When he tugs my head back this time and leans over me, forcing me to look at him, he all but yanks the hair from my scalp. “You are mine, and so is the necklace.” He kisses me, and it’s all I can do not to bite his damn tongue off. But he bites me instead, damn near taking a chunk of my lip, his teeth creating a sharp, intense pain that radiates into my jaw and leaves me oozing blood I cannot wipe away.
He kneels in front of me, spreading my legs and resting his hands on my thighs. “Your father knew where it was, and he wouldn’t tell me either.”
“What does that mean?” I demand, the mention of my father like another bite that radiates through me and becomes a ball of unnamed emotions in my chest.
“He had the necklace, like you do. He was undercover in my father’s operation, and his boss, now your figurehead of a boss, stole the necklace from him. And like you, your father refused to return it to my father. Only your boss, your father’s old partner, was working with me, about to hand that necklace over, when your father intervened and took it. At that point France and Italy were ruled by Niccolo’s mother and my father, who’d married. That necklace was key to my plan to take over the empire when I killed them.”
“You say that like killing your parents is nothing.”
“They were nothing,” he says. “And why, you might ask, do I feel that way? None of your fucking business. What matters is that I waited years for that necklace to show up in order to act on my plans. Years of nothing, in which I had to share the power with Niccolo and turn to you for a solution.”
“I was never a solution. I knew nothing about the necklace.”
“But I knew your father had trained you all your life. I knew if anyone could find that necklace, it was you.”
My world starts to spin.
“I created your covert team,” he continues. “You aren’t really CIA, though even the agency has whispers of your secret unit. It’s really quite comical. I paid for your college education. I paid for your training. I made sure you questioned your father’s death and had the skills to figure out where the necklace was, and finally you gave it to me. Dane Owen Daniels, ‘DOD,’ was the link, an old friend of your father’s who helped him hide the necklace. But we didn’t know who he was until you gave us a way to find him and the necklace.”
My gut knots with my stupidity, for allowing myself to be a token in a game my father lost, and which I am close to losing as well. “And then you had me transport it across the border.”
“It seemed profoundly appropriate. If you fucked it up and got caught, you’d be the thief. I made you. I erased you. I even killed your ‘boss’ at the fictitious CIA operation when I brought you here, to ensure no one could track you. So you see, you work for me. You’ve always worked for me. You belong to me. And you will bring me the necklace.”
“Did you—”
“Order the murder of your father? Of course I did. My only regret,” he adds, his hands sliding up my thighs, “is that I didn’t keep him alive and force him to watch me fuck his beautiful daughter.” His thumbs are now stroking my inner thighs just below my sex, and it is all I can do not to lean forward and smash my head against his, kick him away, and finally live out that fantasy of snapping his neck.
I’m trembling, visualizing that fantasy, and he laughs, low and dirty, a sound that crawls over my skin like slimy, disgusting worms. “I should force you to have an orgasm right now,” he says, “just to prove I can despite all the hate you’re throwing my way, but that would be a pleasure you don’t deserve right now. Instead, you get to spend the rest of the trip thinking about what I’m going to do to you. How many ways I’m going to fuck you when we’re alone.”
I decide I’m done playing submissive with this man. The game starts and ends tonight. “I’m going to kill you,” I promise him.
“I hope for Sara’s sake you don’t,” he says, “because I might not survive to enjoy you, but then, neither would she survive another day.” He squeezes my legs, thumbs digging into my flesh with brutal force. “Keep them open.”
He backs up and sits in his seat, pulling out his phone and snapping a picture. “When the time is right, when I can send this without him tracking our location, Kayden is going to enjoy that one, I think, don’t you?”
I don’t focus on the horrific knowledge that at some point he’s sending that shot to Kayden. I focus on the one positive confirmation he’s given me. Kayden is alive; be it by design or not, Kayden survived Gallo. But Neuville can’t let him live. Not after he defied Evil Eye. He’s setting Kayden up, planning to kill him, and no doubt thinks he has some plan to justify it and escape retaliation. That picture is bait and we’re headed to Paris. Where Sara is right now. But more so, in that moment, I remember everything. I know why I was blocking the location of the necklace, and my hiding place is both brilliant and almost sadistic on my part, when I think about it now.
