Raven (Kindred #1)

by Scarlett Finn

  “Letting him have a woman was better in theory than in practice,” Art said, dishing more food into his and Tuck’s plates.

  “That’s always the way, Chief,” Tuck said, hunching down over his plate. “You think your kid is ready for the responsibility, but it’s always you who ends up picking up after it and feeding it.”

  “I tidy up after myself, thank you,” Zara said, then realized she’d just agreed with the analogy that compared her to a pet.

  Art put the spoon back in the pot and sat down. “What’s the next step?” he asked, putting a stop to the fooling around. “Grant picks a buyer, right?”

  “Right,” Tuck agreed.

  Their previous banter was forgotten and she kept eating as she listened. “He’s swaying toward Sutcliffe,” Brodie said.

  “And we all know what a mistake that would be,” Art said and the other two men nodded in agreement.

  Brodie wasn’t eating anymore. Tuck was gobbling up his second plate. And she felt a bit stupid for asking a maybe obvious question. “Is there a good choice?”

  “Kahlil probably,” Tuck said.

  “Kahlil,” she said, thinking about the men who had attacked her in the CI parking garage. “Do you know who he’s working for?”

  “The Saudis,” Brodie said. “There are certain… elements in their own back yard who they would like to get rid of.”

  “What about Sikorski?” she asked.

  All of them shook their heads without a moment of hesitation. “He’s a scary sonofabitch,” Art said. “He runs one of the most lucrative Bratva gangs in the northeast. Word is his jacket isn’t hanging on the most secure hook with the boys back home, if you get me. He’s volatile ‘cause he’d sacrifice good sense in favor of making a statement. The last thing anyone wants is a terrorist who has something to prove.”

  With his fingers linked over his plate, Brodie had lost his appetite. “The problem with the Russians is they have so many enemies,” Brodie said. “We could never guarantee who they would use the device against.”

  Still seeking answers, she searched their expressions. “So why is he in the running? If Grant knew—”

  “He’s charismatic,” Tuck said, pushing his half-full plate away. “He owns a huge mansion and has parties which are invitation only, gentleman-only invitees.”

  “Why would there be no women—”

  “Oh, there are women,” Art said. “But not the type who are invited.”

  “Oh,” she said and suddenly she wasn’t particularly hungry anymore either.

  “Few people have Sikorski’s respect. He’s a tough man to impress,” Brodie said. “He’s extravagant and can have you eating out of the palm of his hand. But he’d just as soon stab you in the back if it served his interest on that particular day.”

  “Or have one of his flunkies stab you,” Art said, topping off his wine glass and Zara’s too.

  Tuck leaned back in his stool and linked his hands at the back of his head. “Yeah, he wouldn’t want to get blood on his fancy suit.”

  Their knowledge would be useful, but something in their tone made her curious. “You’re all talking as if you know him…” she said, but got no explanation. “Have you met him?”

  “Our paths have crossed, but he’s not a man you want to eyeball,” Tuck said.

  Looking at Brodie and Art, she received no translation. “I don’t know what that means,” she said.

  As the other two men were considering their plates, Tuck answered. “He’s heard of us.”

  “Heard of you, Swift,” Art interjected. “You’re a legend.”

  “A myth,” Brodie said, scraping the last of his food together in the center of his plate.

  Righting himself on his stool, Tuck picked up his wine glass. “Least I’m not dead, like some people at the table,” Tuck said, balancing the glass on its base and raising his brows at Brodie.

  They’d made jokes about Brodie being an apparition and she’d considered his existence herself. But something occurred to her in that moment which caused her to frown. “Does Grant know you’re here?” she asked. “Does he know you’re alive?”

  Now that his plate was empty, Brodie shoved it away. “Doubt he cares,” he said, snatching up his glass to gulp down the remainder of the liquid.

  For a man born to privilege, he ate like an animal… except when it came to her. He wasn’t sloppy when his head was between her thighs. That was probably the only place in the bedroom where his etiquette was impeccable.

  “What do you think?” Brodie asked and she snapped out of her daze to make eye contact. “Were you listening?” Being honest, she shook her head. “What were you thinking about?”

  “Uh,” she said, taking her glass into her hand to buy some time. “Just who Grant will choose.”

  “That’s what we want to know,” Art said. “You know him better than anyone at the table.”

  Considering all of the business deals she’d witnessed at CI, she sipped her wine and tried to reach a conclusion. “Grant likes people who are straightforward,” she said. “He doesn’t like quiet, reticent people. He believes those kind of people have something to hide. He also doesn’t like to be embarrassed and likes to believe that he can predict the progress of a person or their company based upon his deal with them.”

  “Then Sutcliffe it is,” Tuck said. “Sikorski is the most likely to embarrass him since no one can project what he would do. He could say one thing and do something else.”

  Art nodded. “The Saudis are secretive and dealing with Kahlil he probably sees as beneath him.”

  “What do we know about Albert Sutcliffe?” she asked, sitting back to enjoy her wine.

