Knave (Masters of Manhattan)

by Jane Henry

  I heard him, but responding seemed a monumental task, too much for me to do. I tried to open my mouth, but couldn’t, as if I were frozen in a sort of dream. Instead, I made a sound that resembled an injured animal, a sound that both embarrassed and scared me. That was the best I could do? I tried to nod my head but it was too heavy, and it throbbed. Something warm and wet was all over me, in my mouth, on my cheek, my eyes blurred with it.

  “Mother fucker,” Anson swore, his voice tight and furious but scared. “I’ll fucking kill them. For Christ’s sake, someone answer!”

  I could only hear him, and assumed he was speaking into his phone or something as both his hands were on me. “Someone ran us off the road. Saw nothing but lights. They sideswiped us, knocked us into the brush off the highway. I’m fine. Looks like Sabrina suffered head trauma and she isn’t responsive.”

  I am, I thought. I’m right here. But still, no sound came. I hated not being able to control my voice, and a sob rose in my chest from frustration, but his hands came around me and he whispered in my ear, “I hope you can hear me. You’re gonna be okay. I’ll make sure of it.” Then he started issuing rapid commands I couldn’t understand, but they weren’t directed at me, so I stopped trying.

  I shook my head, willing myself to speak, needing to push through the fog. With considerable effort, finally, I was able to talk in a whisper.

  “What happened?”

  “You hit your head,” he said, and then I realized he was pressing something soft against my temple. I blinked but couldn’t see much in the darkness. “Cut it pretty bad. Likely a concussion. I’m putting pressure on it to stop the bleeding. You have to lay still, Sabrina. This was no accident, and I need to make sure whoever hit us isn’t coming back to finish the job.”

  Coming back? What was he talking about?

  I wasn’t really sure why he told me that since I had no plans on going anywhere anyway.

  I opened my eyes, trying to see him, but the murky darkness hid all. “Call Teller. We’ll need him pronto. Yeah, pulse is fine, bleeding is slowing. Doesn’t look like any broken bones, but this car’s totaled.”

  He leaned away from me so he could yank his door open. “Stay here,” he ordered once more before he unfolded himself from the car. When he exited, moonlight hit him, and I could see he was bare from the waist up. I looked at the cloth he’d pushed against my head, now held tight in my own hand. It was his shirt.

  I shivered, cold from the night air skittering across my skin, but it was more than that. Someone had done this intentionally. Anson had called the other guys, not an ambulance or the police, like he didn’t know who to trust. And now he was outside making sure no one was returning to hurt us again.

  This was really serious shit.

  He came back a short while later, tucking his phone away as he got back in the car. “No signs of anyone pursuing us. Looks like they just wanted to run us off the fucking road. You have no idea why, do you?”

  I shook my head. Nothing that had happened in the past couple of months made sense to me when I was sober, never mind half-conscious and bloodied.

  He huffed out a breath. “We’ll get to the bottom of this,” he said with conviction. A promise.

  I heard the crunch of gravel, like a car was approaching. Anson opened the door and quickly pulled himself out. For a moment, panic flooded me. Had whoever ran us off the road come back to finish the job? But no. I saw Caelan’s familiar face peering into the driver’s side door, and there were others behind him. The Masters had come for us.

  Caelan reached in for my hand and took it in his massive one. “Slide over to me, now, Sabrina,” he said, his voice concerned but controlled. I did as he said, knowing that they were going to take care of me now.

  I got out of the car, pain radiating from my head, and Caelan reached for my hand, but Anson got there first, sidling his way in between us. “I’ll get her up,” Anson said.

  “No. You just got into a car accident. You need to be looked over, yourself. You’re not carrying her.” Caelan glared at Anson, whose eyes narrowed on him.

  “Fine,” he said, turning away, as if it took effort to allow me to be cared for by someone else.

  Something prickled along the back of my neck at that, but I didn’t have the energy or strength to analyze it. I was cold, so very cold, my whole body shook from head to toe, so harshly my teeth began to chatter.

  “Fucking shock,” Anson said to Caelan. “Move.”

