by Burke, Lynn
“All guests are in the parlor with their host. Two guards manning the parlor archway. Two at the front door. One in the security office. All three drivers waiting in the cars. Two on roof. Two out back. One by the basement entrance, one in the basement hallway.”
I glanced at the three men with me.
Ryker gave me a clipped nod which the other two mirrored.
“Now, Devil,” I said into my mic, having waited long enough.
“And... Done,” he replied, but I’d already started stalking forward, gun up and aimed, knowing he’d knock the cameras out before I entered sight of one.
A silent pop dropped the gate guard and not one ounce of remorse hit me at the life I’d ended. I rushed forward as Klingon gave his men the order to block off the driveway with the two vans they sat in a block away.
The uphill sprint winded the men with me, but hours spent in the dojo and my attached gym kept me from fatigue. One guard on the veranda’s side closest to us turned and walked back the way he’d come—none the wiser. They obviously hadn’t gotten word the cameras had gone offline.
I headed for the basement garage door and entrance straight ahead of us, Ryker on my heels, as Klingon and his sniper slipped into the back gardens.
Another round from my gun put down the guard by the door, his cigarette falling to the pavement alongside his slack face.
Adrenaline rushed through my system as I stepped over the puddle of blood running beneath his head.
“Devil?” I whispered into my mic.
“I’ve got you on the feed coming straight through to me. Garage is empty. Guard still in hallway leading to the women.”
I tried the door and found it unlocked. Ryker and I slipped inside silently, moving quickly past the two black Chevy cargo vans parked inside—one bearing the license plate of Santiago. One less fucker to track down...
“Roof guards down,” Klingon’s sniper whispered in my ear.
“Veranda guards down,” Klingon added seconds later.
“Driveway blocked—we’re heading in,” his VP stated.
Show time.
The interior door also turned beneath my gentle touch. One step in, gun at the ready, and the guard ahead of me turned—with a near silent pop, I put a bullet between his eyes before he could blink.
Santiago, I noted, taking a closer look while stepping past him. Fucker deserved worse for snatching my woman off the street, but I didn’t have time to carve out his heart and slice off his balls.
We moved past the basement room housing the other women—the Vegas Vipers would care for them once we cleared the house.
I took the stairs two at a time, knowing I’d come out in the kitchen. While I could have taken the back hall into what led to the room where the three women were, I had personal business to attend to before retrieving my woman.
The man responsible for taking her was about to meet his maker—and I would be the one to send him to hell—after taking down every mother fucking guard and other sick bastard in my path.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Giada
“Aline, step forward.”
I recognized the voice of our gracious host coming through overhead speakers. My friend obeyed, her entire body shaking like a leaf, one hand covering her breasts, one the apex of her thighs.
“Remove your hands and turn in a circle.”
She didn’t move.
“Aline.” His voice hinted at displeasure.
“Do it,” I whispered fiercely at her.
Still, she didn’t turn.
Buffalo Boy strode toward her, yanked her arms behind her back hard enough she gasped and arched, jutting her breasts out for the pervs on the other side of the one-way.
Silence descended, Aline’s whimpers and Dianna’s heavy breaths in my ears.
“Dianna, step forward,” the voice said, and Buffalo Boy released his hold on Aline.
Dianna obeyed, her head down while doing as told. She dug her fingernails into her thighs, trickling blood over her pale skin.
“Turn.”
She turned.
“Bend over.”
A sob sounded—but Dianne bent halfway.
“Touch your toes.”
Tears dripped onto the wooden floor as she bent, her bloodied fingertips touching her toes putting every inch between her thighs on display.
More silence from the mirror, and I fought to keep my chin lifted as my two companions cried.
“Giada, step forward,” the sick squirrel stated as though bored.
I moved toward the one-way, stuck my tits out like a regal queen, looking down my nose at whoever leered at me through the dark glass, waiting for the command to bear my asshole and pussy to those wishing to own me.
The seconds ticked past. No one moved, no one spoke.
I forced myself to breathe in to the count of eight and back out even though my insides quaked.
I am strong. I am badass....
No command came for me to turn or bend—a door opened to our left. Asshole host entered with three men on his heels.
The first gripped Dianna’s arm and drug her kicking and screaming from the room.
I swallowed hard, but didn’t move.
The second moved past me, a sneer on his face, licking his lips as he went for Aline. She went a bit more willingly, but her sobs ripped at my heart.
My fucking fault...
Asshole squirrel stood back by the doorway, motioning the man with his prize out past him.
I finally turned my focus fully on the third man studying me from his position to the asshole’s right.
Black hair slicked back into a ponytail. Dark eyes, dead like a sharks, flitted down over me and back up, but without a trace of lust.
My stomach twisted, gurgling that damn alfredo I’d enjoyed as my new master—who else could he be—slowly smiled, a grotesque scar at the corner of his mouth twisting his lips into more of a sneer.
“Do you know who I am, princess?”
I glanced down over his Armani suit and the shiny shoes on his feet. Manicured hands, I noted on my perusal back upward. Cleanly shaven like the asshole squirrel—but a good foot taller.
“I’m afraid not,” I finally said, forcing myself to hold his scary as fuck gaze even though my insides quivered.
