Into the Flames (Perilous Connections: Book Two)

by Delka Beazer

  Chapter One

  Daphne

  The man standing silently in the early morning shadows in my room is not Nate, my husband of barely one day.

  The thought crashes through my mind like a bulldozer through a silken fence and with a rush my insides clench as equal parts fear and anger collide in me.

  I fling myself from the warm bed with a lithe movement borne from climbing too many fruit trees in my youth. I land almost silently on the wooden floors, close to my closed window, and my naked body settles into complete stillness.

  But my breath starts coming loudly, leaking with fear. “Who are you? What the hell are you doing in my home?” I focus fiercely on his darkened face which I cannot make out in the dim light of dawn and that makes me more afraid than anything else.

  He doesn’t reply, sending further chills down my spine. He holds his body so still that I’m reminded of a patient, sinister ghost who is waiting to savor the first taste of a vengeance long sought.

  I force down my rising fear, tense my body. Nate had kidnapped me, forced me to lie, and then had married me all against my wishes. Only to vanish from my life hours later. What could this man do that could be worse?

  One thing was for certain, I would not go quietly this time nor will I suffer this bastard to lay his hands on me, not without a fight and a whole lot of screaming.

  “Not bad.” The stranger’s voice is lightly amused and confident as his gaze flickers down my naked body.

  I flinch at the coarseness of his words but I brutally suppress the urge to cover myself from his rude gaze.

  Finding Nate hidden in my trolley yesterday at work had stiffened my backbone and I remind myself that I can handle whoever this man is. But that doesn’t excuse the fact that he has broken into my home!

  I toss my head back defiantly, glare at him. “I don’t care who the hell you are but you have five seconds to get out of my house or I’m calling the police.” Deliberately I keep my voice calm and low. Aubrey and Elaine should still be asleep in the adjoining rooms and I know instinctively that their presence would only worsen my situation.

  The stranger cocks his head to the side. “Blackthorne always did have the damndest luck when it came to getting fresh cunts.” He leans back and sniffs the closed air in the room like a bloodhound on a scent.

  Blackthorne! That’s Nate’s surname and now mine. This stranger wants my husband and has barged into my room at five in the morning to get him! But Nate’s not here. He’s gone just like he promised, leaving behind the payment for my services I thought bitterly.

  Black fury pours through me for these two men, but I direct all of it towards the arrogant bastard standing in front of me.

  But I don’t move towards him. Spending yesterday with Nate has taught me to be cautious of all strangers, especially silent men who turn up in unexpected places.

  And danger oozes from this stranger like a broken sewer under a house.

  A low laugh comes out of his mouth and my body rustles in response to the growing threat. He shifts a half step closer, the first substantive movement from him.

  And suddenly a shard of morning light from the approaching day pierces through the window and I am able to solidify the source of the danger I feel from him.

  And it is everywhere. His dark clothing, which matches the same shade of his hair, even his eyes look black, set like shards of obsidian in his ruthless face. My gaze falls lower and I see in his right hand the glint which only metal can give off. It takes my mind a few seconds to wrap itself around the fact that he is holding a knife.

  He grins widely at my frightened countenance.

  “Tell me,” he flicks the blade expertly from one hand to the other, handling it with the precision of one long accustomed to its weight and special uses. He cocks his head to the side, his dark eyes fixed intently on me, reveling in my fear, “is Blackthorne as good as the women swear?”

  A lump of shame wedges in my throat. I’m immediately assailed by the need to haul the rumpled covers from the bed to toss around my naked body, or better yet dash from the room to scrub myself raw under the blast of the shower. I resist both impulses with a Herculean effort at control.

  Nate slept around? I shouldn’t be surprised. I probably was one in a long line. Had he paid any of those other women twenty thousand dollars for the privilege? A piece of my heart goes back under and I flinch as I absorb its loss.

  “Come on,” he taunts, snapping my gaze back to him, interrupting my pity rant, “don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it. From what I’ve sampled black women are wild in bed if given the correct amount of incentive.”