  I heard the hum of an engine, a parked vehicle waiting nearby. Anson swore, turned back to the car, fumbled in there for something, and returned a minute later. “Let’s go.”

  Caelan lifted me in his huge, capable arms, and even I felt like this should have been Anson’s privilege. But I couldn’t risk him being hurt. I lay slack in Caelan’s grasp, as Anson spoke into his phone, his eyes ever watchful on me as he walked beside Caelan toward the waiting car.

  One thought came to me as I vied for consciousness, darkness closing in on me.

  Anson had mopped my blood with the shirt off his own back.

  I had no idea who these men were, but I knew in my gut: Anson was a good man.

  He kept vigil by my bedside.

  I wondered if they’d take me to a hospital, but there were no sirens, and it didn’t surprise me much when I realized, through my haze of awareness, that they’d taken me back to their penthouse. I was glad, though. I didn’t want a cold bed, or the sounds of someone wheezing beside me, or probing questions. And it turned out ‘Teller’ was a doctor who worked with the men privately. Teller did house calls. He was an older, balding man with a ring of gray hair around the crown of his head and a small pair of round spectacles perched on his nose. I knew immediately why they called on him. He asked no questions. He did his work, pronounced my injuries, and took his quiet leave after a whispered conversation with Xavier outside the door.

  I had six stitches on my forehead, fortunately covered by my curls, a concussion and multiple lacerations, but no broken bones or anything more serious than that. I was grateful. I didn’t want to miss my next visit to the Pedersons’ – couldn’t afford to, if I wanted to keep my business afloat – and I had two more days to recover before I was due to return.

  The first night passed in a blur. I was given some sort of medication cocktail from Teller, which I gratefully took, as I craved sleep like a drowning woman craves oxygen. My eyes were heavy, and I welcomed the darkness, not waking until late the next morning. When I woke, Anson sat next to me in an overstuffed chair.

  “You look like shit,” I said to him. “For the love of God, tell me I look better than you do.”

  “Thanks, sweetheart,” he said, his voice gruff and raspy from lack of sleep. His lips quirked up. “You look better than I do. Better?”

  “Immensely.”

  “Just… don’t look in a mirror yet, okay?”

  I threw one of the pillows next to me at his head. “Hey, wait. I’m in your bed. Why am I in your bed, and not one of the guest rooms?” I’d imagined, after yesterday, that they’d have moved me to a guest room for the duration of my enforced stay, but I’d been too tired and in pain the night before to realize which bed I was in.

  He shrugged. “Was hoping to get laid when you came to, but you had the nerve to sleep all fucking night.” I threw the second pillow at him, leaving me now only with one, so I kept that.

  “No more throwing pillows, Sabrina,” he said, sobering. He fixed me with a gaze that made my spine prickle, and his tone of voice made it clear: he wasn’t joking around anymore. My ass tingled at the memory of him spanking me, and I suddenly wanted him close. I wanted to feel him next to me. I needed his warmth and strength.

  “Do we have any idea who did this?” I asked, not meeting his eyes, lest he somehow read what I wanted in them.

  He shook his head, his jaw tightening. “Wish I knew. There are no cameras on that part of the road, something our roadside companion seemed to know. Walker can tap into all the security cam
eras up and down the highway easily, but not if there are none there. There’s more going on here than we thought, though. We need to find out why the fuck we were run off the road, and call me crazy, but I can’t think it’s a coincidence. Not after everything that happened to your dad and Curt. Right now, Walker’s combing the hard drive I copied from Pederson’s computer for anything that could shed some light on what we’re dealing with here. Who owned the bar where my mother worked. Who killed your father. Who broke into his office and killed Curt. How they’re all connected.”

  “I just… God, I don’t know,” I said, covering my face with my hands. Sometimes, the grief I felt at losing my dad was fresh and raw, and bringing up my imminent danger only made it worse. In my mind’s eye, I was being pursued by all the bad guys I’d ever seen on TV—the terrorists and arms dealers and drug peddlers and human traffickers.