He chuckled, and I swallowed rising bile as he drew nearer to graze my cheek with the back of his knuckles.
My damn knees shook, and even though I lifted my chin in defiance, my body betrayed the fear digging its claws into my head.
He’s going to rape me. Own me. Pass me around to his friends like a goddamn piece of cake for all to enjoy—
A shout sounded, and my owner jerked his head around toward the asshole.
I kneed him in the balls without thought, driving every ounce of energy I had into the thrust forward, grabbing his shoulders as he involuntarily caved inward—and I kneed again.
He shrieked like a little girl as the asshole jolted in my periphery.
A scream from outside the room sounded.
A shot.
Higher screams—then silence.
Buffalo Boy stood in the doorway facing outward, gun raised.
The asshole quivered behind the door.
I spun to dive out the door we’d entered through—and another shot sounded, pulling a scream from my lips as I jumped sideways.
Buffalo Boy fell backward like a freshly cut tree, lifeless, his chest a bloody mess.
Logan.
My breath left in a rush as he stepped into the doorway, gun at the ready in one hand, a bloody knife in the other, his pale eyes glacial as they flicked at me then to the man at my feet.
He scowled and took a step into the room, gun swinging to his right as though he knew without looking the asshole cowered there.
One muffled shot and the asshole slumped against the wall, a hole in his forehead.
A sob ripped from me, and I clasped my hands over my mouth, watching as Logan approached my would-be master.
“You.” He spat on the man as though he knew him personally. “On your fucking feet!”
A bearded man I recognized from Cristian’s grave side service appeared in the doorway, his glance quickly taking in the scene as the bright lights glinted off his sweat-covered shaved head. He, too, scowled at the man on the floor.
“Mother fucking cunt!” He rushed forward, pulling a big ass knife from his hip, but Logan put out his arm, stopping his friend.
“He’s mine.”
Dead Eyes pushed to a stand, still gasping and holding his balls—I hoped I’d crushed the fucking things.
“Stone. Ryker,” he coughed out.
Both Vipers smiled, and shivers licked down my spine as they tucked their guns away.
I stepped back—giving them a wide berth since their eyes and their vicious looking blades promised death even though the man had greeted them by name.
“I’m sure we can come to an agreement.” The man raised his hands, his dead eyes not so dead anymore.
My focus jerked between him and Logan who slowly moved forward, spinning the jagged-edged knife between his fingers. “Your days of dealing are over, Arturo.”
Arturo...
A flicker of awareness shot through my brain.
Columbian cartel leader.
Father’s campaign—the death threats.
“Oh God.” I stumbled back another step, my focus on Logan who didn’t spare me a glance.
He stood nose to nose with Arturo, his fisted knife arching to the side like he planned to throw a right hook.
“For Shaun,” he whispered and slammed the blade buried deep in Arturo’s side. Logan yanked it back out and flipped it to his left.
“For Warden,” he stated a little louder, stabbing into his other side.
“And this, you sick son of a bitch—” Logan grasped Arturo’s ponytail and yanked it backward, lifting his head “—is for even thinking about touching my woman.”
A flash of the blade, and blood spurted from Arturo’s neck as their gazes remained locked.
Gurgles sounded, and I stared in a fog, unable to think, unable to move, my ears beginning to ring.
Logan loosened his hold and Arturo crumpled at his feet. He turned toward me, the knife dripping blood at his side. His eyes cleared—and the pain, the longing, the fucking need slammed into my gut, keeping me from slumping over like a damn wimp.
I lurched toward him with a cry, stumbling in my haste.
He caught me against him with one arm, and I wrapped my body around his, needing to be closer.
The knife clattered to the floor, and I buried my face in his neck, the strength of his arms holding me tight, the scent of his sweat, his musk, flooding over me.
“I’ve got you, baby. Fuck, I’ve got you,” Logan said, his voice breaking as sobs ripped from my chest.
Safe.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Stone
Someone threw a blanket around Giada, tucking it between our bodies to cover her nakedness as she clung to me like a leech.
I strode out into the parlor area and straight through to the arches as she sobbed against me, her hands grasping and her legs a vise around my waist. One arm under her ass, the other across her back, I continued right out the front door, bypassing Klingon and his Vipers who offered nods.
Volkov’s guards and the would-be buyers sprawled all over the fucking place. The three drivers rested their heads against the driver seats, bullet holes between each set of eyes.
A van sat beyond, just inside the gate, the engine running.
Klingon’s VP yanked open the side door for me as I approached, and I climbed into the far back seat, hidden by dark-tinted windows.
Settling onto the back seat, I shifted Giada away enough I could see her face in the dim interior light, the blanket sagging around her waist.
“Did he touch you?” I rasped, barely keeping hold of my emotions as kill mode adrenaline began to fade.
She shook her head, her eyes so damn green—like spring grass after a summer rain, tears clinging to her black lashes.
So goddamn gorgeous.
“I’m never letting you go, Giada. You belong to me—you understand?”
