Guns For Angels

by Viviana MacKade

  “God knows I’d love to.”

  His eyes were as flat as his voice. “There’s nothing to celebrate. If they find what they want before we do, we’re in deep shit,” he said rising up until he towered over her. “I’m going out tonight, to her Club.”

  “No.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”

  “No, Mark. No. I’m not spending another second alone, scared to death for me and for you. I’m coming. Don’t even try—,” she stopped him when he opened his mouth. “I understand it’s dangerous, but she was my sister, and I told you I would help.”

  He bent until their eyes were leveled. “Not a chance in hell.”

  “Well, then I’ll wait for you to go and then call a cab.”

  “I’ll tie you to the bed.”

  “Try. But what if I get free? You’ll be distracted all the time by the thought and you don’t like being distracted, do you?”

  She should probably be concerned about her safety now, judging by his frown, the hot glare, the thinned lips and the deep voice. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  Ann smiled. “Try me.”

  “If something happens to you,” he hissed, “I will make you sorry. Grab some of Mary’s clothes.”

  He stomped to the door, leaving Ann the only chance to scramble after him. “Mark, I don’t have an ID.”

  “You’re hot, but you don’t look like you’re younger than twenty-one. We’ll be fine.”

  * * * * *

  Ann rolled onto her side. The clock on the nightstand said one forty-five pm, too early for how dark the room was.

  It wasn’t surprising; not even the high and mighty Floridian sun could break through those heavy, angry clouds that had come out of nowhere. Something clouded Ann’s mind, too, but what was in her head had different colors, brighter and happier. He thinks I’m hot.

  She sat, hugged her knees and stared at the man at the window, his profile as implacable as the sky.

  She should be ashamed that a thought so frivolous was so important. Or maybe it was proof that she was coping with the stress of the situation and the loss of her sister; maybe how Mark saw her would help her get over stress and loss; maybe it, he, was what she needed, like a glimmer of hope at the end of the dark tunnel she was walking through.

  Ann wasn’t into bad boys, yet she found her soul drawn to this one. She didn’t want to cure his darkness anymore, but wanted to learn it, be a part of it, make it her own. And, boy, he sure made her frisky with his honest roughness, growling, and the authority he oozed. She wanted those as much as the clumsy sweetness.

  Well, the horizon didn’t look good. He’d kissed her, but he’d pushed her away, afraid of losing control. She knew he wanted her, and yet he fought it.

  Ann crossed her legs, plopped her chin on her hand. She should forget about it, find another way to get rid of her sexual frustration. A sigh passed her lips. Yoga and meditation would help. It worked in the past, it could work again.

  “Are you all right?”

  His deep voice pierced her thoughts, and she cursed the familiar flush. No way he heard or guessed what she was thinking, right? Who cared if he had?

  “Sure, why?”

  “You’re quiet.”

  “I often am. I like quiet.”

  Mark frowned. “How come you live in New York?”

  “You don’t need to be on top of a mountain to find quiet. The quiet I need is more like a place in my mind.”

  “Are you in that place now?”

  She looked down at her hands for a moment, then at him again. “No.”

  He nodded, his eyes always on the street. “Why?”

  She waved at him theatrically. “Hello? Mary? People trying to kill us?” You. “And you were teasing me,” she stated when his mouth twisted up.

  “How do you go there, to that quiet place?”

  “I close my eyes and try to detach from what’s around me – memories, desires, pain. Only then I can see if they’re worth my energy or I have to let them go.”

  She remembered the first time Dawn had led her into this world of peace. She was a secretary then, and Dawn just a friend. The first time she’d felt the utter absence of emotions and saw her life clearly, she hadn’t wasted one more second: she got a diploma in massage therapy, quit her job, hired Dawn and created the Rainbow Center. Ann jumped when a crash of thunder shook the windows. Rain pounded on the window; Mark was perfectly still, a statue of granite only moved by breathing.

  She’d changed her life for good, embraced the quest for freedom – from space and time, from hurt and happiness. And there she was, lost, like the man that was teaching her so much.

