by Angel Payne
“We’ve been toying a little with the technology on our ops vehicles, but the wrap is still a little prissy. It doesn’t like dirt.”
“Small problem there,” Z confirmed.
Wyatt snorted. “So the pussies were only pretending to have pussies. And that van is sitting somewhere now, decked in a completely different design.”
Zeke snorted. “I’d bet my left nut on it.”
“Fuck,” Wyatt gritted.
“Seconding that,” Garrett added. He looked back to Zeke. “How does this get us anywhere, man?”
Zeke’s face resembled a kid about to go on his first roller coaster. Sheer excitement and blatant nausea warred for control of his features. “Because I wasn’t looking at the hundredth ad for the Balloon Festival on that van. The art was custom, hand-painted.”
“Still in the dark, dude. There are a lot of artists in this city.”
“And they’re all sitting in their studios with the extra flow to buy one of those big-ass machines that makes the wrap panels, right?”
A jolt of new energy made Garrett surge forward. “Hell. That sure thinned out the haystack.”
“I’ll give you one better.” Again, that weird mix of feelings rolled across his friend’s face. Zeke looked ready to do a touchdown dance and then puke about it. “I think I can find our needle.”
* * * * *
This was their needle?
Garrett swung fast glances up and down the narrow passageway alley in which they stood. At least that’s what he was calling it for the time being. Truthfully, “alley” would’ve been an upgrade. String a few lanterns and clothes lines between the roofs, add the scent of roast pig instead of impending summer rain, and one could give it another title: East Asian ambush zone. Some instincts were pounded into a guy’s brain cells forever, and his were currently on high alert.
He felt more normal when he caught Wyatt doing his own surreptitious recon. Z didn’t join them. These alleys had been the man’s childhood playground. Beyond that factor, his friend was clearly familiar with this specific address—though like its neighborhood, the word “address” was given a wide berth for definition here. Z reached for a spot behind the grimy door frame and pressed in. The hidden doorbell let off a series of bell chimes inside the building, making the place sound like a cathedral being readied for worshippers.
“Should I have worn a tie?” Garrett cracked.
Zeke let out a dark laugh. “Only if you want her to whip it off your neck, braid it into a whip then beg you to open her up with it.”
Wyatt coughed. “This should be interesting.”
Two seconds later, a toned woman’s arm shoved open the door. Tattooed angels and demons danced their way up it, reaching for another piece of ink that took up the top of her shoulder, a diamond wrapped in thorny roses. Garrett’s gaze was distracted from the artwork by a face that was surrounded by a sleek mane of ebony hair, broken up by silver and lavender streaks. In spite of all the distractions, the woman’s face was striking. She used minimal makeup, which was a good thing. Her huge purple eyes, prominent bone structure and full mouth didn’t need much enhancement.
At the moment, that mouth curved up at Zeke in a grin that truly defined the cat about to eat the canary. The metaphor wasn’t tough to come by, considering the woman wore a skintight black outfit—and had Zeke responding with a very visual, gulp.
“Well,” she finally murmured. “Ezekiel Gabriel Hayes. What’s an angel like you doing in my naughty corner of Hell?”
Before Garrett could let out half a snort of derision, Zeke horse-kicked backward. His heel caught Garrett’s shin with perfect precision.
Without skipping a beat, he lifted the woman’s knuckles to his lips and replied, “Luna honey, my halo got shot off before I busted my sixteenth birthday.”
He dropped her hand but determination didn’t just live in the woman’s gaze. Luna latched a finger into the V of Zeke’s shirt before he could step back. “What about my horns?”
Garrett joined Wyatt in stunned silence as the woman lifted an angular leg and wrapped it around Z’s waist. For a fleeting moment, Garrett wondered why this woman’s name never left his best friend’s lips, even after three years of their tight camaraderie. That was before he caught the terse lines of his friend’s face, along with the invisible screws that tightened along Z’s jaw. Slivers of understanding formed. Garrett had heard about Luna, though not by name. She was—how the hell did Z put it?—a “unique” sort of girl. A submissive with appetites that were beyond the edge coupled with a personality that didn’t have a proper off switch. Z had actually shuddered when talking about girls like her. Their refusal to call a safe word could land an unsuspecting Dom behind bars for abuse, assault and battery, maybe even murder.