It’s in his house. I hid it in his house, and some part of me couldn’t bear the idea of ever stepping foot in that place again.
eighteen
sara
Saturday, the evening of the Louvre charity event
I know I should have some profound words to write tonight. That’s what kept me reading Rebecca’s journal after I found it. I hung on every word. Everything felt impactful. For me, though, it feels rather simple. These days, after so much tragedy has swept our lives, I’ve been working on that. Simple. Keeping it simple. I’m not sure it’s working. I mean, I’m in love with Chris Merit. There is nothing simple about that man. But here’s simple tonight:
1) Yes. Ella could still be in danger, but she is safe with a man who seems to care about her. I know from personal experience that one thing, one very special person, changes everything.
2) Yes. Garner Neuville is looking for Ella, but we’ve known this and it sounds like his operation is about to be taken down. We don’t have details, just that after this weekend, he won’t be a problem. Then I can hug Ella in person.
3) Yes. The extra security tonight for the charity event, just in case Neuville suddenly targets me, is unsettling, but why would he target me now after months of ignoring me? And even if he did, we’ve taken very serious precautions. Not only is Blake Walker here, but so is Jacob. And Jacob might be part of Walker Security now, but he was security for Chris’s building back home, and then for us, before he even knew the Walkers.
So that’s my version of simple. The not-so-simple part of all of this is how Chris is affected by the idea of me being in danger. Especially considering we’re fresh off the loss of his ex right here in Paris, which is why it’s time for me to go be with him. More later . . .
I shut the journal and stand up, giving my silver knee-length a quick once-over, smiling at the idea of walking downstairs and showing it to Chris. I picked it for Chris, because he’s been all about silver on his canvas lately, and it seems I’m always his canvas lately. The idea has me smiling through tiny splintery nerves I can’t show. If I’m nervous Chris will be a hundred times more on edge, and as it is, he only tolerates public events for one reason: to help the kids and families dealing with the tragedy of cancer.
I slip the strap of the heart-shaped jeweled purse I bought for the night over my shoulder and head for the door, hurrying down the hallway. Reaching the top of the stairs, I find Blake and Chris standing at the base, both incredibly sexy in tuxedos. As I start down the stairs both men turn toward me and Blake, who is tall, dark, and hopefully deadly if we need him to be, waves and heads toward the garage. Chris, my blond, hot artist, simply watches me walk down the stairs, and I swear I will never get over the impact of this man looking at me like there’s nothing else in the world but me, and us.
The moment I’m in front of him, his hands settle at my waist, branding me, owning me.
“I love this dress on you, but it’s going to make me spend the night thinking of how to get you out of it.”
&n
bsp; My lips curve, warmth radiating through me. “I love you in the tuxedo,” I say, my hands flattening on his lapels, “even if you hate them. But there’s something about knowing your dragon sleeve is underneath it that drives me a little wild.”
Those green eyes of his burn with amber flecks. “Show me tonight.”
“I will,” I promise, smiling, my hand brushing his scruffy jaw. “The rebel in you just won’t shave for these events. It’s like you want to remind them you’re not this guy.”
“We’re ready now.”
I turn to find Blake motioning us forward, and we head downstairs to our private garage. It’s not long before we’ve ignored the two Porsche 911s and are loaded in the back of a black, nondescript sedan, with Jacob in the driver’s seat. “Hi, Jacob,” I say. “We got you in a tuxedo too, I see.”
“You did,” he says, glancing over his shoulder, his brown hair trimmed to his scalp. “It appears,” he says dryly, “that Paris isn’t romantic after all.”
“I take it you enjoy a monkey suit as much as I do.” Chris laughs.
“It’s obligation, never choice,” he says. “But you two are good obligations.”