  “C’mere,” he said, and then he was there, right there in bed with me, climbing in next to me and pulling me close to him. He was warm and strong.

  I wondered if whatever pain medication I was on made me emotional, because the soothing gesture made my nose tingle and tears prick my eyes. “What are you doing? Someone might see you in here with me.”

  “First of all,” he said, “I don’t give a shit if they do. Second of all, my door’s locked.”

  I laughed, which made my chest hurt a bit. I must’ve winced because his teasing eyes focused on me and he grew serious. “You okay? Am I hurting you?”

  “No!” I said, with more force than was likely necessary. “No, please don’t go.”

  He pushed up on one elbow and looked at me as if he were trying to figure something out, then he leaned in and ever so gently brushed his lips across mine. At once, my body responded, a low hum of excitement making me eager for more. He slid his arm behind me, bracing me, the kiss deepening, speaking things he didn’t have to say out loud. He wanted me, and God, I wanted him back. A low moan coursed between us and I couldn’t tell if it came from me or him, but it didn’t matter. The feeling was mutual.

  He leaned over me, giving me just enough of his weight that I felt him, but so careful and tender that I yielded completely, allowing him to hold me close as he continued to kiss me. The sun could have risen and set, and I wouldn’t have known; time stood still in that kiss. He pushed my legs apart, lowering himself between them, the warm, gentle pressure of his body against mine making me need so much more than the kiss, but I didn’t want it to end.

  It did too soon, and I whimpered at the loss. His breath fanned my cheek as he whispered in my ear. “You need to relax. Had a really shitty night. Scared senseless. Let it go for now.”

  He slid his body off mine and rolled me so we lay on our sides, face to face. His fingers trailed soothingly along my back, my shoulder, and my torso, yet the touch was surprisingly erotic. With every caress of his hand, my need for him rose. I needed him to touch me everywhere. I’d given myself over to this, and now I wanted all in. He slid a hand under the thin t-shirt I wore, his palm warming my belly, a shiver of anticipation coursing through me.

  “Cold, baby?” he whispered.

  “Fuck no.” I needed more.

  “Good. Relax.” He drew his hand up higher, his thumb just grazing the very edge of my breast. I held my breath and closed my eyes. It was exquisite, beautiful torture, the slow build up, his hands marking his territory. He flicked his thumb over my nipple, the gentlest grazing touch, but I was so ready my back arched. “So fucking responsive,” he rasped. “God. Can’t imagine what it would be like to take that nipple in my mouth.” I mewled. “Or to taste that sweet, sweet pussy.”

  I stopped breathing at that point, and a knock came at the door, gentle but insistent.

  “Yeah?” Anson called out, holding a finger to my lips.

  “Got food ready,” Caelan rumbled on the other side. “Want me to bring it in?”

  “Thanks, man, but she’s asleep,” he lied. “I’ll be there in a few.”

  He waited until he heard Caelan walk away. “Hate to lie,” he whispered. “But now they’ll leave you alone.”

  His hand moved lower, now, teasing the edge of my cotton panties. He slid one finger below the edge. I lay on my back and spread my legs without shame, earning me the approval of his low chuckle. “Relax,” he repeated against my ear. It was easy to do as he said. My eyes shut and I sank into sensation, allowing myself to feel the slow, torturous way his fingers moved, just skirting the edge of where I needed him to touch. I took deep, deliberate breaths, hoping my patience would be rewarded.

  After what seemed like an eternity, his fingers traveled further, seeking my most sensitive parts, so ready to be touched by him. The first swipe of his finger across my folds made me gasp, and at the second I swallowed another moan. His thumb circled my clit and his middle finger pushed inside me.

  “Breathe, Sabrina,” he reminded me.

  My eyes were shut tight, and I did as he instructed. I needed this. He knew I did. With every stroke of his finger, my need to climax ratcheted higher and higher, needing more, needing harder and softer, but I said nothing, letting him work me up, his movements quickening until I couldn’t stand it. I was so close to climaxing. My breath caught, and then a kiss on my cheek and a whispered, “Come, baby,” in my ear was all I needed. I climaxed so hard my body spasmed at his touch, first one climax, followed by another, harder one, ripples of pleasure washing over every inch of me until finally, I collapsed back on the bed and breathed out.