Zeke grabbed Luna by the waist and pried her off. “I think it best we keep your horns safely tucked away, girl.”
She narrowed her eyes, flashing an energy out that really did seem a little demonic, before pivoting toward him and Wyatt. “Maybe your friends want to see them.”
“No.” Z tightened his hold on her waist to keep her in place. “They don’t.”
Garrett held up his left hand. “Engaged.”
Wyatt copied the move. “Married.”
“Hell,” Luna spat.
Garrett couldn’t help it any longer. He looked at his watch with a grunt. “We’re at ninety minutes and climbing, Z. Tick fucking tock.”
Luna scrunched her lips at him. “What’s his issue?”
“I’m afraid it’s one I share,” Z offered in a slightly more diplomatic tone. “I need to talk to you.”
Luna tossed her hair over both shoulders. “Fine. Talk.”
“Inside.”
“No. Here.”
Z rose up over her, looming like a damn grizzly about to bite her head off. “Inside, damn it!”
The woman’s reaction was definitely a surprise plot twist. Garrett watched the intrepid, leg-flinging Luna transform into a weak-kneed kitten during the four syllables of Z’s fearsome growl. Her eyelids drooped, her lips parted, and her tongue swept out between them before she rushed out a breathy, “Yes, Sir.” She turned like a dancer in a daydream, leading the three of them inside the building.
As Garrett had hoped, the warehouse’s interior looked like a typical artist’s studio. Canvases both finished and blank were stacked along the textured plaster walls. Several easels, lots of tarps and racks of paints cluttered the rest of the area. A loft overhead was shielded by gauzy curtains, but he discerned a big bed and kitchen area through them. And curled up in a puddle of the curtains? A sleeping white cat.
There were two elements in the scene that fit the circle-what-doesn’t-belong-here option. Suspended from a heavy chain directly over Luna’s workspace was a pair of thick leather suspension handcuffs. Even Garrett could tell the bondage gear had gotten some enthusiastic use. But that delightful discovery was secondary to the jackpot they all spied at the other end of the room. Garrett’s breath whooshed out before he joined Zeke in running over to it.
The machine wasn’t an ordinary printer. It resembled a space-age weaving loom, though it was twice the size of its medieval ancestor. It measured a little over four feet long and was about as high. A sheet of clean plastic film was pre-loaded into it—but just beyond the machine, still littered across the expanse of empty floor in front of a rolling garage door, were slivers of the vinyl that had been part of the previous print job. Every single one of them was pink or lavender.
“Thank fuck,” Garrett muttered.
“Not yet,” Zeke retorted. The back ends of the guy’s jaw turned to gritted granite again. He pitched his voice back to a bellow at the woman giving them a pout from across the room. “Luna!”
She sashayed closer. “Yes, dear?”
Z pointed at the vinyl confetti. “Who were they?”
“Who were who?”
“You didn’t pay for this printer yourself, honey. Somebody brought it here so they could t
ake advantage of your talent and your work space. They had you design a custom wrap for a van today.”
Luna tilted her head up at Z with a soft smile that made her face even more stunning. Holy shit, this space queen was dangerous. Garrett was just glad that Zeke knew it.
“You…think I have talent?”
“As I’ve told you a thousand times,” Z responded patiently. He took a deep breath as Luna pressed herself to him, purring in what was supposed to be gratitude. “Luna, let me be clear. We don’t have time. I need those names. Now.”
She threw him another bratty pout. “Who says I even knew who they were?”
That was it. The latch on Garrett’s tolerance broke off. “Goddamnit.” He rushed forward. “Listen, Morticia Addams, the lives of three women are at stake here. Maybe that makes a difference to you?”
Luna glared. “Damn. You need to get laid.”
“Hawk,” Z interjected. “Just chill.”
Garrett pinned a glower into his friend. “You want to get Rayna off that express boat for Bangkok or not?”
