Neil (The Uncompromising Series Book 2)

by Sybil Bartel

  “So you have said.”

  “I’ve told you this before?” How much time had we spent together?

  His stomach muscles flexed as the bike took a corner. “Not in so many words.” He pulled up to a high-rise almost directly on the ocean.

  I glanced up at the steel and glass monstrosity. “Where are we?”

  “My place.”

  Viking and the huge modern building didn’t fit. “You live here?”

  “Occasionally.”

  “But it’s your place?” It was cold like him but it was also public and obvious and showing off an opulence that didn’t seem like him.

  “One of them.”

  “You have more than one home?”

  “Four,” he stated.

  “You have four houses?” I almost forgot we were on a stolen motorcycle.

  “Residences, yes.” The answer was casual, as if everyone had four homes.

  “You’re rich?” The question popped out before I could stop it. Of course he was rich. He was pulling into an oceanfront high-rise in South Beach on Collins Avenue.

  “I develop real estate.”

  “Develop?” I felt stupid for asking but I wasn’t sure what he meant.

  “I own a construction firm. I specialize in commercial real estate and high-rises.”

  Jesus. And he had time to get caught up with me and my mess? “Something I probably should’ve known,” I muttered.

  He bypassed the valet parking in front and pulled around to the side of the building. “You know I am in construction.”

  As in, that’s all I knew? I didn’t ask and he didn’t elaborate. He entered a code into a keypad, a security door rose and he pulled into the underground parking. Maneuvering the huge bike through the garage, he parked in front of a giant pickup, effectively concealing it. Cutting the engine, he silently waited until I got off the bike.

  Once I was on my own two feet, he threw the kickstand with practiced ease and gracefully swung his leg over as if he hadn’t just been shackled for who knows how long.

  “Come.” He glanced around the garage.

  His movements weren’t obvious but they were enough. Pinpricks of fear crept up my spine and I looked over my shoulder. “Were we followed?”

  “No.” He moved to my side but a step ahead of me. “This way.”

  I looked back at the Harley that had his blood on it. “You’re just going to leave that there?”

  “Someone will come for it.”

  I stepped up to his side but he held his arm out. “Stay on my left, one step behind.”

  “You said we weren’t followed.”

  “We weren’t.” He hit the button for the elevator and the doors slid open. Just like the garage, the elevator had a keypad. He entered a code and we were moving.

  I exhaled a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “They didn’t come after us.”

  He stared straight ahead. “Not yet.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to reassure me?” I was aiming for sarcastic but I sounded exactly as I felt, weak and needy.

  “I do not lie.”

  That should’ve been a good thing but it only sounded intimidating. “What if someone saw us come here?”

  “I will handle it.”

  With what? A sniper rifle from a balcony? “We can’t hide in your apartment forever. I need to see my son.”

  “We will not hide and you will see him.”

  I should have asked when I would see Conner but I was suddenly fixated on why they didn’t come after us. “What address did you give them?”

  “A storage facility in Hialeah.”

  “Is that where you hid the guns?”

  “I do not have the guns.”

  “But you said you took them?”

  “I did. I no longer have them.”

  The elevator stopped and the doors slid open. We stepped into a hallway with only one door and Viking punched numbers into yet another keypad. The door clicked then swung open and Viking strode inside.

  I took one step to follow then halted.

  I didn’t know what I was expecting but a huge marble foyer with a shotgun view of the ocean out of two-story-tall windows from thirty floors up wasn’t it.

  Viking swept his finger across a touchpad on the wall and lights everywhere came on to a soft dim.

  Not only was his place huge, it was opulent and modern and I’d never seen anything like it, not even on TV. Not that I could remember, anyway.

  Viking strode toward the kitchen and dumped the motorcycle keys on a counter that was the shiniest kitchen counter I’d ever seen.

  “Wait.” He issued the command like he did every other one, without emotion but with expectation that it’d be followed.

