by M. A. Grant
“Do you need me or Kai to head out there tonight?”
“Not tonight but see if you can swing by tomorrow—either of you.”
“At least one of us will be there.”
“Good. Right now I need your tech skills.”
The dim lights behind Douglass’s head changed into a full-fledged glow from the multiple screens he booted up. “Go ahead,” he said, voice detached like it always got when he was on a new job.
“Look deeper into Arthur Gregson’s finances. Emma said the mine was a business venture gone wrong; he could be in debt to others we don’t know about.”
“What else?”
“I need to know more about a Charles Riecher. Son of a bitch nearly killed her down there.”
“Shit,” Douglass muttered.
“He’s dead.” Peirce didn’t bother to hide his satisfaction. “But I don’t know if he had a connection to Arthur. And Emma’s clear of the whole thing, so don’t send up red flags.”
“Got it.”
“I want any news ASAP.”
“Yessir.”
Peirce powered down the tablet and rubbed a hand over his face, intent on getting back to bed and catching a few more hours of shut eye before he had to determine his next move. This was the part he hated most—the interminable wait before the battle began. It didn’t matter how many strategies, contingencies, alternate contingencies he’d planned because at some point, it would all be out of his hands.
Normally he wouldn’t be so worried, but this time, if things went fubar, Emma would suffer for his decisions. Now that he knew how she felt about him, knew how deep he was getting himself, putting her at risk was no longer an option.
Speaking of my woman...
He heard her long before she reached the library. Her footfalls were soft on the wood floors and, when she finally peeked around the corner, his chest tightened. She had thrown on one of his tank tops, nothing else, and with her hair framing her face, she looked like some kind of battlefield angel come for him.
“You didn’t wake me up.”
He jerked his shoulders in what was hopefully a neutral movement. The farther he could keep her from all this, the better he would feel. He’d be less likely to get distracted.
She climbed into his lap and settled against his chest, tracing one of the knife scars from his collarbone down across his pec. “You should come back to bed.”
He smiled, surprised at how nice it was to hear her say that. “Why’s that?”
“When you got up, I thought you were leaving.”
The thought of sneaking out, leaving her behind like she was some one-night stand, bothered him more than he liked to admit. She must have read his expression because her eyes became warm and she leaned in to close the distance. Her lips moved under his, angling to allow him better access. When he finally pulled back, he managed a gravelly, “I’m not leaving.”
“So come to bed.”
He let her lead him from the library, down the hall to that sumptuous bedroom. She let him pull off the tank top, run his hands over her skin until she was shivering. It didn’t take much to coax him between the sheets.
She wasn’t timid this time. He let her control the pace, fed into her energy, felt his need rising. Something about being back in the house, after the danger she’d faced here the last time, left him uneasy, far edgier. He struggled to keep himself in check, not wanting to scare her, but the instinct to possess prickled at the back of his mind.
She pulled away from him, mid-kiss, eyes dark, lips swollen, chest flushed. “What is it?”
He couldn’t answer, especially not when she reached down between them and stroked him, teasing her fingers over his tip.
“Peirce?”
Those brown eyes were staring up at him, all her emotions laid out, clear as day. Gods, he needed to be inside her.
When her caress became needy, he lost his control. He flipped her to her stomach and pressed his weight down on top of her. “Trust me?”
She shivered at the rasp in his voice. “I trust you.”
He kissed his way down her spine, hands running over her, massaging her. He grasped her waist and lifted her to her knees. A quick motion and he had a pillow beneath her.
His fingers brushed over her core, dipping inside until she thought the sensations would become overwhelming. Not being able to see him or his expressions, to be focused solely on his touch and when it would come again, was intoxicating.
“You’re wet,” he murmured approvingly and she blushed. She couldn’t play coy with this man; her body had a mind of its own and right now, it craved him to fill the emptiness.
“Please,” she whimpered into the mattress.
She felt her entire body constrict when he pushed inside. Her moan of pleasure may have been muffled, but she could feel the rumble that left his chest. He teased her, pulling away just a bit and staying there until she arched her back and pressed against his hips. He coaxed her legs wider, her hips higher, and his hand returned to her, pushing her further still.
She couldn’t help it. The words slipped out as his thumb brushed over her again, his thrust so deep she could feel him in her bones. “Please, love—”
And when she called him that, his rhythm changed. His thrusts came faster, stronger. His fingers dug into her hips and she clawed at the sheets, desperate for release.
His breathing was ragged and every time she pushed back against him, he groaned and returned to her harder. The heat that had been building since he’d stripped off her clothes was now an inferno, liquid fire coursing through her veins. Nothing could make her world more perfect—
“Oh gods, Emma—I—dammit!” His fingers tightened on her waist, his voice terrified. “—love you—”
She was consumed. A living flame.
She felt his every pulse, echoed his heartbeat, knew he was whispering that to her over and over, a desperate confession.
He’d made her a phoenix.
Something was beeping insistently. Emmaline blinked, willing her eyes to focus despite too few hours of sleep. Peirce shifted beside her, his body curled over her protectively. After his admission last night, he hadn’t let her even an arms-length away from him.
