by S. M. West
I stroke her hair, and she burrows into me. Her fingers sink into my sides, and her face nestles into the crook of my neck.
If it weren’t for her faint distressing sounds, I’d enjoy her warm, soft body pressed against mine. Instead, I strain to listen for anything. I’m not sure she can be quiet if they enter below. The situation is too close to the other night in the woods. She didn’t react well then either.
The door opens, and she pulls back, her gaze trapping me. She’s scared, but there’s something else in her expression that I can’t quite put my finger on.
It’s messed up and weird as hell, but time literally stops. I should focus on the men underneath us, but all I see is Maggie.
Her lush lips part, and her quick breaths wash over the lower half of my face. I bring my lips to hers, sweeping my tongue into the hot honeyed depths of her mouth.
Grabbing my head with both hands, her fingers thread through my hair, and a small murmur slides from her throat to mine, striking something dark and primal within me. The sound is so low that it’s got to be indistinguishable to whoever is down there. But even if it isn’t, I don’t give a fuck.
I’m strung tighter than a drum, my insides buzzing by what’s happening both with the woman in my lap and the crazy situation we’ve gotten ourselves into.
My fingers dig into her hips, and she shifts ever so slightly over my hardening groin. That’s what does it. My straining dick against my zipper is a harsh wake-up call.
I have to focus on getting us out of here, not getting into her pants. We break apart at the same time we hear the door slam.
Her fingers tremble over her lips, and big tears fall down her cheeks. I want to kiss her again. To plunder her mouth and take until I’ve had my fill. I want to kiss her more than I want this mess to disappear.
My phone vibrates against my chest and I tear my gaze from hers to pull it out.
Kit: Out but got 2 on me. Will lose them. You?
Me: Waiting it out.
Kit: See you at the meet.
Me: OK. If not there in an hour text.
Maggie stares at the screen when his response, a thumbs up, comes in. I shove the phone in my pocket and give her ten fingers.
We have to wait it out, and it’ll probably be longer than that, but I sense she needs a reasonable timeframe to keep calm. Best case, they will leave, but more than likely, we’ll have to make a run for the car.
It’s more like forty minutes by the time we come down from our hiding spot. During that time, she’s withdrawn. She’s still on my lap but unresponsive. It’s only when I try to move her that she reacts. Like a boa striking, her hands latch around my neck, and her grip threatens to suffocate me.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, trying to loosen her fingers. “Let me check.”
She’s reluctant to do as I say, but eventually, I pry myself free and get us down. I’d have preferred to keep her up there in case we’re not alone, but she wasn’t having any of it and I didn’t want her to cause a scene.
The path from the closet to the main exit and around the building is slow going. We stop every few steps, hiding behind crates, doors, or anything else I can find. She powers through any pain or discomfort in her foot.
The cops are here, and a crowd has formed outside the warehouse. It always amazes me how any kind of action brings people out. If I heard gunshots, I’d get the hell away, not gather around to gossip.
From what I can tell, the police and the crowd scared away the Russians. Fortunately, with the gawkers and chaos, we slip by undetected. As we make it down the alley, I expect to find more cops or guys by the car, or worse, the car gone. Luckily, we’re alone.
She’s eerily silent on our ride across town to the Oratory of St. Joseph, our designated meeting spot. Drago’s men would never think to look for us there. It’s a beautiful place with stunning views of the city, where millions of tourists visit yearly.
It’s just as well she’s quiet. I’m battling a million questions. How could I have gotten it all wrong? She hates her brother.
I guess that explains why John never made a move to get her back while we were on the run. I’d been expecting his men to pop up at some point, but nothing.
And there’d been no word from Kit, or any of my men, that Slaughter was even remotely interested in me or my whereabouts. In fact, the exact opposite: he went into hiding.
At the time, I’d told myself she was so good at her job—I mean, come on, a beautiful woman with all the moves—that she didn’t need backup.