  I stood there and stared, not wanting to take another step in my filthy, bloodstained clothes. Leather couches and a huge TV mounted on a marble wall that matched the color of the flooring, a dining area that could seat twelve, a kitchen fit for a chef, the entire place was a fairy tale. And not an inch of it seemed like it suited Viking. Well, the cold modern lines, the not a thing out of place, the spotless wall of glass, they all fit his personality but the rest of it looked like he barely spent any time here. I couldn’t imagine Conner here. His little fingerprints would be everywhere in two seconds flat.

  As quietly as Viking had disappeared, he reappeared with a huge medical kit. Setting it down like he was familiar with its weight and contents, he washed his hands then dried them with a paper towel he pulled from a hidden stash inside a cupboard.

  His eyes met mine for the first time since the warehouse. “Take your shirt off.”

  I tried to swallow past the sudden dryness in my mouth. “Why?”

  “Your back.” He refocused his attention on the kit.

  I looked around the kitchen. “I need something to drink.”

  He reached behind him, pulled a glass out of the cupboard, filled it from the fridge then set it on the counter between us. Not a single movement was wasted.

  I put the glass to my lips intending only to sip but once the cold liquid hit my parched throat, I started gulping. The icy water was so refreshing that I didn’t notice Viking come up on me.

  “Easy.” He took the glass before I could swallow the sip already halfway to my mouth.

  My tongue darted out and I licked the water off my lips.

  His gaze shifted to my mouth and darkened.

  I sucked in a breath and forced words out. “I was thirsty.”

  In a move that seemed completely and utterly uncharacteristic of him, he put the glass to his full lips and drank. I stared as his throat moved with each swallow. I didn’t know how to describe the combination of sexy and real the simple act made him look. Nor could I tell you why the bruising on his knuckles made me want to touch him.

  Never taking his eyes off mine, he finished my water and set the glass on the counter without making a sound. “Turn around.” The quiet stillness to his deep voice, the way he watched me so intently, was both mesmerizing and terrifying.

  “I’m fine.” Not one thing was fine. And it would be even less fine if he touched me again.

  “The wound needs treating.”

  His needed treating. “You should…” I pointed at his swollen, cut cheek and temple.

  “You first.”

  I glanced at his neck then his wrists. “Your neck, your hands—”

  “Turn around, Ariella.”

  My name rolled off his tongue, foreign and unique. He shortened the R-I sound and drew out the double L’s, pronouncing it differently than anyone else I knew.

  “I like your accent,” I blurted.

  His chest rose and fell with one breath and his voice turned quieter. “I like yours.”

  Chill bumps broke out on my arms and neck. He was so close, I could see every one of his thick, dark eyelashes. “How long have you lived in the States?”

  “Six years.”

  “Did I know that… before?” I desperately wished I could remember hi
m.

  “No. Turn around.”

  I decided to tell him what I remembered. “I remember being in a car with you. You had your sleeves rolled up. Conner was asleep in the back. My shoes were off.”

  He nodded once. “You were in my truck.”

  Stupid hope surged. “We went somewhere together? Like a date?”

  “No. We drove together.”

  The heated tension I was feeling instantly turned icy cold and my hope sank as exhaustion filled the empty space. No longer caring about him touching me, I turned. My wound was throbbing and even if I did have my memory, I was sure I’d never figure this man out.

  With the same hands he killed with, he reached around me and unbuttoned the top three buttons on my blouse. “This bothers you.”

  I stared at his huge fingers and my heart rate kicked up. I didn’t know if he meant unbuttoning my shirt or the date thing, but it didn’t matter. “I’m not duct taped to a chair anymore, this is nothing.”

  “You are lying.” He brushed my hair to one shoulder and his hand skimmed my neck.

  “I’m not.” I was alive. My son was safe. “But I need to hear Conner’s voice.” And I needed to hold him and breathe in his perfect innocence.

  “You will.” Gentle and slow, he lifted my shirt up. “Raise your arms.”

