The Lord has promised good to me.
I spent the entire day in Chad’s library, alternating between napping and reading.
Anyone else would’ve been snooping around this place from top to bottom, but I never could get it done. Not unless I had the permission. See, a dozen years ago I’d been kidnapped, and then I was given a long list of rules to follow. Having respect for all those who had authority and command over you was one of the tallest rules that, if broken, had the nastiest of consequences.
Even though circumstances were different with Chad, I guess it was still ingrained in me somehow, because each time I went to his bedroom door, my heartbeat would take off with wild, frantic beats, my palms would get sweaty, and I couldn’t make myself reach out and turn the doorknob.
In my mind, Chad was my captor, he had command over me, and there was this red warning sign flashing in my head telling me I would suffer terrible consequences if I went inside his room.
So I’d given up, asked Vivian to show me the gym, spent an hour running the treadmill, and another hour kicking the shit out of a punching bag.
Showered after that, then retreated to the library, deciding to remain there until Chad returned. Mainly because it was one of the few rooms that didn’t have floor-to-ceiling windows. Given all that was going on right now, I was paranoid as hell, so I deemed staying away from open windows the smart thing to do.
I was lying supine in a burgundy chaise with a book resting open on my stomach, succumbing to yet another nap, when I thought I heard Chad’s voice. I jerked upright, the book flying to the ground. But Chad wasn’t in the library.
Rubbing my eyes with the heels of my palms, I got up, picked up the book and set it aside, then navigated out to the main area.
Night had fallen.
Following his deep, easy, flowing voice, I found Chad sitting at the dinner table, bare-chested and fresh from a shower. In front of him on the table was a half-empty china plate, with only chicken bones and asparagus left behind, a cold bottle of Corona in his hand as he discussed whatever with his main bodyguard sitting down at the other end of the table.
So…he’d been back for a while and ate without me. Okay. No hard feelings.
What stopped me, though, was his hair. He’d had it cut. The back low and completely off his neck, the top longer. The longer hair had made him look like a sexy, sunburned surfer, but this new haircut made him more urbane, regally handsome, his facial features sharpened. He was devastating.
Devastatingly beautiful.
Never had I thought a day would come when I’d be drooling over a man instead of tits and lipstick lips. But Chad…Chad made me want things I never knew I needed.
Manners be damned, I strolled up to the table and interrupted their conversation. “How long have you been back?”
As if he hadn’t seen or heard my approach, Chad’s head swiveled to the side, eyes raising to mine. And I bit my tongue to control my anger when I noticed a shiner on his cheekbone.
He opened his mouth as though to respond with something very Chad-like, but then he ditched the idea and took a swig of his beer instead, studying my face, my neck, gaze lingering on my breasts, then back up to my face. “Long enough.”
“Who the hell did that to you?” I demanded to know. “And why?”
No answer. Just a fixed stare, with a hint of something akin to appreciation in his depths.
A grunt came from Ronnie as he pushed back his chair with an unnecessary screech. When I looked at him, his face was nothing but an ugly picture of pure, undiluted hatred for me, his icy blue eyes firing daggers as he stalked past me, making sure his big, beefy shoulder slammed into mine as he did.
Pissed right the hell off that he had Chad sporting a shiner, I didn’t let him get far as I turned and forcefully planted the sole of my foot in the back of his right knee, hitting his weak spot and knocking him off-balance. His big body wobbled before he dropped soundly on his left knee with a leonine growl.
In slow motion, he turned his head to glare at me over his shoulder. “Next time you think to try this shit with me, just remember, he wants to keep you alive, I don’t. I don’t like you. And I don’t trust you.”
Okay, so I tried to kill his boss; he didn’t like me. Whatever. I couldn’t give a shit. Get over it.
“And I don’t give a shit,” I said, advancing on him. “You’re picking fights with me, a girl, when your boss is sporting a shiner? You should be ashamed of yourself.”
Ronnie made an angry sound in his throat. “You don’t know jackshit ‘bout what happened.”
“I don’t. But what I do know is that he pays you to protect him, and that’s exactly what you should be doing and stop pouting and throwing shit in my sandbox because you’ve got no one to play with in yours!”