  I move before I know what I’m about. My chest is heaving when I manage to stop myself barely a foot away from him, my eyes narrows furiously as his insult burns its way too deep. “You don’t know one thing about me,” I hiss.

  He snorts dismissively. “Sure, bitch. Don’t tell me that your little performance with the security guard,” here deadly anger creeps into his voice, “which helped Blackthorne escape just when I had him cornered was solely out of the goodness of your heart.”

  The underlying rage in his voice causes my heart to speed up its frantic beating. He had known what had happened. That Nate had purchased my help to sneak him unseen off of Sunset Cove, the hotel where I worked.

  But why had he been following us? Why did he even care?

  I am sick and tired of not knowing what game Nate has made me a pawn in. I pin the angry stranger with a challenging stare. “Why are you here?” Although I tell myself I don’t want to know, the next words tumble out, “what has Nate done?”

  The relaxed lines of his body instantly become taut, his dark eyes bear unflinching into mine. “So you really are nothing better than a stupid whore? Blackthorne used you and you don’t know why,” he waves a dismissive hand as if the insult he’d just dealt me was insignificant, “but that’s neither here nor there. Where has Blackthorne gone?”

  I toss my head and eye him with as much disdain as I can muster. “I don’t know. Why don’t you get out of my house and go find him yourself?”

  He stops, all traces of amusement wipes from his dark face, he lifts the knife which glistens wickedly in the fresh light zooming in through the window behind me. “Listen you little cunt, tell me where Blackthorne has gone and I won’t mar those pretty little breasts of yours. It would be a shame to slice away the skin, see what it looks like underneath. Don’t you think?”

  I gasp at the horrifying picture he has painted and my hands fly up to cover my breasts.

  His mouth thins in cruel satisfaction. “Your fear makes my job so enjoyable.”

  Stupidly I realize too late that this man, whoever he is, is going to hurt me … or kill me. And it’s all because I had helped Nate.

  I suck in a fortifying breath. I have to do something to get him to leave me alone, I meet his relentless gaze. “Nate went to Piccadilly.”

  Rage contorts his face. He cuts off the distance between us so swiftly that I can’t move. I’m glued to the spot in horror as he raises his knife-less hand, palm wide, and my entire body freezes as I wait for the brutal blow.

  Nate

  I can’t make a sound. My body is set to auto-pilot as I soundlessly pull Daphne’s bedroom door open. The entire scene imprints itself on my mind in less than a heartbeat. Emmanuel towering over Daphne, his hand raised for a blow aimed at Daphne’s terror ridden face. He pivots like the freakin killer he is at my entrance but my forward momentum is too much for someone of his considerable reflexes and we go crashing backward onto the ground in a snarling, angry heap.

  The force of my body slams Emmanuel’s hea
d into the front of Daphne’s wood dresser with a muted bang. I am immediately grateful for that stroke of luck. I have only heard of a tenth of the barbarous acts committed by this notorious hit-man.

  The man that Pablo Guarez, my former boss, has sent to kill me.

  I rear back and slam my fist into his still stunned face, the impact jars the bones in my hand, making me wince.

  But he shakes off my blow like a pro, and the savage black eyes focus on me, he blocks my next blow, muttering a string of Spanish obscenities and I don’t even see his left coming until it connects with my jaw. Blood, salty and thick floods my mouth and I barely manage to throw up a defensive punch before he jerks his legs and tries to heave my body off him. But I’m not exactly a lightweight and I use my lower body to cut off his momentum, and seize the chance to propel myself back away from him. I wince in agony as my back slams into the wood of Daphne’s bed, it sends the breath whooshing out of me.

  Emmanuel lunges at me and I throw myself sideways but he still manages to land on top of me, his weight pins me down as I struggle to dislodge him and I catch the gleam of a wicked looking knife half concealed under Daphne’s bed.