  “Mark, do you trust me? No, don’t look at me. Tell me if you trust me.”

  His eyes bore into hers with guarded feelings. “It depends.”

  She left the bed, took his hand.

  He stiffened, but let her guide him in the center of the room. “Sit down on the floor. Cross your legs.”

  “Listen, I’m not made for this—”

  “Crap, I know, you told me,” she interrupted him with a harsh tone. “But we have nothing to do until later so humor me, please.”

  When she pushed him down, he seized her hand. “Don’t push me,” he said, so calm it sounded like a deadly threat.

  Ann wanted to stomp her feet on the floor, but instead she asked, “Please, sit down.”

  His jaw clenched, but he sat.

  She took place in front of him. “Close your eyes. Breathe.”

  “I was breathing already,” he grumbled.

  “Shut up.”

  Only the shadow of a smile on his lips kept her from punching him.

  When his breathing evened out, she guided him into the darkness in him that seduced her so much. “Keep the focus on your core. There’s a place of light inside you, a place of peace. Go there. Don’t think about it, find it and follow it.”

  His face was a map of the struggle between his mind and her order. She saw every subtle change in his features – the lines between the eyebrows as his scowl deepened, the grooves that bracketed his mouth hardened.

  Outside, the battle between sky and earth continued in flashing of lightning, the crashing of thunder, rain beating the windows and people running for shelter.

  He didn’t budge when a bolt jagged the sky and hammered nearby.

  Ann ached to touch him, to help him, but she had to let him be. She sat with him in silence as the clamor subsided, as the lines of worry eased from his face, the perpetual frown faded. He still had the hard look of a warrior, but it wasn’t as severe.

  In that moment of surrender, Ann felt something more than attraction, more than gratitude, something warm and glowing. She let it in, welcomed it.

  “Open your eyes slowly.”

  That warm glow he’d lit tugged at her when their eyes met.

  “Take off your shirt and lie down,” she invited, struggling to stay away from him.

  His deep voice cracked as peace flashed into hunger and heated his dark eyes. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “I’m a professional shiatsu therapist, Mark. I can wrap up a nice relaxing thirty minutes, if you want.”

  Was that what she wanted to do? Relax him? Or it was just an excuse to lay her hands on him? The answer was clear when the cotton slid off his body.

  The muscles on his torso, shoulders, arms, were enough to make her mouth water, all perfectly defined strength and tanned skin. She inhaled sharply, and silently thanked him for not remarking on it.

  When he lay down and closed his eyes, she had to admit that it was, indeed, a terrible idea. She really didn’t need this temptation.

  No, she chided herself. She would give him an impersonal, relaxing massage and that would be it. It was all about soothing and pacifying.

  With a sigh, she started on his head, running her fingers through thick, short dark hair as she worked her way along his scalp, then to the jaw she’d seen clenched so many times.

 
; She moved down to his shoulders, followed the steel of his long muscles along his arms to his hands, hands that could kill and soothe, hands that were merciless and sweet. Scars. So many scars on him – a long one on his left side, another was rounded and too close to his heart. An excess of tiny dots marked his abdomen.

  The world seemed to slow down as she brushed her fingers on those signs, wishing she could erase the memories that came with them.

  “Lay on your stomach,” she requested as a mean of distraction.

  Ann worked lovingly on the tension that stiffened the powerful beauty of his back, from his neck down to the taut lumbar area.

  She refused to go on any lower. His jeans weren’t thick enough to deprive her fingers of the feeling of him. She was ashamed because she was a professional, and sorry because he needed it, but fighting her lust was a physical effort that had her sweating, and it wasn’t pretty. There were lines a massage therapist didn’t cross.

  She cleared her throat. “All done,” she said, and sat at his side.

  When he sat, the roguish sleepiness, the lazy languor in his eyes choked her. Her fingers still tickled from touching his skin, and ached for more.

