Marcus
The Present…
“What in the fuck am I doing here?” I muttered to myself irritably as I trudged down the crappy sidewalk in one of Miami’s rougher areas.
The area was dimly lit, and the caliber of the neighborhood I was walking through had gone swiftly downhill. I hadn’t been in Miami for a year or two, but it always amazed me that the affluent areas could abruptly end, and a short walk later, I’d end up in a dump.
Not that I gave a damn. I’d left my car and driver several blocks back, and in a better area. My elderly driver, George, didn’t need to get his blood pressure up any higher, and I’d badly needed to clear my head with a walk before I met up with Danica.
I wasn’t worried about my personal safety. I knew at least a hundred different ways to kill bad guys, and I was packing a loaded Glock under my suit jacket. If anybody wanted to screw with me, I’d make them sorry they were ever born. Hell, I’d actually welcome a decent fight right now. I was just that pissed off.
Dani and I had been in the same city a time or two in Europe, but we hadn’t really seen each other. Okay, maybe I’d seen her, but she hadn’t actually seen me. I’d known she was there because I’d made it a point to watch out for her and follow her work destinations. It hadn’t really surprised me when she went back to reporting soon after she’d physically recovered. She was still in hot spots all over the world. The only place I hadn’t seen her was the Middle East.
Then, a few months ago, I’d stopped seeing her altogether, and I hadn’t been able to get much information about where she was going for her stories.
Now I knew why.
I’d been in Seattle a few days ago, and I’d dropped by Jett Lawson’s place to see how he was recovering. Even though it had been a couple of years since Jett had nearly gotten killed on our last PRO mission together, he still required surgeries to repair some of his injuries. Most of the operations were cosmetic at this point, done to cover some of his scars. Unfortunately, thanks to his bitch of an ex-fiancée, some of Jett’s emotional pain wasn’t going to heal anytime soon.
But his own love life and ex-future marital partner hadn’t been my buddy’s concern when I stopped by to visit. Jett’s thoughts had been diverted to his sister Danica’s new boyfriend.
“Son of a bitch!” I cursed in an irritated voice as I approached the block where the bar I was seeking was located. “How in the hell did she get mixed up with a loser like Gregory Becker?”
Becker was a rich bastard, but it was doubtful that much of his wealth came from his legitimate businesses. He’d been a suspect at the CIA for a long time, but as of yet, nobody could make any charges stick with solid evidence or intel.
Stopping under a dim streetlamp, I pulled out the picture Jett had given me before I left Seattle, a photo that had been taken by a local newspaper in Miami. Dani had been captured in full color right next to Becker, his arm around her waist, both of them looking pretty damn happy at a charity event the asshole had donated to a few weeks ago.
There had been other photos, and other events where Dani had been by Becker’s side. When Jett had asked Dani what she was doing in Miami, and if she was really seeing Becker, she’d told her brother that they were dating and it wasn’t all that serious. Apparently, no matter what Jett had told his little sister, she’d refused to heed his warning about Becker. There probably wasn’t a single wealthy businessman who didn’t know Gregory Becker’s reputation. Rumors were constantly flying about his involvement in human trafficking, illegal arms dealing, and a hell of a lot of drugs. He was also supplying much of that ill-gotten money to rebel troops in Syria. That little bit of info wasn’t common knowledge. I’d learned that from some of the CIA intel.
How in the hell could Dani be mixed up with somebody who supplied money to rebel groups similar to the one who had held her captive and tortured the hell out of her?
Yeah, maybe Danica wasn’t immersed in the world of international business, but she had to know about Becker. If she hadn’t discovered his dirty secrets before, Jett certainly hadn’t held back on telling her all about the new guy in her life. Shit! Didn’t she trust her own damn brother?
Jett’s concern for his little sister had brought me here to Miami when I had other places I should be. I kept telling myself that I wasn’t here for me, but I knew I was bullshitting myself. For some reason, I’d never been able to forget the haunted look in Dani’s eyes after her rescue and on the way home to the States.
Trying to kiss her on the jet had been an idiotic thing to do. Hell, even now, I don’t know what had possessed me to touch her. But for some reason, I hadn’t been able to stop myself.