Fuuuck, I’m the biggest asshole there is and a major idiot. How did I get it so colossally wrong? Was I so blinded by outsmarting everyone that I got outsmarted by the truth?
Kit had been right all along. Or is she still playing me? Dammit, why can’t I see or think straight around Maggie? If this wasn’t my fucking problem, I’d know exactly what the hell to do.
As I wind up the long, steep circular drive into the parking lot, I spot Kit leaning against a brick wall, facing the magnificent view of Montreal.
Maggie bounds from the moving car, headed for Kit. I brake, opening my door, and leap from the car, only to be nearly strangled. The seatbelt, still wrapped around my middle, yanks me violently back. Dammit! Never taking my eyes off her, I unbuckle and run.
Kit turns in time to catch her hurtling toward him like a missile locked onto its target.
“Bastard!” she cries, her fists flying at him. “You knew!”
She aims for his face, but he’s too tall, so her hands connect with his shoulders and neck.
“Did you get off on playing me?” she shouts, drawing looks from the few people around.
He secures her wrists with his large hand and my gut spasms at her distorted face. She’s feral.
“You’re a bastard! And to think I trusted you.” Torrents of tears flow down her face.
In some warped way I’m gutted, but not by her anguish which hurts me to witness, but because I realize she likes the guy. She was cold and distant but contained with me.
Now, with Kit, her emotions are violent and uncontrolled. I’m not surprised she likes him, but why does my chest feel like it’s on fire to think she cares for him, and doesn’t give a fuck about me?
Because I’ve been the heartless asshole from the get-go. Why the hell should I expect anything else from her? I never gave her any reason to think otherwise about me.
“I hate you,” Maggie cries, and he cringes, squeezing his eyes shut for a second.
Her hands are still in his large one, and she’s panting and fuming. Her long dark hair thrashes from side to side.
“Stop. Calm down and I’ll release you.” His tone is soothing.
She finally notices me and stills. Her eyes narrow, cheeks redden and she begins to shake. Rage rolls off her like a tractor-trailer with no brakes, slamming into me.
And those damn eyes. It isn’t her fault she was born with eyes like an enchantress. Profound and soul-stealing.
I try not to glare back. She has every right to hate me. Kit takes her stillness to mean she’s finally calm and releases her. I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. Her hands fly to her lips—is she thinking about our kiss?—trembling, and her stricken expression pulls at my chest. Something within her snaps; her eyes darken, and she lunges at me.
Striking my face, right where she hit me with the rock, she growls. My nose and eyes sting, and it takes everything in me to block her blows. But I want her to burn off some of her wrath out.
Kit calls her name but doesn’t try to restrain her, understanding what I’m doing. There’s no form or control to her assault. If she’s good at MMA, you’d never know it. But it’s clear her attack isn’t thought out; it’s pure emotion.
“I hate you,” she spits, and this time, Kit pulls her into the air.
His large arms band around her like rope, even while she thrashes, kicking and screaming.
“You were going to trade me. You’re the worst kind of human there is.” Her voice c
racks, and I feel the fissure in my chest. “God, you’re evil.”
“I wasn’t going to turn you over. I swear it.”
It’s the truth even though I didn’t realize it until this very moment.
I fooled myself into believing I’d use her. But the truth is, at some point, she became something more. So much more. Someone I’d wasn’t willing to risk.
She stares at me. Assessing and disbelieving. “You were. You did. Don’t lie. Isn’t that why you took me in the first place?” The tears flow like rivers down her porcelain face. “I was just a pawn to be used and discarded. Who cares if they would have killed me? Or done God knows what else to me.”
My shame swells like a tsunami threatening to drown me in disgust and regret. She speaks the truth, and hearing it is worse than I imagined. Why did I even think I could put her in harm’s way?
At the time, I thought I had no choice. What a load of shit. You always have a choice. Isn’t this the very thing I accused my mother of? She left us, claiming she had no choice. Fuck, I’m no better than her.