  When he reached for her face with his hand, her breath stopped in surprise as much as in anticipation. Her hand trembled when she stroked his arm, fighting hard not to pull him into her. He leaned forward. Her heart drummed in her ears but she stood still, afraid that any movement would break that fragile moment.

  Seconds stretched for an eternity and finally, his warm lips stroked hers. His grip tightened at the nape of her neck as she opened for him, as their tongue met and their breathing hastened.

  There was power in his touch, and there was tenderness. Ann felt both as her mind clouded, so much that his inching away was simply unthinkable.

  “I don’t know what I’m doing,” he whispered, his hand still in her hair.

  “Kissing me?” she said, enticing him with light touches of lips to his.

  He closed his eyes and shifted, brushing his cheek against her mouth. The stubble was raspy, the smell of him stronger. He groaned when she bit his neck. “You’re dangerous,” he said in a hoarse whisper.

  “I hardly think so.”

  But he took a long breath, gritted his teeth and eased away, breaking the contact. “You make me forget who I am,” he accused softly. “I can’t let it happen. If they’d broken in a moment ago, I probably wouldn’t have heard them.”

  “You’re scared,” she accused, wedging her hands under her legs so she wouldn’t reach for him.

  “That, I am, and I don’t like it. I can’t handle you and them at the same time.”

  Ann saw it clearly in his eyes. Yes, they were in danger, but what terrified him the most was the steady loss of control over his heart, the bright shadow of new hopes, the gleam of different tomorrows.

  “I think you can.”

  His face was sad when he shook his head. “I can’t risk it.”

  Pushing would only make him fight harder, so Ann forced a smiled out. “You’re right. We can’t risk being caught off guard.” She unfolded her legs, stood hoping her legs would hold her. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to take a cold shower.”

  “Don’t be long. I need one, too.

  Chapter 11

  Mark never got tired of a Floridian night after a storm. The moon glowed, the stars seemed to shine brighter and closer to the ocean. City lights spoiled that view, but it was still a hell of a show.

  Wishing to have some time to enjoy the night, Mark brought his eyes back on the street, but concentration eluded him.

  He scratched away a dry smear of blood from his chin, where he’d shaved too hard after taking his cold shower.

  The bags they kept in the safe houses were stuffed with clothes for many needs, from fresh underwear and jeans to a suit – what he was wearing now. A damn suit for the damn club.

  From what Ann had told him, Mary’s club had a strict dress code: evening wear for all attendees. He would see what that meant for Ann in a little while, but for him it meant wearing black slacks, a dress shirt, and a tie. He scowled and tugged hard at the knot around his neck, hating how uncomfortable he felt and wishing he was back in his jeans and t-shirt.

  Sitting at the window, he heard Ann’s occasional words as she got ready – apparently, she didn’t like makeup one bit. It was so domestic, waiting for her and taking her out for a drink. For a second, Mark indulged in the fantasy, but soon reality called.

  Usually, for an operation like this, Snake would be at his side while Falcon and his M-40 would keep an eye on them from the roof of the building facing the club. In fact, probably none of them would have had to go in at all. Mouse would have hacked the security system and use it to see what happened inside the club from his computer. Ann wouldn’t be with them but safely waiting with the Boss, as far away from danger as possible.

  Mark’s jaw tightened. So many things could go wrong with just the two of them.

  For instance, he had to leave his weapon at the hotel. If they checked him at the entrance, they’d find the gun at his waist, and he wouldn’t risk doing anything to draw attention to himself. The last thing he needed was the police showing up and exposing them, and the whole operation, to the public eye.

  Then, the bastards might keep an eye on the place. If they tried to attack or hurt Ann, they’d better be an army because he wouldn’t go down quietly. Trouble was, as she’d said, he wasn’t bulletproof.

  He should tie her up, leave her here in the room where she’d be safe.

  Mark snorted and shook his head. Knowing how damned stubborn and persistent she could be, he wouldn’t put it past her to find a way to get free, call a cab, and stroll into the club like she was walking into a church on Sunday morning.