  “Born in the UK, he moved over here with his parents when he was eight,” Art said. “He inherited his father’s company and his estate, but lost most of it through bad investments and unfavorable divorce settlements. He dabbled in politics twenty, thirty years ago, but liked women and voicing his honest opinion too much. He was seen as a radical with delusions of grandeur and lost most of his credibility after that.”

  Interesting as his history was, Zara heard nothing that could be considered a motive for terrorism. “So what would he want with a—”

  “He believes that geopolitical problems should be solved with tit for tat and he’s built up something of a cult following,” Art said. “When he gets the chance, he voices his dislike for the West’s response to problems in the lesser privileged parts of the world.”

  “And so we should just eradicate those who disagree with us?” she asked, unable to grasp how someone could think this was a legitimate solution. None of the men disagreed with her and their expressions validated her thinking. “Ok, so we don’t want him to have the device either.”

  “There is no good choice,” Art said.

  “Then why didn’t we take them out?” she asked, directing this question to her lover.

  “We didn’t take them out,” Brodie said, emphasizing the first word. “Because we don’t need three powerful organizations coming after us. We’re gonna wait until Grant makes his deal and lets down the unsuccessful bidders, then we wait and watch. When the handover is going down, then we take out the involved parties and destroy the device.”

  That made sense because carnage at the hotel could have brought hundreds of people after them. Kahlil was a puppet and his employers wouldn’t like their man to be executed. The Russian Brotherhood wasn’t known for being understanding. And who knew how many followers Sutcliffe had.

  But as sensible as that solution sounded, it left her with one question. “What about Grant?”

  She knew her question wouldn’t win her any popularity contests, but she had to know what they planned to do with her former boss on the day of the handover when the Kindred planned to eradicate Game Time and its purchaser.

  “Do you care?” Brodie asked. The tone in his voice wasn’t grumpy anymore. Instead, it was deep and curious.

  Though it could’ve been her imagination, sh
e was sure that all of the men leaned closer to her. “I do,” she said. “But not because I want to sleep with him or because I believe in what he’s doing. He’s been good to me. He’s your brother. You should care too.”

  Brodie stood up to grab the wine bottle from beside Tuck. Dropping onto his stool again, he filled up his glass. “He stopped being my brother fifteen years ago.”

  “What did he do to you?” she asked, wondering what had happened to sour the fraternal relationship when he was eighteen.

  Brodie took his attention away from the group, signaling his intention to ignore her question. “We’re not going to harm Grant,” Art said, probably knowing better than to push Brodie in company.

  Eating some more of her food, Zara finished her wine and thought about the night. Grant was Art’s nephew too. She didn’t know anything of their relationship, but she could understand that he wouldn’t want his nephew harmed. After Grant’s comments about family in the conference room, she doubted he’d had recent contact with any of them.

  Tonight had been a learning experience. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off and the new day was coming nearer, she had to think about sleep. Sliding off her stool, she began to gather up the plates, but when she got around to Tuck, he took them away from her.

  “You did the heavy lifting tonight,” Tuck said. “That gets you off dishes duty.”

  A hand took hold of her neck and she was drawn backwards against Brodie’s solid form. Tilting her head to look up to him, he lowered his mouth to kiss her.

  “Bed?” she asked.

  “Bed,” he said, pulling her back and under his arm to lead her toward the door.

  “Night,” she managed to call before the kitchen door swung shut.

  EIGHTEEN

  Brodie kept hold of her neck and used his elbow on her shoulder to guide her through the house to the stairway.

  “I love this house,” Zara said when they began to ascend the stairs. Although she wasn’t an expert yet, she was definitely beginning to recognize the route.

  He wasn’t really listening. “You, what?” he mumbled.

  They got to the top of the stairs and she spun around to press herself against the door before they could go through it. “I’m sorry.”

  Reaching around her, Brodie got the door open an inch, but she used her weight to block him. “Sorry for what?” he said, exhaling his impatience.

  Saying her piece meant something to her, she just wished he would understand the depth of what she’d gone through. “Tonight. I freaked out. I was ready to walk away and if I had—”

  “We don’t leave a man behind,” he said, with his thumb on her chin, he held her face. “It’s cute that you think you had a choice.”

  Spiders of awareness crept across her skin, making even the tiniest of hairs stand upright. With her eyes fixed on this man, her man, she opened herself to the possibilities of the night and the achievement she’d made.

  This night was a watershed, her acceptance into the team, and she’d done it. She had been useful to the mission, followed orders, kept her cool. All of those stimulants bombarded together in an upsurge of sensation that exploded in her gut and shimmered to each of her extremities.

  The sight of him may arouse her. The way he looked at her certainly did. As did the entitlement of his touch, the scent of his skin, and the sound of his husky voice. It all worked for her. Now that she had it, had him, he had become a part of her soul and she didn’t want to live without him.

  Brodie was a man to be revered. Modest as he may be about his skills, he had kept her alive tonight and valued her above everything else. That kind of control was intoxicating. Being a priority for a man like Brodie gave her authority and while it was a power she wouldn’t dream of abusing, it was liberating to have the kind of security that only a man like Brodie could offer.

  She had influence over him, but whether that clout extended to anything beyond their sexual connection, she couldn’t yet be sure. Resigning herself to existing in the now, Zara lifted her chin and emphasized her bosom with her posture.