Zeke’s face instantly fell. Garrett realized, too late, that his galloping temper had pulled out one too many stones in Morticia’s castle walls. Luna’s snap at Z confirmed it.
“Who’s Rayna?”
Z’s lips flattened. “Just a woman I’ve been watching over for work. Don’t ask me anything more, Luna. You know I can’t talk about my job.”
She nodded fast. The line clearly wasn’t new to her, and neither was the pained glimmer in her eyes because of it. “And now this ‘just a woman’ is in trouble, thanks to the van I wrapped today.”
“Yes.” Zeke brought his hands up and wrapped them around hers. Just that motion seemed to push some button in Luna. The woman gazed up at his friend like CNN just informed the planet that the universe revolved around Zeke Hayes. Z reacted by stepping closer to her, his posture filled with determination. Garrett released a quiet but admiring breath. Z just earned a shitload of check marks on the steel balls rating sheet. To endure that crazy stalker glint in Luna’s eyes in hopes she spilled a couple of scumbags’ names to him…that took fucking fortitude. It also served as crystal clear proof of what Rayna had started to mean to the man.
Unfortunately, Garrett wasn’t the only one to recognize that.
“You like her.” Luna’s words were smoky rasps, burned at the edges with accusation. “Don’t you, Z? You like her a lot.”
Zeke weighed the question for a long moment. Though the canyons of his face changed little, storm clouds of conflict raced across them.
At last, he replied, “Yeah, baby girl. I do.”
Luna nodded again. Her move lacked confidence this time. She shifted on her high-heeled boots, making Garrett marvel for a second. How she didn’t fall on her face in those things was beyond his mental scope. Another surprise: how the hell she managed to get her hands stuffed into her back pockets after pulling them from Z’s grasp. The leggings looked like another custom cling vinyl job.
“Is he being straight up?” She nodded in Garrett’s direction. “Is her life really at stake?”
“If that boat they’ve got her on leaves American waters, then yes.” He watched Z’s shoulders slump from that. He couldn’t remember ever seeing his friend so vulnerable. “She won’t be dead, but she’ll wish she was.”
Luna absorbed that with an impassive expression. But she kept up that balance-changing thing, which made Garrett as nervous as watching a tightrope walker. If she fell and split her head, they’d be way the hell up Shit Creek. It was reassuring to see Wyatt eyeing her with the same trepidation.
He planted his feet and shoved down his anxiety. The faster Morticia processed this, the better. He saw that deep inside the gothic pain slut exterior, Luna seemed to have a heart. The trouble was, it clearly yearned for Zeke’s in return.
At last, Luna snapped her chin at Z. The new look on her face made Garrett want to grab his friend and yank him back, just in case the woman was secretly packing a blade or another pair of those handcuffs. Likely both. Was it possible for a woman to simultaneously want a guy’s heart on a plate and his dick between her thighs?
Her lips twisted with determination. “If I give you the names, I want something in return.”
Zeke responded to that with a soft laugh, though there wasn’t a thread of humor in the sound. After another moment, he nodded slowly back at her. “I bet you do.”
One side of her generous mouth curled up. “So we have a deal?”
Zeke faced off to the woman, staring at her like a convicted man in front of an electric chair. “Yeah, baby girl. We have a deal.”
Luna lifted the other end of her mouth just before wrapping her arms around Z’s neck and pulling him down for a long, lingering lip-lock. “You want to use whips or floggers?”
“Doesn’t matter.” Zeke’s voice matched the brutal jerks he used to get away from her. “You know I’m going to open you up with either.”
She ran both hands up her thighs, as if to spread out the heat from her delighted shiver. “Yes, Sir!”
“The names, Luna. Now.”
Five minutes later, the three of them threw their asses back into Garrett’s truck. Wyatt had barely closed his door before Garrett peeled away from the curb. Z was already on the line to Franzen, requesting every shred of information on the tampon van boys that the Feds could get their hands on.
“Cut a right ahead,” Z ordered him. “I have a buddy down the street who’ll let us use his place until we spin up a plan for catching up with those cocksuckers.”