She shifted and he opened his eyes blearily. “Good morning,” she whispered.
That rough countenance lightened when he smiled at her, a slow, knowing lift of the corner of his mouth. “It could be,” he responded, pulling her close for a kiss.
“We should get up.”
“Why?”
“Something’s been beeping for a while. It woke me up.”
That got his attention. A swift kiss and he was out of the bed, throwing on pants and a shirt, moving toward the library. She shook her head in amusement and slipped into her new pants and soft shirt. “I’ll check the kitchen and see if there’s any food left,” she called down the hall to him. She shrugged when he didn’t respond. He was probably focused on something else.
Maybe after breakfast he could take her to the estate’s garage, show her more tricks. It would be the perfect way to keep their minds off her father’s insane plot. She’d never pegged him as a madman, but desperation and revenge could lead a man to strange decisions...
“We’ve got a problem.”
Peirce scowled as he dragged on the rest of his clothes, trying not to feel nauseous as Douglass’s image blurred and jumped all over the screen. He was in a Stallion, rolling toward the estate as quickly as possible with Kai. And Peirce didn’t know why. “What the hell do you mean, we’ve got a problem?”
“You told me to dig up what I could about Riecher.”
Peirce’s gut dropped. Had he done something else down there, something Emma didn’t know about? Had someone found out about his death? Was she in danger?
Douglass continued, not realising Peirce was spiralling. “He went to the tour as a guest.”
“Of who? Emma’s father?”
“No. Richard Stone.”
“Stone?”
“Be
fore Riecher’s death, he was listed on a shit-ton of the paperwork for Stone’s shell companies. He also had unlimited access to Stone’s highest priced brothels.”
The pieces clicked into place with grim clarity. “Oh, fuck.”
“It gets worse. A flag went up a few minutes ago; someone hacked into the estate’s security feeds. And a lot of chatter on the comm waves.”
He paused, hand at his ear, listening intently. “Hostiles in-bound. Get the hell out, sir.”
He was up, running toward the bedroom. She wasn’t there. He grabbed his gun, his knife and sprinted back down the hall, bellowing her name.
He’d made a grave error.
Chapter 10
“Emma!”
Dread was choking him, stopping the air from reaching his lungs.
“Emma!”
Why hadn’t he thought of that? He should have seen it coming!
“Gods, Emma! Where the fuck are you?”
“Peirce?”
He stumbled on the stairs, knees giving out with relief. There she was. Standing at the hall entrance that led down to the kitchen, looking at him like he was crazy.
Maybe he was.
“What’s wrong?” She took a step toward him and all he could think about was grabbing her and taking her upstairs and keeping her safe until Douglass and Kai were there to help him—
The world exploded.
The heavy wooden front door splintered, chunks flying through the entryway, one catching his temple and making his vision go pale and his head ring with an eerie hum. The front windows shattering as bullets slammed through them. Emma had thrown herself to the ground, covering her head and neck with her arms. Peirce ignored the wetness dripping down the side of his face, pulled out his gun, watched the doorway, crept toward Emma and focused on protecting her from whatever was coming.
A small group of men in body armour stormed the room, sweeping their assault rifles as entered. They were only looking at eye-level, were grouped tightly, exposing necks and heads because they couldn’t manoeuvre themselves any other way.
Fish in a fucking barrel.
Five gentle squeezes on the trigger. The two in front went first, crumpling, then the two behind. The fifth actually figured out the shots were coming from below, but he was too slow to draw in time.
Peirce finished crawling to Emma, who was staring at the fallen men in shock. Her eyes widened and she reached out a shaking hand to the side of his head. “You’re hurt,” she whispered.
“Later,” he said, confirming her concern and grabbed an assault rifle off the nearest body. A quick check to ensure it wasn’t damaged. He pocketed a spare magazine and looked both ways down the hall.
“What do we do?” Emma asked quietly.
“We need to get you somewhere safe.”
“The tunnels?”
“They’ll know about them this time.”
“Upstairs?”
He contemplated it. “Kai and Douglass are on their way. I don’t know how long. And these bastards hacked the security feed. I’m not sure I could hold them from the room.”
She pursed her lips. “There aren’t a lot of safe places in the house if they have access to the cameras.”
“I know.”
“What about outbuildings? Barn? Garage? Root cellar?”
“Root cellar means we’re trapped. Barn isn’t too far.”
“Neither is the garage,” she pointed out, “and it has cars in it.”
Peirce nodded. He’d worked on the old farm equipment during his two weeks on the estate. He’d thought it would be useful to have the vehicles—outdated though they may be—up and running in case an emergency came up.
Good thing he’d planned ahead.
He could hear the sound of additional vehicles approaching the estate. There was only one road in, so if he timed it right, they could reach the garage through the gardens and miss the newest teams. Time to decide.
Emma was looking at him, her mouth tight, but clearly trusting of whatever he decided. He hated to do this, but it was the only way to make sure she’d live.