“But you didn’t have the balls to follow through,” she mocks.
I share a look with Kit, both of us noticing the dozen or so people staring. Two guys are bold enough to approach but not interrupt.
“And all because of John. But you’re a fucking idiot.” She’s losing steam, and the guys inch closer. Maggie is oblivious to them or anyone else; she only has eyes for me. “My brother is dead to me.”
Every fractured word and falling tear is a blow to my sternum. She might as well be kicking the shit out of me. Our meeting was really a coincidence. But how the fuck was I to know that?
Kit whispers to her, and she notices the onlookers; I wonder what the fuck he’s doing. She’ll scream—help is here—and we’ll have this crowd at our throats.
Instead, I’m stunned when she brushes at her clothes like they are wrinkled and smooths back her hair, smiling sweetly at the strangers. One of the guys closes in.
“Are you okay?” His question is directed at Maggie.
“Yes, thanks.” Her voice is shaky, but the stranger ignores it and nods, turning to leave. He believes her, or maybe he wants to believe her.
“Maggie.” I step toward her, not sure what I can say to make it right, but her look cuts me to the quick.
“Nick, don’t,” Kit warns, leading us to the car.
Surprisingly, she follows and sits in the back without any coaxing. It’s time to get out of here, and while I’d like nothing more than to head to Toronto, we can’t, not yet. I need to settle things with Drago, and now that Maggie is no longer a bargaining chip, I’ve got to go with plan C.
It isn’t what I want, but it’s my last hope, short of skipping town and running—and that isn’t an option. I can’t leave yet; I’ve still got unfinished business.
Kit’s in the front passenger seat, and I stay outside to make the call. I don’t like having these discussions over the phone—there’s always a risk of being overheard even on a burner—but I have no choice.
He answers on the second ring. “Chin.”
The familiar male voice is both a blessing and a curse. I thought I was done with him. “I need a favor.”
“Ah, Canuck.” That’s his nickname for me, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “What can I do for you, old friend? You in a lot of trouble.” He’s obviously heard.
“Yeah, I need the Russian to back off my guys, a lady friend, and me.”
Chin—the Triad—and Drago don’t work together, but they’ve done business when it has suited them.
Asking Chin to intercede means I’ll owe him, but I’ve got leverage. He has his own kind of trouble, and Kit confirmed a few details for me before coming to Quebec. Chin was always an option for me. A last resort, but when you’re a problem solver, you need to have several options, even if they are shitty.
“And why would I bother? I don’t need that crazy motherfucker on my back.” Chin talks fast.
“A birdy told me you’ve got dissension in the ranks. I can help.” His right-hand man was killed three weeks ago. “We could help each other. I’ll find the rat and help you put an end to the infighting. I’d help you clean house in exchange for you getting that motherfucker to leave me and mine alone.”
If he goes for it—and I think he will—we’ll have to agree to a timeframe and limits; otherwise, he’ll want me as his bitch in perpetuity. Not going to happen.
“And what makes you think I can get him to back down?” Now’s he’s playing hard to get.
“I thought you had brains.” It’s an insult, and while not smart, he’s insulting my intelligence. I don’t have time for games. “You’ve got the corridor, I’m sure you could negotiate something. We both know his route’s no longer viable, and he’s desperate for another option.”
Chin chuckles like a hyena. “Canuck, you too smart.” That’s his way of saying he was playing with me.
Kit and Maggie sit in silence while I pace a few feet from the car, negotiating my future. We talk in vague terms about what’s to be done and when, and for how long. I agree to a month and he promises to get on Drago tonight.
Normally a deal like this would be suicide for a guy like me. Being at Chin’s mercy would be a dangerous thing—I don’t have the force to fight him—but I’ve got him in a unique position. He’s under siege, and there had been talk of him bringing in reinforcements from the Triad mothership, Vancouver; he still might, but that would also mean massive heat from the cops. My way is a rare offer—cleaner, quieter, and might solve his problems. It’s win-win for us.