Unfortunately, I hadn’t known she’d been gang-raped over and over again. The way she had fought me, and the fact that I’d forced her into a full-blown panic, had left me feeling guilty ever since.
However, the moment before it had happened, the instant she’d trusted me before things had gotten out of control—the chemistry that had flared between us had haunted my ass, too.
I wasn’t going to even pretend that what I felt for Dani was brotherly, and that I was completely here for Jett.
I’m here for myself, because I can’t forget her.
Hell, for some reason, I hadn’t even been able to be with another woman since I’d kissed Danica. How fucked up was that?
Not that I had relationships, but it would have been nice to have my healthy sex drive back again. One kiss and I’d practically been castrated. I hadn’t made an effort to fuck any woman since I’d felt the silky softness of Dani’s mouth beneath mine. The desire to get laid had been nonexistent. I was too obsessed with her.
I reminded myself that I wasn’t pursuing her or any kind of relationship. I was just trying to save her ass…again.
The hair stood up at the back of my neck, and it pulled my mind from my fucked-up thoughts.
I shoved the picture back into my pocket and turned, already aware that I was being stalked.
It was almost disappointing that my would-be robber wasn’t going to be much of a challenge.
He was all of maybe fourteen or fifteen years old, and didn’t come anywhere close to my weight or my slightly-over-six-foot height.
The punk spoke in a voice that was meant to be menacing, but wasn’t. Not to me. “Give me your wallet or I’ll put this blade through your heart, mister.”
Yeah, I’d been a walking target for robbery or mugging since I was strolling through a less than desirable area of Miami late at night in a custom suit. Still, this little prick was either bold or strung out on drugs if he thought I would just hand him my wallet. “Not happening,” I drawled, annoyed. “Now beat it, kid.”
He raised his arm in a threatening manner, wielding the knife wildly. “You think I’m a kid? I kill people like you every day, dude,” he replied in a cocky tone.
If I ever laughed—which I didn’t—I probably would have snickered. But I didn’t show emotion—not ever. However, the youngster in front of me was rather amusing. He reminded me of an adolescent who had watched too many bad gangster movies.
I reached out, and in a split second I’d snatched his wrist, squeezing a nerve on his lower arm until he was forced to let go, and the weapon dropped onto the sidewalk with the loud clatter of steel meeting the cement. I pushed him into the cold metal of the streetlight pole, his face plastered against the post, and the Glock I’d previously kept concealed at his temple.
“That hurts,” the kid griped nervously.
I leaned into his body and said close to his ear, “A bullet in your head would hurt a hell of a lot more. Go home, get off the drugs, and quit stealing from people to fund your habit.”
“I live in a foster home,” he protested, his voice anxious as I pushed the barrel of the gun into his temple just a little bit harder, hoping to scare the bejesus out of him.
“Then you’re damn lucky to have a roof over your head,” I growled. “Take advantage of it and quit being a little asshole. Keep this shit up and you’ll be dead before you’re legally able to drink.”
I let go of him, but I put my foot over the knife on the ground before he could snatch it. “I said go home,” I warned in an annoyed tone.
“Who the hell are you? I ain’t seen you around on the streets,” the kid asked hesitantly.
“Somebody you don’t want to mess with,” I answered vaguely.
The brat turned around and ran until he was out of my sight. I kicked the knife deep into the bushes next to the sidewalk, just in case he came back for it. I wasn’t about to make it easy to find.
The boy was a bully, and I hated that. I probably should have called the cops and let them take him to jail, but I had bigger things to worry about. And although it was probably wishful thinking, maybe the punk would straighten himself out someday.
Problem was, he was obviously hooked on something. It wasn’t hard to read the desperation of an addict. Fucking hell! I hated seeing a guy that young screwed up on drugs.
Shoving the gun back into its concealed holster, I pulled my jacket closed. I hadn’t even taken the safety off. The kid might be a juvenile delinquent, but I still wasn’t about to shoot a boy who probably wasn’t old enough to vote. My only purpose had been to scare the shit out of him.
I brushed off my suit jacket because it was one of my favorites, and then proceeded to walk to the end of the block and to my destination.