  There was nothing sexual about his touch but I was hyperaware of every whisper of his skin on mine. I lifted my arms. “When?”

  “Tomorrow,” he quietly answered as he pulled the rest of my shirt over my head. A bloodied silk blouse I didn’t remember buying fell to the floor.

  I dropped my arms. “Promise?” I wanted his word because something told me he never broke his promises.

  “Yes.” Then he continued as if we were still talking about the date thing. “You would not have gone on a date with me.” His fingers brushed against my skin as he unclasped my bra. “I did not ask you.”

  The pressure near my wound receded and my nipples hardened. I covered my breasts with my arms. “Why wouldn’t I have?”

  “You would not have trusted my reasons for asking. And you told me you did not date.”

  I looked over my shoulder at him. His features were too rugged to be beautiful but there was no other way to describe him. He was striking. And he was right. I wouldn’t have trusted a man who looked like him asking me out and I wasn’t going to put my son through the bullshit of another failed relationship. Conner deserved more than that. I deserved more than that. “I think I like the old me.”

  A seriousness that was ingrained in his personality settled into his features. “This does not surprise me.”

  “Does anything surprise you?”

  “I have learned to expect the unexpected.”

  “Was Candle unexpected?”

  His chest rose and fell with a breath then his hand settled on my waist. “You are unexpected.”

  I dropped my gaze and for a single moment, I let the warmth of this man’s touch blanket everything. I breathed in the strength that radiated off him and told myself everything was going to be okay. But it was a lie. “My back hurts,” I murmured.

  “It is a flesh wound.” His hands skimmed up my sides and he pushed my bra straps off my shoulders. “It will sting until it heals.” He reached for the kit while keeping one hand on my shoulder.

  It more than stung. “Okay.”

  He pulled something out of the kit. “Do you remember how this happened?”

  “No.” Cool gel smeared across my back and I flinched.

  “Antibiotic ointment,” he explained, gently spreading his thumb across my wound. “You suffered a head injury as well. I did not think the impact was strong enough to give you a concussion.”

  I glanced over my shoulder again but his eyes were trained on my back. “What does that mean?”

  His gaze cut to mine. “It is human nature to protect oneself. Extreme conditions can cause mental disassociation.”

  Mental? “You’re saying I’m crazy?”

  “Twelve men fired weapons at us. You were their prime target.”

  I blinked.

  “It is not an unreasonable conclusion that you blocked out what happened.”

  He was right. It wasn’t unreasonable. But I’d never run away from anything in my life. I took care of my son and I didn’t ask for anything from anyone. So telling me that I broke down and lost my shit? Went crazy? I refused to believe it. “Are you finished?” I didn’t wait for an answer. I stepped away from him and scooped my shirt up. Holding it to my chest, I faced him head-on. “I need a shower.”

  He inclined his head toward a hallway. “Guest room on the left.”

  “Great.” My heels clicking across the shiny floor, I squared my shoulders and put as much I’m not fucking crazy into my strut as I could.

  Ignoring the bedroom that was nicer than any hotel I’d ever seen, I strode across the thick carpet and went straight to the bathroom. Of course it was as fancy as the rest of the condo, marble and granite everything. If this was his guest bath, I couldn’t imagine the master. I didn’t want to. I wanted to go home to my worn-out secondhand couch and cuddle with my son. I didn’t give two fucks about four showerheads and a digital water temperature display. I could probably buy a new Toyota with what this shit cost.

  I stripped down and thought about throwing my rank clothes out but I didn’t have anything else to wear. So I shook out the ruined blouse, laid everything on the counter and stepped into the glass-enclosed shower.

  The heat from the water stung my skin and the pressure on my back burned. I didn’t care. I soaked my hair and stood under that spray with my head down for I don’t know how long. Then I scrubbed every inch of my body like I could wash away a kidnapping and two dead bodies. Maybe I was in shock, maybe I was just too tired, or maybe Viking had been right about his stupid disassociation theory, but I didn’t cry. I just wanted my son and my bed.