  “I’m ready,” she said, walking out from the bathroom.

  When Mark turned and saw her, bored annoyance knitted his brow. Of course she’s that hot.

  The simple blue dress was sleeveless and short, glossy satin kissing ivory skin. Her golden hair brushed the tempting curve of her shoulders.

  Mark was ready to plead insanity, forget about the team, Mary, Mouse and company, grab Ann and vanish. Cuba was close and conveniently under embargo, so it would be difficult to find them there. Mexico would do, too. She’d have to dye that blond hair of hers, but it was a small price to pay for freedom.

  He snapped his jaw closed, stiffening as the venomous sting of anger bit him hard. See? This was exactly why he couldn’t take what she offered, because every time she did so much as breathe near him, he let his guard down and turned into a babbling idiot.

  And all he’d done was kiss her. If he slept with her, who knew? She might infect him with her peaceful rainbow, her trusting attitude, and they’d be screwed.

  Hell no. He’d keep his dick in his pants and his head on his neck. Enough with this nonsense. He was a soldier, and a soldier stayed focused. Period.

  “Let’s go,” he growled. He took the car keys and left the room without a second glance in her direction.

  * * * * *

  The club was a tomb of neon lights gliding along the purple spectrum. The deep pulse of electronic music deafened Mark and boomed into his chest. Two girls had central stage, covered in lingerie that looked like fishing lines. The redhead with glitter all over her face worked a pole while her masked colleague rolled sinuously at the edge of the stage. An audience of hungry men and curious women looked up with bills in their hands.

  Mark pulled Ann closer. She shouldn’t have been there.

  Strobe lights, with their constant flickering, made scanning the throng a nightmare.

  His hair stood up as he sensed someone’s stare on them, his heart drumming the fast rhythm of danger he knew well.

  A man sitting alone on a barstool had a swelling under his jacket that looked a lot like a gun; a woman in her fifties winked at Ann with heavy-lidded eyes; in the ten minutes since they’d walked in, he had to fight off the temptation to pu
nch two men who’d asked Ann to dance. Instead, he’d drawn himself up to his full height, fixed them with a glare and a frown, and watched them back away with stuttered apologies.

  With Ann’s hand in his iron grip, he elbowed their way through painted faces, overexposed skin and swaying bodies until he found two seats at a small coffee table.

  Odd, Mark thought, that so few people were in that area despite the free tables and chairs. True, it was in the shade and away from the main stage and action, hidden underneath a staircase that, Mark guessed, led to the office.

  After a couple of minutes, two couples sat at a nearby table.

  The women held tall cocktail glasses as they carried an excited debate, leaning their head close together to defeat the music. The men weren’t talking, but the flicker of dark expectation, the clear lust as they looked at their women, compelled Mark to drag Ann closer.

  At midnight, the music faded into the loud ringing of a bell. Mark tensed, held his breath as he counted the clangs, twelve in all. When the heavy bass thumped again through the club’s speakers, he relaxed a little.

  Soon, other people gathered in their area, mostly men and dangerously sophisticated. Cuff-links shone in the stroboscopic lights as they hovered around – a peek at the expensive watch, a dry sip on the glass, a furtive stare to the stairs.

  What the hell were they waiting for?

  Mark leaned toward Ann when she pulled at his arm. “I need to go to the ladies’ room!” she screamed in his ear.

  He mouthed a No and went back to his observation.

  Her lips pressed together in irritation. “Am I supposed to do it here? Come on, the restroom’s just there.”

  He opened his mouth to repeat his order to say put, but she’d already strolled away, leaving him with nothing to do but follow her until she disappeared into the women restroom. He fought the need to smash his fist on the table, took a deep breath and swore he’d bring handcuffs, next time.

  Meanwhile, a third couple had joined the two at the table that had caught Mark’s eye before.

  Did Mark imagine the brush of wrong hands? He would have sworn the blond came in with the tanned guy, but she was now brushing the arm of the other guy. They left in the same perfect harmony of a school of fish.