Another tear slid down her cheek as the interior lights began to fade and I tangled my hand in her hair and jerked her back against me, taking her mouth with bruising force, groaning as my dick swelled between us. Unable to be gentle, I soaked in her scent, her breath, trying to take her so far inside myself she’d never be free of me.
I had feared being distracted from what I needed to do when I finally moved into the only room the Vipers who’d stormed the front hadn’t cleared. Even though Giada snagged my focus first, I didn’t let her down. I’d turned to what needed to be taken care of without a thought—on instincts Pop’s voice would never hinder ever again.
One bullet put down the fucker who’d thought to sell my woman.
My knife had brought the revenge desired by my brother and Shaun. It had been my pleasure to watch the life fade from Arturo’s eyes mere inches from mine. My first kill with a knife—I’m sure I’d made Ryker proud, but once the threat had fallen, I’d been consumed with Giada.
The terror on her face, her wide eyes welling with tears... Ripped my heart to fucking shreds, but I knew she would be the one to put it back together—even if she hadn’t agreed she belonged to me.
The salt of her tears laced our kiss, but she didn’t pull away, didn’t shy from my rough taking of her mouth.
“Need you,” she whispered as I bit and kissed my way along her jaw, her hands shoving between us to grasp me.
Fuck, yes.
The adrenaline I’d been riding high on ebbed, yet a sense of urgency, of need beyond anything I’d felt before swept into its place. Uncaring of where we were, who stood outside the van’s doors, I allowed her to free my dick.
I shuddered, holding her tight to my chest as she lowered her trembling body onto my hard length. She wasn’t ready for me, but my stubborn girl worked herself downward with jerking shifts of her hips.
She whimpered when I finally bottomed out against her cervix, and I claimed her mouth once more, more than just her tears coating our lips.
It wasn’t pretty—wasn’t quiet or slow. The van moved beneath us, and when she shuddered, her pussy a tight satin glove milking me, I went off with a groan, every spurt of cum filling her, marking her.
Claiming her.
We didn’t move, didn’t speak for what seemed days, but in reality only long enough for Ryker and a handful of the Vegas Vipers climbed into the van. No one turned to look at us, and the driver simply pulled out of the driveway as I held my woman against me.
I didn’t bother with a backward glance either.
****
Giada slept curled on her side, one hand beneath her cheek, her lips parted on soft exhales that moved the few strands of hair hanging over her face.
I gently tucked them back, but she didn’t stir.
We’d arrived back at the Viper’s club, shut away in the room Klingon had offered me and Ryker a few days earlier. I’d washed her in the small shower we shared, cleaning every trace of that goddamn time off her wilted body before ridding my own body of evidence of my ruthless killing spree.
She’d collapsed onto the bed, and I stayed beside her like she’d asked, ever vigilant even though the club promised safety.
Klingon had a cleaning crew assigned to take care of the mess we’d made. The bodies would be disposed of, the limos and cargo vans dismantled at his chop shop. The house itself would be sent up in flames—if it hadn’t already been.
As for the other women—the two who’d been with Giada and the handful of others in the basement—Klingon offered to take care of that mess.
I had no personal interest in knowing his plans, so didn’t ask. Giada, I expected, would want to know what happened to them, but until she asked, I decided to let it lie. Although I’d expected guilt or at least shame to hit me in the
aftermath of the mess I’d made, no trace of either fucked with my head.
My cell buzzed in my pocket. They were ready for me.
Sure that she slept, I slipped out into the hallway and made my way to the back door to Klingon’s office. His officers and Ryker already sat at the table, a laptop opened in front of the only empty chair.
“Have a seat,” Klingon said.
I rounded the table—and found Warden and Vigil filling the laptop’s screen.
“Klingon said you got her,” Vigil said.
I sank into the chair and nodded.
“Arturo?” Warden asked.
“I made sure he knew who was sending him to the pit of hell,” I said, my voice still scratchy from emotion.
“Tell us how it went down,” Vigil said, “then you go back to your old lady while I talk to Klingon again.”
I didn’t lavish the story since I knew Ryker would once we got home. Sticking to the facts, I told him in my own words what I expected Klingon already had.
Vigil nodded when I finished. “Get some rest then get your asses home.”
“Will do.” I stood and strode back the way I’d come in, hating I’d let Giada out of my sight for even ten minutes.
She stirred when I shut the bedroom door behind me, her lashes fluttering before she focused on my face.
I pulled my t-shirt off, slipped off my shoes and jeans, and climbed under the comforter.
“Logan,” she whispered my name like a prayer as I wrapped her in my arms, her soft breasts against my chest, my leg between her thighs.
She peered at me, her eyes troubled. “I’m so sorry—I shouldn’t have taken off like that. It was stupid. A rash decision.”
“Shh.” I smoothed back her hair.
“Please tell me no one was hurt rescuing me.”
“A few scratches—nothing serious.”
She hefted out a heavy sigh. “My selfishness is going to end in tragedy one day. I’m so damn disappointed in myself—”
“Stop.” Acid burned my gut.
Her lips clamped shut, sleepy eyes blinking to wide at my harsh tone.
She hadn’t responded when I told her she belonged to me while in the van, and the need to shield myself from hurt raged in my head—but her emotions, her thoughts were more important to me than my fragile ego.