foyer in shock and the thought that she’d have to survive the night first raced through her mind.
* * *
Riordan stepped from Amara’s room, the door slamming behind him as he bit back a curse. She was going to make him crazy—and if she didn’t, then his own emotions would. Damn her, he wanted nothing more than to haul her into his arms, hold her there, and ensure nothing or no one would ever cause her a moment of fear again.
The knowledge that he couldn’t do that was ripping him apart on the inside.
“Riordan. In the foyer.” The dark undertone of warning in his brother’s voice had him pushing back his emotions—his fear for Amara and his anger over Ivan’s machinations—as he reached up to activate the audio on his communications earbud and hurried down the hall.
“Get the main gates opened!” Micah was yelling in the link. “Now! Move. Move.”
The sound of gunfire was impossible to miss, as were Micah’s curses. Riordan raced for the stairs as he jerked his weapon from his hip holster.
Downstairs, Noah, Tobias, and Elizaveta were racing in the foyer, now fully armed with the compact automatic weapons they’d retrieved from the hidden armory.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Riordan caught the automatic Noah tossed him. “What the hell—?”
“Ivan’s coming in hot,” Noah snapped. “Micah and Grisha are at the gates to provide support. Ivan just called in as the sound of gunfire reached the guard at the gatehouse.”
Tobias was pulling the front doors open, the sound of gunfire unmistakable as headlights raced for the gates. Micah, and Grisha were at the gates providing backup when vehicles swerved into view.
Immediately, Micah’s team were firing on the vehicle racing behind Ivan’s SUV, lying in cover as the Suburban tore past the gates and the truck running behind it slid in a perfectly executed turn, the wheels fighting for traction, biting in past the snow and tearing away in the wake of the gunfire being leveled on it.
“Ivan’s hit,” Ilya was then shouting into the link.
“Alexi,” Riordan shouted to the butler/medic. “Get ready.”
Ivan was shouting something, fury straining his voice as the SUV rocked to a stop in front of the side steps leading to the house. Immediately the door was thrown open and Ivan jumped out.
Blood stained the shoulder of his white shirt and rage tightened his face. As Ilya jumped out behind him, Ivan turned and threw his fist into Ilya’s face so fast and with such force his assistant went flying back, almost catching himself on the side of the truck before sprawling out in the snow.
Ivan reached into the SUV and, before Riordan’s stunned gaze, dragged a young woman out of it, jerking her upright when she slid in the snow, his hold on her arm tight.
“Get her fucking ass inside,” he shouted, pushing her to Elizaveta. “And don’t take your goddamn eyes off her.”
Elizaveta caught the young woman as she stumbled, her expression stoic as the bodyguard caught the woman’s arm and hustled her inside.
“Follow them,” Riordan told Noah, sparing only a second’s glance to his brother as he turned and moved behind Elizaveta.
“Dammit, Ivan,” Ilya cursed, pulling himself to his feet, his face flushed and angry, causing the tattoo at the side of his face to stand out in stark relief.
“Get away from me Ilya before I kill your ass,” Ivan commanded, stabbing a finger in his assistant’s direction. “Get far away from me, damn you.” He turned on Riordan then. “Stay the fuck out of my way, cowboy.”
He stalked past Riordan as Micah and the others jumped from the truck they’d taken from the guardhouse, their expressions hard, though Riordan could see the question in the older man’s eyes.
Turning, Riordan entered the foyer in time to see the redhead Ivan had jerked from the SUV tear away from Elizaveta and put her own fist squarely on Ivan’s jaw.
The hall erupted in commotion then as Riordan jumped for the girl. The rage that filled Ivan’s face was unlike any he’d seen in any man’s. For one heartbeat, he was certain Amara’s father would erupt in violence.
In the shock that surrounded her, the girl managed another blow. This one, straight into Ivan’s lips. While blood, and a roar of fury, erupted from Ivan, the girl went for a third blow when Elizaveta tackled her.
“Noah!” Riordan shouted as everyone seemed to stand in shock as the two women went to the floor.
The woman was smaller, and obviously untrained, but neither mattered when
the smaller, untrained one was fighting for her life. And there was no doubt the other woman thought she was fighting for her life.
She kicked, her nails went for Elizaveta’s eyes, and she kept Elizaveta off balance just long enough to reach with her other hand for the weapon at the bodyguard’s side. And she would have gotten it if Riordan hadn’t managed to drag Elizaveta off her as Noah caught her hands and hauled her to her feet.