“Check,” Garrett said before whipping the truck onto Harrison. After setting the course straight, he glanced over at his friend. “Did you just agree to what I think you did?”
“Yes,” Z snapped. “And if you mention it again, I’ll turn your balls into shark chum.” The guy checked his phone for an update from Franz. His punch against the dashboard relayed the negative result. “Let’s just get our shit together and find our women before it’s too fucking late.”
Chapter Sixteen
“Eat!”
Sage looked up at the guy who spat the order at her and slipped him a curious stare. The kid needed a haircut and a shave. Hell, he needed to be out enjoying his summer break, or flipping burgers so he could take his girl out this weekend. What the crap was he doing with a SIG P238 shoved in her face, wearing a glower that belonged on an asshole three times his age? And more importantly, why did she care?
Because her mind, now as drained as her body, was finally giving in to anguish.
Yeah, the pom poms were unraveling. Her desperate efforts to keep them glued together were failing with every passing minute. She felt her spirit paying the price, standing in a pile of torn hopes, shattered courage, and the stabbing shards of one undeniable truth.
The night had come. The guys hadn’t. The morning had come. The guys still hadn’t.
Now, this goon-in-training was trying to tell her that refusing a roast beef sandwich was going to earn her a bullet in the skull. Seriously?
“Sage.” Josie’s voice came at her ear, still not wavering from its plane of reassuring calm. The woman had either popped a bottle of Quaaludes yesterday in place of tasting wine with them or she had nerves molded of steel. “You need to eat, sweetie. You didn’t have any breakfast.”
Sage stared back up at the gun. The hollow hole might as well have been a mirror. She felt just as black and empty. Fate had finally gotten her home, finally with Garrett again, and she’d wasted every second of the blessing. She’d spent the time playing head games with him, being so impatient to “fix” him, that she’d missed the most important part of finding him again…of being a real submissive to him.
She’d never just loved him.
“Sage.” Josie’s prompt was more urgent in her ear. “Come on. A few bites. Keep up your strength. It’s actually not bad. Look, they even included dessert.”
“That’s not dessert.” Rayna grimaced into her chocolate pudding.
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“Eat it!” The kid jabbed the SIG at her again.
Josie grabbed her wrist and squeezed. “Sage.”
She turned her weary smile at the woman. Josie’s optimism was amusing. And heartbreaking. “He’s not going to shoot me, Jo. He’s not going to shoot anyone. They just want us healthy and rosy when we get to Bangkok.” She dipped her gaze back to her feet. “Bony slaves don’t sell as well as plump ones.”
She felt Josie’s head-to-toe tremor. But the woman spat, stronger than ever, “That’s not going to happen.”
Sage looked away, feeling her soul split down the middle. One side yearned to keep riding the rah-rah bandwagon with Josie, refusing to believe that every passing minute dragged them closer to the fate none of them would speak about. The other half screamed at her to get a clue, to wake up and smell the whole kettle of coffee before dumping its scalding truth over her head. Maybe then, the burns would sink in. The pain became part of her again. It was less torture once you got used to it. She had to believe that. She had believed that, back in those days when sorrow was normal and hope a luxury. It had only been a couple of weeks since she’d left that darkness behind. Surely it couldn’t be that hard to acclimate to it all again.
Who the hell was she kidding?
She closed her eyes, wondering if she could dare remembering Heaven one more time. But there was no way she couldn’t. As soon as the word bloomed in her mind, Garrett did, too.
My heart. She felt the warmth of his murmur down her neck, and rejoiced in the wings that opened in her heart in answer.
My hero. She heard the whisper as if she gave it to him once more, and watched those sensual angles of his lips spread into a brilliant smile. His gaze ignited with that blue fire that adored her, desired her, claimed her. Hers. He was forever hers in their warm, wonderful paradise…
Until reality smashed a boot to her backside again.
Her gaze was jolted open to the view of Junior as he lowered his foot, his face fixed in a vicious leer. He maintained his proximity, so his crotch took up at last half her view. “Eat your lunch, slut, or I’ll give your mouth something else to do.”