“Well,” I say, “I assure you that plenty of women are going to think you are their perfect romance tonight.”
“Let’s roll,” Blake says, climbing in the front seat and looking at us. “Kayden has three of his men inside the event and three on the exterior, backing us up. Our tech guy’s already hacked the security feed and is watching from a not-so-remote location. There’s not a reason you two can’t enjoy your night.”
“We appreciate all you and your team are doing,” Chris assures him, his hand sliding to my bare knee.
“You just go make some money for some sick kids,” Blake says. “Always a cause we want to help with.”
“Amen to that,” Jacob says, and we are officially moving. But as everyone focuses on our travels, the mood shifts, almost as if we have some odd sense of wrong tunneling into the center of everything being right. Not even Chris’s hand on my bare knee warms me where I’ve suddenly become chilled.
This event is being attended by politicians, actors and actresses, and high-profile businesspeople, but Chris is a rock star in the art world, and the minute we step out of the car cameras are flashing. This part of the event is Chris’s least favorite, but once we’re inside, with the towering glass ceilings and art-lined rooms everywhere, we’re in our element. We both love this place. And I love seeing how people respond to Chris. And more so, how he responds to them. He’s a billionaire by inheritance and a millionaire from his art, all of which he donates, but you’d never know it. He’s the most down-to-earth person, never hurrying anyone away. Never acting like he’s above anyone.
We make our way to the main event room, with scattered tables of desserts featuring different types of chocolate delights, Jacob shadowing us and Blake overseeing the bigger picture, somewhere out of our sight. I forget about the earlier tension and I can sense Chris relaxing as well, our hands, and our gazes, touch often. And finally I can understand, if not speak, enough French that I understand what people are saying to us, even managing to make contacts for a few purchases I want for the gallery in San Francisco, which Chris and I are helping a friend reopen.
Finally it’s time for Chris to head to a table in the corner, where he signs paintbrushes, and there will be an auction for several pieces he created for the event. As usual, I stand by his table and chat with people, which they seem to really like, and so does he. The line is exceptionally long tonight, but I know Chris. We won’t leave until everyone who wants to talk to him has had the chance.
About an hour into the signing, I catch Chris’s gaze and whisper “bathroom,” then find Jacob to escort me. Feeling happy we didn’t cancel the event, considering the turnout, I weave through the crowd and we reach the restroom a guard pointed us to so we can avoid a long line. Sure enough, there is an empty stall and I enter. Once I’m done, I’m about to open the door when a piece of paper slides under it. I laugh, because this has to be one of Chris’s crazy fans.
Bending down, I pick up the paper and unfold it:
Do as you’re instructed or your famous husband will be your dead famous husband.
My stomach rolls and my fist balls over my now racing heart. Inhaling sharply, I force air into my lungs and keep reading:
There are several people in his line, and in the crowd, carrying syringes. One quick jab and he will never paint, let alone breathe, again. Go to the parking garage and make sure you are not followed. Tell someone, and your husband dies. Take your phone with you, or use it, and your husband dies. If you try to warn him and we can’t get to him, we’ll start injecting random, innocent people. If you arrive in the garage and do not have this note in your hand, the results will be the same. At any moment, if we think you have warned someone, the results will be the same. We’re watching.
You have five minutes. Ready, set, go.
This can’t be happening. It can’t be. But it is. There must be a way out of this.
Think, Sara. Think!
People will die. Chris will die. If I leave and they take me, Chris will lose his mind. But what can I do? I close my hand around the piece of paper and open my purse. They say they’ll know if I use my phone, but an unsent text message isn’t using it. It shouldn’t register in any electronic monitoring being done.
Chris. They were going to kill you and innocent people if I don’t go with them. They say they have syringes of poison. They told me to go to the garage. I have to go. I wouldn’t be the person you love if I didn’t go and I let innocent people die. I can’t let you die. I love you too much, and no matter what happens, you were my safe place. My only place.