“Enough!” Riordan shouted as Ivan moved for the redhead.
Pushing Elizaveta aside, Riordan stood between Noah, who held the redhead, and Ivan. “What the fuck is going on here?”
He could see that Ivan was going to have a hell of a black eye, that his lips were busted with the blood marring his face, and that murder gleamed in his dark blue eyes.
“Out of my way.” Ivan snarled.
“Let me go!” Fear and anger filled the voice of Noah’s captive. “I’ll kill the bastard.… You son of a bitch, you don’t know what you’ve done.”
“What I’ve done?” Ivan tried to push past Riordan. “You little bitch, I thought I was trying to help you.”
“That’s the problem with you, Resnova,” she accused him with furious sarcasm. “You’re under the impression you know how to think. You can’t do anything but cause chaos!”
“I’ll make you eat those goddamn words.” Ivan tried to get to her again.
“Dammit, Ivan, stay away from her.” Riordan blocked him again.
When Ivan’s fist flew at his face, Riordan barely managed to avoid it before Micah and Grisha grabbed Ivan’s arms and hauled him back.
“Stay there!” Riordan shouted at him, furious now. “What the fuck is going on here?” He turned to Ilya, catching an almost calculated look on the assistant’s face. “What the hell is their problem?”
The dragon tattoo flexed and rippled as Ivan clenched his jaw, his gray eyes steel hard as Ilya glanced at his employer.
Ilya crossed his arms over his broad chest but didn’t speak as Ivan growled something that sounded more like an animal’s snarl than a man’s voice.
“I’ll tell you what his problem is, he’s crazy!” the woman behind Riordan cried out. “He’s insane and can’t take no for an answer. Just has to take everything over.”
“They would have killed you!” Ivan shouted.
“They wouldn’t have found me if it hadn’t been for you, you damn prick!” The accusation was strangled with anger and what sounded like tears. “At least Amara had the good sense to sit and wait for me to get a chance to talk. You’re a fucking bastard!”
Riordan turned to the woman slowly, his gaze going over her quickly.
He realized that she was the young woman from the coffee house. The waitress who had disappeared when Amara had shown up for coffee a few days before.
She was dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved gray T-shirt marred with what was probably Ivan’s blood, dirt, and several tears in the sleeves; scuffed boots; and pure feminine fury as she glared at Ivan.
“What do you have to do with Amara?” he asked her. His voice was soft, but by the narrowing of Noah’s eyes he knew he hadn’t completely hidden the warning danger brewing beneath the surface of his control.
The girl’s lips lifted with no small amount of disgust. “Yeah, cowboy, it’s going to be that easy.” She sneered.
Riordan was becoming rather tired of that particular nickname. But he’d address that later. First, he’d find out what kind of threat this woman presented to Amara.
“I won’t ask you again,” he warned her softly. “I’ll have the man behind you hold your ass still while I fingerprint and photograph you, then I’ll start with law enforcement. If I don’t get anything there, I’ll start pulling in contacts from the other side of the law. I’ll get the answers I want, lady, one way or the other.”
“Get fucked!” she cried, her thickly lashed eyes narrowed but didn’t hide the deep, dark green that gleamed in fury as she struggled against Noah’s hold.
“Get the damn fingerprinting kit, Ilya,” Ivan snarled.
From the corner of his eye Riordan caught the disgusted look Ivan’s assistant shot him. Ilya didn’t move though.
“Girl, whatever you have chasing you appears to be a hell of a lot more dangerous to your welfare than we are.” It was Noah’s calm voice, without a threatening undertone, that had her pausing in her struggles. “No one’s going to hurt you here. I give you my word on that, but we don’t have a choice but find out what you have to do with whatever the hell’s going on.”
A shudder raced through her as her gaze moved quickly around the foyer, staring at the men facing her. The panic hadn’t abated, but she was trying to think, to consider her options. The men who dragged her to the estate, or Noah’s calm promise of safety.
“Why were you trying to talk to Amara?” Riordan fought to ask the question without the hint of danger his voice had held moments before. “If you need help, that man behind you will make damn sure you have it. But nothing will change the fact that we need answers.”
Noah had sensed what he hadn’t. That fear was the reason for her fury. Adrenaline flushed her features and had her eyes fever bright. Trembling lips and small, almost imperceptible shudders were barely controlled as she watched him carefully now.