  Automatically I reach for it but he grabs the back of my hair and tries to slam my face into the floor. It takes all my strength and concentration to keep my head from reaching Emmanuel’s target. I rear back and his hands wrap around my chest and we go tumbling backwards again onto the floor. Somehow we disengage and both of us scramble to our feet, chests heaving, eyes glaring darkly into each other’s.

  There are no shouts or curses from either of us, just a deadly confrontation between two combatants who know they must go through the other to win.

  Daphne moves and the twitch of my neck almost costs me my life. My hands shoot out just in time to block a lethal kick which would have knocked me off my feet but the strength of the blow throws me off balance and faster than a snake Emmanuel manages to scoop the knife out from under the bed. In mid-air I evade a wicked upward stab aimed at my crouch. Before he can retreat, I latch onto his wrist with all my strength and snap it backwards, then slam it to the floor. The sound of the bones crunching from the unnatural angle fills the room, and Emmanuel’s mouth opens in a silent scream, the knife tumbles from his hand and mercilessly I press my entire body weight down unto his broken hand.

  Spittle flies from his mouth as he hisses in pain, “You fucking bastard,” he snarls between clenched teeth.

  I grin evilly, enjoying giving him back just a little of what he’d always loved handing out to others. “Yeah, that’s me.”

  But I underestimated the effects of my charm because even with a broken hand Emmanuel lunges forward, a move that should have been impossible with my two hundred pounds of muscle pinning one of his hands to the ground and he head-butts me viciously. Though it misses my nose, his intended target, the top of my cheekbones erupts in flames at the impact from his head.

  Artificial tears fill my eyes, causing my vision to swim. I blink them away rapidly. The pain is nothing. To let go of Emmanuel, who is worse than the poisonous bushmaster snake, would be even more fatal. I would not have hours to live. Perhaps milliseconds.

  Through a supreme effort I barely duck a vicious left hook from him with his good arm and I use the off balance created by his failed blow to deliver one of my own straight to his temple, the impact is stunning for both of us and a gust of moist air whooshes from of his mouth. Spittle hits my cheek. Still he isn’t done and despite myself I experience a grudging admiration for his ruthless stamina. But I have to be ruthless too and I slam my fist down repeatedly in his face, his head, every available surface covered by skin, bone and flesh.

  He flails madly at me but he is slowing down and I seize the miraculous second chance and land another blow to his temple. His body convulses and I rear back for another attempt when his eyes roll back into his head and he mercifully goes limp beneath me. I hold still for a few more seconds, not daring to believe it. When nothing happens for several tense heartbeats, I allow myself to slump forward and try to catch my breath.

  But I’m not taking any chances. I grip the end of Daphne’s sheets, spilled haphazardly across the bed in our struggle and in less than a minute using Emmanuel’s knife I cut the bedding to strips and bound him as thoroughly as I can.

  I look around wildly for a reinforced place to secure him to but neither Daphne’s dresser nor bed is any good as they are not heavy enough.

  I test the bed to make sure and see a small circle of blood in the middle of the sheet. A rush of guilty memories assails me of how good, how incredible it had been taking her upon that very sheet only several hours before.

  Guiltily I snap myself out of the past and focus determinedly on the uglier consequences of my actions. I have now truly involved Daphne in the constant danger which has been seeking my life for the past year.

  And it is too late to try and keep her out of this. I shake off the feeling of foreboding which descends upon me.

  I jump to my feet, suck in several ragged breaths, my chest heaving like a boat on a hurricane tossed sea. My eyes rake the room. There is nothing else amiss.

  As I had listened at the door, my heart racing so hard I was sure that it would drain me of vital energy before I could take any further action, I was sure that he had already harmed Daphne.

  A small part of me had wanted to leave, to grasp at the chance at life which my marriage to Daphne and its resultant citizenship had given me. The opportunity to move about the varied islands of the Caribbean unknown and unseen. Not having to stay in any one place longer than necessary.