When I arrived, I realized the bar was basically a dive, the neon sign in the window blinking like Christmas tree lights.
“Real fucking classy,” I muttered to myself, unable to see Dani in this place.
However, this was where she was meeting up with Becker. This sleazy bar was the best the jerk could do? Danica was a goddamn Lawson, a woman who had more money than she could ever spend. And this is where the two lovebirds were trysting?
Jett had told me where his sister was going for the evening. I wondered if he knew that it was a haven for prostitutes and drug dealers.
Probably…not. My buddy would most likely lose it if he knew his little sister was hanging out in this dive.
I shook my head as I peered into the front window. If Jett had known, he’d have been here, even if he was recovering from his latest procedure. Dani’s brother would have a damn heart attack if he knew she’d even set foot into this neighborhood and this shithole of a bar.
My eyes scanned the general layout of the small club from the large, very dirty window out front. I didn’t see Becker, but I did finally spot a woman alone at the bar. Her hair color gave her away, the deep-red strands now long enough to brush her shoulders.
I grimaced as I noticed the short, black, leather skirt she was wearing, and the skimpy green top that barely covered her breasts. Her black stiletto heels were secured over the lower rung of the round stool, and she was sipping slowly on some fluffy drink that was topped with whipped cream.
“What in the hell are you doing, Danica? You sure as fuck don’t belong here,” I said in a raspy voice.
The clothes, the location, the boyfriend…everything was wrong. The Danica I was acquainted with wanted nothing more than to chase down a story that she thought needed to be told. She wore a T-shirt and jeans because it made it easier for her to go after her story.
She didn’t wear several inches of makeup like she was sporting now.
She didn’t need it.
She never had.
Dani Lawson was drop-dead gorgeous without makeup and with hair of whatever color she wanted to tint it.
Protective instincts rose up inside me, emotions I definitely didn’t want but couldn’t seem to contain.
Unlike Jett, my obsession to watch over Danica was far from platonic, even though I’d never fucked her.
As usual, my cock was standing at attention just from watching Dani sitting at the bar. She was my only weakness aside from my family, and I had a love/hate relationship with the youngest Lawson sibling because of it.
If I wanted to be truthful with myself—which I really didn’t—I’d had blue balls for Dani almost from the first moment I met her. Maybe that’s why we were always fighting before I’d rescued her in the Middle East. Of course, she had been under the false impression that I’d broken her older sister’s heart. Or maybe it was because I was generally an asshole, and she had no problem standing up for herself. She was the only woman who’d never had a problem getting into my face if I pissed her off, and she’d actually made fun of me on occasion.
I definitely hadn’t liked that, but I did grudgingly admire her for her outspoken, smart-ass demeanor.
I still remembered the stories she’d told about her captivity on our way back from Turkey to the US. That time, she’d been different from the woman I’d previously known. Her vulnerability had practically destroyed me because I knew how she’d been before being kidnapped.
My fists clenched in anger as I remembered her frightened, expressive eyes, and I wasn’t sure how she’d even managed to survive the emotional and physical torture.
My eyes scanned the outside area of the club just to make sure that Becker wasn’t arriving to meet Danica. Not that I really cared, but I wanted to be prepared if I was going to meet more resistance than just Dani’s when I went to take her out of this place.
I’d promised Jett that I’d get his sister away from danger, and this place reeked of evil. Dani didn’t belong here, and whatever crazy bullshit Becker was feeding her needed to be cut off now.
As I stepped up to the glass door, I saw a drunken patron sidle up to the bar, using the stable surface to keep him upright.
“Don’t touch her. Don’t you fucking touch her,” I growled as I yanked the door open.
Danica’s squeal of alarm rang through the rancid air of the bar just as I stepped inside.
There was a male hand on Dani’s ass that didn’t belong to me, and anybody touching her there who wasn’t me was completely unacceptable. The trashed male was twice her size, and as his fingers curled around her wrist to try to drag her off the barstool, I lost total control of my reasoning ability. It was something that had never happened to me before, but as I stepped forward, it felt pretty damn good to plant my fist in his face and watch him hit the dirty floor with a satisfying thud.