“Syn!” Amara cried out, rushing down the stairs as Riordan turned slowly, watching her, knowing in that second that if she hadn’t known who the woman was at the coffee shop, she damn sure did now.
“Syn?” Ivan snickered behind him as the young woman shot him a narrowed look of dislike. “Now by God doesn’t that just beat all.”
Riordan wanted to curse at the expression on Amara’s face, at the scathing look of contempt that she shot her father. The one she gave him wasn’t much better.
If those looks were any indication, she was not happy with either of them.
“Let her go!” Amara slapped at Noah’s hand, causing him to release Syn’s upper arms, slowly allowing Amara to drag her into a tight hug. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered as Syn seemed to sag against her. “I’m so sorry.”
Syn held onto Amara for long moments before drawing in a deep breath and swallowing tightly. “I’m okay. I am. But I think I busted your dad’s mouth.”
Amara drew back, her gaze going quickly over the other woman before she turned slowly to her father.
Ivan spat blood to the foyer floor as his gaze met his daughter’s, the action causing her to narrow her eyes back at him in disapproval … until they landed on his shoulder.
“You’re shot?” she whispered, fear suddenly flickering across her expression.
“Flesh wound.” He shrugged, though the action was obviously less than comfortable.
“Alexi, take care of Poppa,” she snapped at the butler as he hovered near the staircase with his medic’s bag. “I want to know the moment you’re finished no matter Poppa’s demands. Are we clear?”
Riordan stared at her in surprise at the demanding tone in her voice.
“Yes, Miss Amara. Immediately,” Alexi answered quickly.
“My staff seems to have forgotten who signs their paychecks,” Ivan snarled, less than pleased at the butler’s instant response.
“Excuse me, sir, you sign the checks, but Miss Amara actually makes certain they’re printed out when you and Mr. Ilya are attending other things,” Alexi murmured. “Of which the staff is most grateful.”
Riordan could have sworn Ilya muttered something along the line of “Traitors every damn one.”
“Ilya, what happened to your face?” Amara demanded then.
“I hit the bloody bastard!” her father snarled, his earlier fury reflected in his voice.
“Did he fire you again, Ilya?” she asked as though unconcerned.
“Twice,” Ilya growled, that tattoo on his face rippling with almost lifelike movement as his jaw clenched furiously. “He hits me again and I swear to God, I’m hitting back.”
“I swear to God, the two of you are worse than children,”
she informed them both with such a tone of feminine ire that Riordan was hard pressed to keep his surprise to himself. “Get yourselves cleaned up while I make certain you haven’t traumatized Syn and get her settled into a room—”
“She’s a prisoner.” Her father made a step closer to Amara, his expression hardening, when Riordan saw the most amazing transformation in Amara’s body language.
Hell, his own balls nearly shrank in fear as she lifted her head, put her shoulders back, and gave her father a look Riordan was certain he’d seen on his sister-in-law Bella’s face several times. Times his tough brother had tucked his tail between his legs and became a lap puppy rather than the war dog he thought himself to be.
“Amara, don’t you dare—” Ivan began
“Get your wounds looked at, father. I’ll deal with you later,” she said softly.
Ivan didn’t tuck his tail, but his lips thinned—as much as possible considering the fact they were rapidly swelling—and his nostrils flared in displeasure. But he didn’t say another damn word.
“Ilya, unless you need Alexi’s care as well, please have Cook send dinner to my room. I know I smelled chicken stew earlier and there should be fresh hot rolls by now. And hot tea. Ask him for the peach blend I had him buy last week.” She turned to Syn again. “Come on, we’ll go upstairs and let Poppa get himself together before he and I speak.”
As Amara led the way, Syn shot Ivan a look of pure spite and mocking triumph. Riordan rubbed at the back of his neck, grimacing, but he followed the two women. There wasn’t a chance in hell he was letting an unknown alone with Amara.
“Keep your damn teeth off my daughter’s neck, you little bitch,” Ivan muttered as Riordan passed. “You’re a disgrace.”
Riordan merely grunted at the insult. He wasn’t about to get into a pissing match with Ivan. He was damned if he wanted Amara shooting him that look of disappointed disgust she’d shot her father. If Ivan wanted to risk his daughter’s wrath, he could go for it. But Riordan was damned if he was risking his place beside her in bed.
And that look …
Yeah, it didn’t bode well at all.