Peirce pressed the pistol into her hand. “Don’t shoot unless you have to,” he said curtly. “They’re wearing armour, so centre mass won’t help much.”
“Okay.”
“We’re going three rooms down that hall,” he gestured. She could see it in her head—out the lower office with its dual doors opening into the gardens. “Into the garden. Hug the nearest wall. They’re going to come for us, so we’ve got to move fast.”
“I will.”
His eyes flashed and he pressed a desperate kiss to her lips. Funny, kissing me is what got him into this mess in the first place…
“Go,” he ordered. For the second time, she followed him without question, a hunched sprint down the hall. One door...two...three…a sharp turn and they were in the office. Peirce closed the door behind them, bolting it even though he must have known it wouldn’t do anything to stop men with guns.
He opened the doors to the garden carefully, staying low and taking in the scene. She couldn’t see anyone, but that didn’t mean her stomach wasn’t churning from fear and worry.
“Remember,” Peirce said evenly, “hug the wall.”
She nodded once, hoping she could keep it together. He ushered her out and she did as he ordered, pressing herself against the stone, praying no one had seen her. Peirce was there a half second later.
“Good girl,” he murmured, moving forward and checking over the top of the wall once. “Let’s go.”
They leapfrogged their way through the garden, keeping the stone wall between them and the men at the front of the house. At each break in the wall, each place where a gravel pathway interrupted their safe escape, Emma felt sick as she watched Peirce check before gesturing her ahead of him.
She could hear shouting from the house, crashes and shattering as the men razed it, but couldn’t bring herself to care. Her father had brought it on himself. It was a fitting end to his legacy.
They were almost to the garage. Her mouth went dry. A stretch of open ground. If the men near the house turned and looked down the gentle hill, she and Peirce would be spotted instantly. Judging by the wry grin on his face, he knew that too.
“I’ll distract them,” he told her, “and you run for the garage.”
“No.”
“Dammit, Emma, I can get you the time you need!”
She grasped his hand, knowing he could feel her touch through his gloves. “You’re not dying for me.”
He gritted his teeth and scowled at her. “I don’t intend to die,” he said, deliberately emphasising each word. “But there’s no way I can do my fucking job if you’re in danger. Understand?”
“How do I know you aren’t going to rush them once I’m safe in the garage?”
He growled something under his breath, but she didn’t back down. She didn’t care if the men came down from the house to find them both still arguing behind the wall. He needed to be safe.
“If I rush them, I’ll die. And as I already stated, that’s not part of the plan.”
“What is the plan, Peirce?”
“For the love of the gods, woman, get to the garage!”
“What’s your plan?”
He huffed angrily, ripped his welder’s goggles from their belt loop and curled her fingers around them. “These go to our son. I want at least one. And maybe a daughter so I can shoot her boyfriend when he screws up. Okay? Now do you understand my plan?”
If he weren’t trying to shock the shit out of her and get her to obey one goddamn order before some dumbass merc shot her in her beautiful and stubborn little head, he might have appreciated the radiant expression that crossed her face.
In the middle of a fire fight.
While they were trying to escape with their lives from a psychotic killer who was currently burning down her ancestral home.
Great fucking way to propose, Taggart, you asswipe.
He clasped a hand around t
he back of her head and kissed her as deeply as he could. “As soon as this is done, we’re getting hitched. And I’m not inviting your father.”
“You’ve got two minutes to get to the garage or I’m coming back,” she whispered. And taking a deep breath, she darted down the hill.
He was already popping up from his position, moving back up the hill toward the house, firing his gun at the sentries. They behaved exactly as they should, diving for cover, focusing solely on him.
The stone wall shivered from the impact of bullets as he ducked behind it. His cuff lit up and he could barely make out Douglass’s voice through all the noise.
“Some signal fire, sir.”
He fired blindly over the wall, satisfied to hear grunts of pain as his bullets hit their marks and reloaded, hollering back, “Nice of you to join me!”
“One minute out, boss!” Kai was yelling.
One minute was enough. I can hold them.
He emptied the new clip over his shoulder and began reloading. Shards of stone glanced off the wall. He hit his stomach, realising the guys from inside the house were finally making it out into the garden. They had the perfect angle on him.
He grunted as a stray bullet glanced off his upper arm and he rolled toward the last segment of the wall before the hill down to the garage. Hopefully Emma had found something that would start.
Breathing out half a prayer, he took off down the hill.
They hadn’t seen her. Emmaline still couldn’t believe it. She had barely managed to close the door behind her. She was so torn to see Peirce firing up the hill, silhouetted against the burning house. He’d make it to her. He had plans.
Plans that involved kids. Marriage.
She didn’t know the garage well since her father had never let her in it, but in the half dark, she saw the hulking shapes of old farm equipment, the vehicles the servants must have used on the outlying land during the harvest season. Judging by the lack of dust on their hoods, she gathered Peirce had only worked on two during his last stay at the estate: an ancient Brumby that looked like it had seen better days and some kind of truck that was in equally poor condition.