I’m shaking when I exit the stall and set my phone on the sink. A woman walks in and I want to hand it to her and tell her to take it to Chris, but she could be one of them. I exit the bathroom and Jacob is waiting. We start weaving through the crowd, and even from ten feet away, I can see Blake huddled with Chris at the table. And my gut tells me that Blake just got some kind of heads-up about what’s happening. That gives me hope of a rescue that I cling to, but nothing more.
I turn to Jacob. “I forgot my phone in the bathroom. I need to get it. I had a text message I don’t want read on it.”
His brow furrows. “Let’s go.”
“Oh, wait.” I point to a woman only a few steps away that I don’t even know. “Can you grab her? I need her. She’s a big donor. Please, Jacob. I need to talk to her first.”
He gives me an odd look but says, “Ma’am,” and turns a moment, and I weave in between several people and repeat this move several times. I never stop walking, and I don’t let myself look back toward Chris. I enter the elevator to head to the garage, and a dark-haired man in a dark suit enters after me. When the doors shut, he turns to me, his lips twisting evilly.
“Good work, Sara. Garner Neuville will be proud of you.”
ella
He meant it when he said he wouldn’t touch me with the hawk tattoo on my arm, and though his manipulative personality, combined with my tattoo, an extension of Kayden, saves me from his touch, no such thing is true of his attention. He watches me the entire flight, which I estimate to be two hours thus far. And while his eyes are all over my naked body, intent on taunting me and promising me punishment, I tune him out. I see him but do not see him, nor do I allow myself to feel him. Surviving him is a practiced skill that I do well, and my mind is not on Garner Neuville, or my naked body, or even the chill of the air blowing on my skin. I disappear into a mental zone that’s all about calculating, plotting, and tallying what the voices and movement in the plane tell me, which equate to four men and a pilot, in addition to us. The real question becomes how many will be on the ground when we land, and how many will travel with us to our new destination. Certainly his bodyguard Bastile and a driver, and if it sta
nds there, my odds are good.
Time ticks by and each minute takes me farther from Rome, but I hope not Europe, where Kayden’s best resources exist. Finally, less than three hours since I awoke, I’m certain, the engines’ hums shift, our altitude with them, and we begin to descend to the ground. Neuville changes as well, a sense of urgency in his energy showing in his gray devil eyes. He unties me, the cigar-and-whisky scent of him turning my stomach. His hands on top of my arms, which are positioned on the armrests, and his body close to mine jerk me fully back into the present, where I’m naked and his breath is hot on my face.
“Get dressed, but don’t get used to those clothes,” he orders. He sits back down and watches me struggle through a bumpy descent I should be strapped in for.
His gaze goes to my nipples and for a moment I feel disgust at his inspection, but I shove it aside, cursing that part of me that remains ever so human, and thanks to this man, at moments fragile in a way I despise with every part of my being. Humanity is a luxury, or curse, a demon even, that I can’t afford. I’ll wrestle that part of me later, with Kayden.
“I need to go to the bathroom,” I say once I’m dressed, which is true. That human thing wins again, but it also gives me a chance to exit this plane with anything I might use as a weapon.
He looks irritated. “I’ll go with you.” He stands and motions me to the back of the plane.
And I know what’s coming. He’ll keep the door open and watch me, but I don’t have a choice. I have to be 100 percent on my game when we land, so I can assess what’s really happening with Sara and Kayden. When I have the chance to kill and not be killed.
I turn and walk to the back, looking for any small weapon I can discreetly latch on to. But the walk is short and there’s not even a pen or pencil I could jab in his neck or better yet, his groin.
Instead, I endure the bumps and shifts of the plane as I go to the bathroom with Neuville watching, absolute sadistic enjoyment in his expression as I do. That bothers me more than him looking at me naked, but by the time I’m back in my seat, strapped in, with him directly in front of me, I’m just ready to be out of this steel prison and on the ground. The sensation of the wheels hitting the pavement promises me that he’s one step closer to dead, and I have to bite back a smile.
Surrender Page 22