  All this had been within reach if I had walked away and left her in harm’s way. Even now I could groan aloud at the missed chance, but a larger part of me, my damned conscience most likely, had chosen this morning to re-awaken after these many years.

  Despite my promise to her that I would disappear from her life, after making love to her I found that I couldn’t leave without giving her the simple decency of a goodbye.

  I snap out of my ill-timed reverie. Hard, brutal men like Emmanuel did not stay under for long like normal men. The killer in him would awaken and he would be after us the moment he came around.

  I rush over to Daphne. Unlike any other woman I have ever known, she has managed to remain silent this entire time.

  But she is cringing in a corner. Naked, tremulous eyes rise to watch me approach. Instead of fear, they look numb, and I see a flash of hate directed at me.

  I steel myself against it. I deserve it all. I am responsible for the harm that has already come to her and so much more.

  But I can’t change any of it now. I grab her by the arm, pull her to her feet, her knees buckle and I gather her tenderly to my chest. I feel the frantic thud of her heart through the soft crush of her breasts. I try to ignore that part of me that unbelievably wants to bed her again. “Get dressed now.” My voice is harsh with fear for her, for us.

  With surprising strength she tears herself from my hold, the hate illuminates her golden eyes. “Don’t you ever touch me again,” she spits.

  I flinch. I deserve that. But this is not the time for righteous outrage.

  “If you haven’t notice,” I jerk my head in the direction of the unconscious Emmanuel, “this is not the time for silly tantrums,” I snap at her, “get dressed. We’ve got to go now.”

  She rakes me with a look so cold, a shiver goes down my spine. “I will not go anywhere with you. Why are you back? You promised that you would leave and never come back. Why?” she screams at me.

  Finally her emotions are coming through, her anger and dislike are so plain to see, I have to close my eyes briefly to block out the unexpected pain of it. Then I hear the faint stirrings from beyond the door, shuffling feet, frantic whispers. Elaine and Aubrey are awake. We’ve got to get them and leave now.

  My face falls into harsh lines. “In case you haven’t noticed my unwanted reappearance wasn’t exactly ill-timed,” I spit back. She can loathe me all she
wants but can she be so dense, so blinded by her emotions as not to see what could have happened to her if I hadn’t shown up?

  She turns her face away from me, avoiding my piercing look as if the very sight of me so close is too much for her to stand. “I don’t want you here. I want you out of my life. Go!”

  This was beyond insanity.

  I toss caution aside and advance upon her. I bury the last dredges of sensitivity which she has so recently brought out in me.

  I grasp her wrist, the fine bones are small and delicate beneath my long, thick fingers. But I don’t give a damn about that now. “Listen to me, Daffee,” her eyes become murderous, I smile, exactly the effect I want, “your senses may have taken a holiday in the last several minutes but if you didn’t get it the first time,” I turn and jab a finger towards Emmanuel’s still insensible form, “that man is a killer, when he wakes up he will not be pleased to find that I have escaped yet again,” I shake her for emphasis, “He will not ask you so nicely a second time to tell him where I have gone. In fact if he doesn’t get you to talk right away, your tongue will shortly be on the same floor he’s lying on now and you will still be compelled in even stronger terms to tell him exactly where your new husband has vanished to. Not knowing the answer to this question will not be an option. You got that?”

  Her eyes glisten with frustrated tears as she fights against it, tries to brazen it out but her body gives her away. She begins to shake. I want to gather her in my arms, hold her close and never let her go again but this is not the time for tenderness or mercy. And I am not sure that I feel that way for her. I am not sure of anything anymore.

  Aubrey chooses this moment to burst into the room. Daphne yelps and snatches up the remnants of the sheet I had left on the floor. She hastily wraps it around her naked body, but not before I catch a glimpse of a small chocolate colored nipple. I swallow hard and quickly look away towards Aubrey. “Aubrey, go and get your backpack and fill it with several changes of clothes, your toiletries and any favorite toys you have.”