  I rolled over to him, needing to be held, the intensity of what just happened surprising me. Without a word, he held me tight, until my breathing slowed and my heartbeat returned to normal. “Good girl. Rest now,” he said. “Gonna get us something to eat and you’ll get more sleep.”

  I nodded, suddenly exhausted. He got up from the bed, and I heard the door shut with a soft click. We’d figure out what the hell had happened after we left the Pedersons’. Somehow, we’d get some answers. But what was happening between me and Anson? I had not a fucking clue.

  Seven

  “I don’t understand how anyone hates eggplant. It’s just not a hate-able food,” Sabrina said, looking up from the roasted-vegetable salad she’d been assembling. “And it’s so good for you.”

  “And yet, I manage,” I told her. “It tastes like mud.”

  “But eggplant is so great for your digestion! And if you’re at risk for high cholesterol, which you must be, considering your diet, you really need to rethink,” she began. And then she was off, her blue eyes wide and excited as she explained how she was going to revolutionize my health with a miracle vegetable.

  I was sitting at a stool in front of the kitchen island—not a place I’d ever sat in the six months I’d lived here before Sabrina, but where I’d nevertheless parked my ass for untold hours over the last two days, watching her perfect her recipes and keeping her safe.

  Believe me, I’d rolled my eyes at myself more than once over this protective compulsion. I mean, the security in this penthouse was unreal—no one could break in here, not even me, and definitely not while five guys well-versed in security were awake and aware. But every time I tried to remind myself of that, to walk away and watch a movie with Ethan, or inventory my equipment, or help Caelan detail his van, I got this weird itch beneath my skin that wouldn’t subside until I’d clapped eyes on the stubborn, sexy redhead again.

  The stubborn, sexy redhead who was currently spouting off the health benefits of eggplant, of all things, and brandishing a spatula in the air like a magic wand to emphasize her point.

  Weirder still was the fact that I could barely wipe the goofy smile off my face. Maybe Sabrina hadn’t been the only one who’d suffered a little head trauma in the car accident the other night.

  “I’m just saying, you have to try new foods,” she said. She narrowed her eyes at me. “Were you listening to a single word I said?”

  “I got the gist,” I told her. “Eggplant tastes like mud, but healthy mud.”

&
nbsp; “An-son,” she said in that warning tone that never failed to ignite a fire in my blood. She walked around the counter, propped her fists on her hips, and glared at me, her lips twitching like she was fighting a smile. “You would try the patience of a saint.”

  “Then it’s just as well the only Saint around here is me,” I teased, reaching out to grab her around the waist.

  Her forehead wrinkled as she allowed me to pull her closer and melted against my chest. “Uh, you’re no saint, buster.”

  I paused for a second.

  Things between us for the past two days had been great. Amazing, even. The kind of goodness I couldn’t believe was really meant for me. It was bullshit knowing that someone had hurt her, especially when I considered how much worse it could have been. Drove me crazy that we were no closer to knowing who was behind the accident. And it was torture waiting for Walker to do whatever magic he did to get encrypted information from Max Pederson’s hard drive so I could maybe finally get a step closer to finding out who had killed my mom. But through it all, spending time with Sabrina had kept me sane. She had slept in my bed, sat tucked up against my side reading books while I watched TV in the evening, and perched on the countertop while I made her toast and eggs for breakfast—which was about the extent of my culinary talents. I’d spanked her ass and fucked her senseless, yeah, but what killed me was the way she got me on a level I’d never experienced with anyone else—not my mom, not my former associates, not even the other Masters.

  I felt so close to her in such a fucking short amount of time that it brought me up short when I realized just how much of my past she had no idea about. There were whole patches of my life, and hers, that we’d never discussed in-depth. I wanted to know everything about her. I wanted her to know about me. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t at least a little nervous about how she’d react when she knew all the sordid details.