  He didn’t want to get serious tonight, and forcing him into any admissions or denials would lessen the legitimacy of whatever he said. So to prove her dedication, she chose to needle him with the ultimate ambition of satisfying them both.

  “Art said you were attracted to me when you first came to check me out,” she teased, drawing her fingernail up his arm and across his chest to pinch the fabric on his sternum.

  “You’d rather I thought you were a dog? I notice women I want to fuck.”

  With the goal of rousing him to a state of frenzy similar to that which was taking her over, she pushed on with her tease and let her eyes wander down his body, playing it coy. “The way he said it was like it was unusual, like I was different. I think maybe Art was worried.”

  “Like you were trouble?” he asked and pushed her. With a thump, her back hit the wall and the air leaving her lungs made her gasp. In the same breath, he came down to her level for a brief tongue kiss. “He’s a smart guy. He gave me some amount of grief when I spent the night at your place.”

  Pleased that she was getting his attention, she toyed with his tee shirt some more. “He told you to leave me that morning, didn’t he? Is that why you were on the phone for so long?”

  Keeping his mouth close to hers, Brodie ducked to keep them parallel. With his face so near, she couldn’t leave the trap of his ensnaring eyes. “At first, of course he did, ‘cause you’re a liability,” he said, opening his hands to rub them down her sides and up over her breasts in a coarse perusal of what he was about to gain full authority over. “Women are messy.”

  “Sex is messy,” she said. Digging her nails into him, she sucked her lip into her mouth in an attempt to lessen the volume of her shorter breaths. “What you’re talking about are relationships and that’s not what we have, is it?”

  It wasn’t clear to her if he understood the importance of this conversation. He seemed preoccupied by her body and the vision of her mouth. But maybe the distraction would aid her in getting to the truth. “You are…”

  “I’m what?” she asked when he didn’t finish.

  “Hell if I know,” he said and she couldn’t blame him for losing his train of thought because her rational mind was in disarray, jumbled by the tsunami of emotions she’d endured on that night. “You were off limits from the first day, keeping a clear head is the best way to ensure an op goes down without a hitch.”

  “I’m part of the team,” she said, touching the corner of his jaw with a fingertip and curving her body into his emboldening touch.

  “Part of the team for this mission, you said. I told you that my inner circle was small… no one’s ever been…”

  “Excommunicated,” she said, struggling to even out her breathing. “So what will you do with me when this mission is over?”

  The more relevant point was what he planned to do with her in the present. They were still in a shared hallway, but her body was prepared for a much more private event. “When this mission is over…” he said, kissing her and trailing his lips along the length of her jaw. “It’s dangerous to make plans beyond tomorrow, baby. Stick with me and you’ll learn that.”

  In a brief moment of clarity, her features contorted with the unsettling reality he was presenting. “Does that mean that one day… you don’t plan to come back?”

  Opening his hand over her intimate core, he massaged her through her dress and she gratefully forgot about her concern and surrendered to the insistence of his libido. He wanted her ready and she was already there, but that didn’t stop him from urging her closer to the edge. Dragging his hand up her body, he held her chin to lock their focuses on each other.

  “Everyone’s headed for that one day,” he said. “All of us have to accept that one day there won’t be any coming back.”

  “You’ve lived your life with these clean lines,” she said, watching her fingers play on his chest, tracing the lines of the muscles benea
th the material of his tee shirt. “Bad guys and good guys, right and wrong.”

  “If you think it’s clean then you haven’t been paying attention. Alliances are flimsy and allegiances spin on a dime. Why do you think I keep my circle small? I can count on one hand the number of fuckers I trust.”

  In need of his validation, she tried to kiss him, but he slanted back out of her reach. “Am I on that list?”

  “You’re in my house, aren’t you?”

  “What does that mean? Taking a woman into your bed doesn’t mean you trust her.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” he said. One of his hands snaked down to her hip. He compelled her along the door to force her against the frame while the other hand clamped around the back of her neck to pull her mouth to his. His fingers dug in and his strength made her submit, but she’d learned that getting rough was safe with him and her favorite way to play.

  “Do you trust me?” she asked, but his patience for talking was wearing out. He swooped down to kiss her neck and her lips curled in their own surrender.

  “I told you, you’re a natural,” he said and when she resolved herself to him being evasive, she exhaled and drove her nails into his shoulders to jump into his arms. Endorphins commanded their priorities, in times like these a person would struggle to get, or give, a reasonable answer. Zara wasn’t even sure what she wanted him to say, but she knew what he made her feel.

  “It’s invigorating,” she said, squeezing her thighs around him while the width of her smile made her cheeks ache. Trying to decipher her mood and meaning, Brodie’s gaze darkened. “It’s like… the danger, the things that could have happened tonight…” Maybe it was inspiration from the wine, but she opened her fingers in his hair and dipped forward to suck his earlobe into her mouth. “I’m ready to be safe now, beau.”

  “On your back and under me,” he said, opening the door and carrying her toward the bedroom. “The safest place on earth.”

  “On home turf,” she said, rummaging between their compressed bodies to loosen his jeans.