“And Canuck, this is free. No money for you.” The bastard chuckles.
“Yeah.” Swallowing my pride sucks, but it’s better than the alternative.
The sick part is, if I’d known from the get-go that I’d be making a deal with Chin, I could have saved Maggie from all I put her through. Hindsight is a motherfucker.
“I’ll text when it’s good to come back. Then we get down to business,” Chin says.
“Done.”
We drive in silence, heading east, further away from Toronto, and Maggie asks, “Where are we going?”
Before I can respond, Kit does. “Quebec City.”
“Why?” She’s calm, but her expression is hard, her eyes blank.
“We need to settle things, and then we can go back to Toronto. It isn’t safe right now for either of you,” Kit explains, remorse evident in his tone.
Through the rear-view mirror, our eyes collide, and her cutting glare holds more disappointment, anger, and hurt than any words could.
“Tell me everything.” Her voice is devoid of any emotion, almost robotic.
I owe her the truth. I tell her everything, from the call Slaughter made days ago about the shipment I unknowingly helped steal from the Russian, right up until now.
I tell her about the deal with Chin and about my desire to leave the life, but now I’m not so sure that’s possible.
I’d like to say I filter my illegal activities or leave things out for my own good, but I don’t. Guilt’s a bitch, and right now, I’m drowning in her.
17
Saturday 11:08 PM
Nick
Le Château Frontenac is majestic and castle-like. The crown jewel within the walls of old Quebec City. It’s magnificently lit like a beacon despite the time of night. The valet parks Kit’s car, and we head for check-in.
“What, Nick, you don’t own a swanky house in Quebec City for us to stay in?” Her tone is sardonic, and her dainty features twist into a sneer.
Before I decide whether to respond or ignore her, Kit groans, shoving his phone at me. It’s a text from one of our crew.
They had trouble tonight. Drago’s on a rampage and off the rails, looking to shed blood. Maggie wedges her way in between us, gasping when she reads the text.
“Caro,” Kit and I say in unison.
“I’m on my way.” Kit glances at the concierge across the lobby, his mind already on
renting a car. “I’ll text once I’ve got her.”
“Go. Take the car, we’ll get a rental back to Toronto when it’s time.” I tug at his arm.
His dark brown eyes lock with mine, and I don’t need to say it. I don’t need to tell him to protect Caro at all costs because he will. He’d give his life for her. Without a doubt.
“I want updates,” I say.
He nods, and I wish I could go with him. She’s my sister and I need her safe, but it’s too dangerous. We need the okay from Chin before Maggie and I can go back. It’s not exactly safe for Kit, but easier.
Almost across the lobby, he turns back to Maggie. He towers over her, and she squares her shoulders with her back to me. I bet she’s glaring.
“Maggie, this isn’t how I wanted to do this, but I gotta go. I’m deeply sorry for all the shit that’s happened to you. I’ve got more to say, and I deserve your words, but…” He peers over her head to me, pausing. “Who knows how this will go down, so, at the very least, I need you to hear that I am very sorry.”
She sucks in a breath. “What do you mean, how this will go down?” Concern drowns her words. “Kit.”
She grabs at his arms, her anger a thing of the past, now only genuinely alarmed for his safety.
“I’ll be fine.” The big guy plants a kiss on her cheek, and she relents ever so slightly, her frame relaxing.
The gesture is so Kit, and respect for the guy swamps my chest as does something akin to jealousy. Stupid. He has a way of saying what he feels easily, and judging from her body language, she’s willing to move past this garbage and hear him out. I doubt she’ll do the same for me. He tips his chin at me before going.
With her back still to me, her voice cracks when she asks, “Where’s he going?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
She turns on her heel, frowning. Her features are wrung out, her face drawn, eyes puffy and fatigued. Maggie’s quiet while we check in and head to the room.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” She folds her arms over her chest. “I’m not sharing a bed with you.”