  My mind on Conner and worrying how he was doing without me, I shut off the shower, pushed the door open and almost ran smack into Viking.

  Showered and freshly shaved, he was dressed in a fitted, dark charcoal V-neck T-shirt, cargo pants and new boots. His eyes solidly locked on mine, he held a towel up. “I will dress your wound.”

  His statement, as if it justified his intrusion, lifted the fog of pseudo calm I’d had in the shower and I snatched the towel. Anger mixed with an awareness between my legs that I hadn’t felt in years and I wanted to lash out. At him, at Jason, at that fucking asshole Candle. But mostly, I wanted to wipe the expressionless mask off Viking’s face. I wanted him to look at me like a man looks at a woman. I wanted his eyes on my tits. I wanted him hard just thinking about my body. I wanted power and I wanted it now. “Pretty sure I closed the door.” I didn’t wrap the towel around myself, I used it to squeeze the water from my hair.

  His jaw ticked. “Dry your back.”

  I slowly folded the towel around myself then crossed my arms because I knew what it looked like when I pushed my tits together. “You do whatever you want, when you want, don’t you?”

  The red welts on his neck and wrist and the three-inch cut under his eye that now had something slightly shiny covering it made him look even more impenetrable. “No.”

  I wanted to ignore the assault of awareness his presence was giving me. I wanted to not be crawling out of my own skin with emotions I didn’t know how to control. I wanted him to not smell like a fucking fantasy come to life. “Yet here you are, waiting outside my shower like you have a right to see me naked.”

  A cloud descended over his features. “Ask,” he demanded.

  “Ask what?” I knew what.

  “If I have slept with you.”

  I couldn’t read his shift. I didn’t know if the lines between his brows were anger or desire or frustration because I didn’t know this man. I couldn’t even remember more than a single car ride. But I knew myself and I would never get involved with someone like him. “I don’t need to.”

  “Because?”
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  “We didn’t.”

  His gaze darkened and his voice dropped. “One of the many reasons you intrigue me.”

  My thighs pressed together and I fought the urge to lick my lips despite the surge of anger his words provoked. “I’m not your plaything.”

  His shoulders curved toward me and his penetrating gray-blue stare made me feel like I was the only woman he’d ever looked at. “Let go of the towel,” he ordered.

  A man’s voice I didn’t recognize boomed through the condo. “Where is she?”

  Viking turned and blocked the bathroom door with his massive frame. “Clothes,” he demanded at the intruder.

  “Step aside right fucking now or I’ll—”

  The words died on his lips as Viking turned just enough for him to see me.

  The man pushed past Viking and dropped a bag at my feet. “Dios mios,” he muttered.

  A few inches shorter than Viking but still a mass of muscles that didn’t come from any gym, the dark-haired, brown-eyed man pulled me into his arms. The scent of soap and something metallic filled my head and I stiffened.

  “Stand down,” Viking snapped.

  The man released me but he took my face in his hands and inspected my head. Gentle fingers brushed over my forehead and I flinched. “No concussion?”

  A string of foreign words ripped from Viking’s throat.

  The man’s eyes narrowed but he finally stepped back from me. “You don’t remember me?”

  Clutching the towel, feeling more exposed than I ever had, I shook my head.

  Viking’s hand landed on my nape and he pulled me to his side as he bit out the man’s name in warning. “André.”

  André took in Viking’s hand on me. “Do you remember Conner?”

  I nodded. Something about the man was familiar and my brain was trying so hard to make a connection but I couldn’t put the pieces together.

  “Jason?”

  He knew Jason? I nodded again.

  “The guns?”

  I didn’t get a chance to answer. Viking answered for me. “Enough.”

  André held his hands up like he was acquiescing but his gaze shot daggers at Viking. “All right, all right, I hear you.” He looked at me and his expression softened. “Can I speak with you alone a minute?”