Ronnie jumped to his feet, tall and towering, but I wasn’t intimidated, I didn’t back down, and I didn’t give him a chance to speak as I jabbed a finger at his impenetrable chest. “If you don’t wanna get kicked out of the fucking playground, you need to start playing nice, BTW.”
“BTW?”
“Yeah,” I said, folding my arms across my chest, defiant. “Big, tall, and worthless.”
Face growing red either from humiliation or rage, Ronnie took one long step toward me. “Listen up, you little bit—”
“Quit it. Both of you,” Chad commanded, his voice a leveled, unperturbed slice of calm confidence, shattering our hot and roiling rage. “Blood, sit down. Ronnie, we’ll finish later.”
I glared at Ronnie, waiting for him to make the first move. Of course, because my ass was badder than his, he huffed and stomped off.
When I heard the elevator open and close, I sat down where Ronnie had been. Chad looked mildly entertained, but the shiner was bothering me. I wanted to drive a knife repeatedly into the chest of whoever hit him.
Speaking of chest…
Chad’s was on display, and for a moment I just stared. The last two times I saw him with his shirt off we were in the dark, so I never got the chance to make out his tats. Now…now he was a beautiful canvas.
His right arm was a sleeve of three-dimensional tribal art, from shoulder blade to wrist. A huge tail, like that of a dragon’s—I couldn’t tell for sure—crept from around his back to his abdomen, the pointy end of the tail disappearing down the front of his jeans. His other shoulder had flames of fire creeping over, seemingly a part of the back tattoo, but the flames were black like the other tattoos, not colored.
On his left pectoral, was one that piqued my interest. An empty birdcage. It was nestled on a bed of black roses, with its little door wide open. Inside, was a small, heart-shaped key, and on one of the petals of the black roses was a clock. Not exactly the kind of tat you’d find on a man, so this one meant something. On his side below that tat were inscriptions. I squinted. Lyrics. Lyrics to…the fuck? Celine Dion? Yeah. Sure as hell those were lyrics to My Heart Will Go On.
Now that was definitely not the kind of tat one would find on a man. Especially a black-hearted killer like him.
Chad was the most mystifying person I’ve ever known.
After staring at that particular tattoo a lot longer than the others, trying to decipher the story behind it, knowing Chad was watching me, I finally sat down and dragged my gaze from his bare chest to his face.
“Why didn’t you wake me?”
“You deceivingly resembled peace and purity,” he answered after about a minute of studying me. “Guess I prefer it when you’re asleep. Peace reigns.”
He’d been in the library watching me sleep? I wasn’t sure if I should find that romantic or creepy.
“But I told Vivian to wake me when you came back. I told her I wanted to eat dinner with you.”
“Dinner with me?” Chad’s chuckle was tinged with a touch of bitterness as he leaned forward with his arms on the table, staring me down. “What do you think this is, Blood?”
I pursed my lips, holding my cool. He was back to being the shithead he was this morning before the elevator scene.
“Last night, you chose women, remember?”
So that’s what his attitude’s about? The bullshit argument from last night in the garden. Seriously? He was still upset about our fuck meaning nothing?
“What was this morning in the elevator, then?” I asked him, opting not to tell him that all I’d said in the garden last night was a truckload of bullshit. I felt more things for him than I could contain.
“That was me shutting you up so I could leave.”
“Fucking liar.” I laughed, one completely unrelated to humor as I looked up at the ceiling and shook my head. “You are such a cowardly liar.”
Chad twisted the beer bottle between his fingers, watching me from under his lashes. “What do you think it was?”
“You want me. Just fucking admit it and stop lying to both of us.”
Lifting the Corona to his lips, he took a swig, then shrugged. “Why bother when it’s one-sided?”
“If it’s one-sided, I’m here talking to you…why?”
“Because you want to fuck. Not specifically by me. Just that I’ll do for now because I prohibited you from ordering a call-girl. Would we be having this conversation if you had that girl?”
I didn’t answer. Mostly because I was stubborn and wanted him to believe his off calculations.
“Look, we have a lot of pressing matters in hand, I can’t do this with you. Today was active. I’m beat. Literally and figuratively. So I’m going to bed.” He pushed back his chair and stood up. “Like I told you, I don’t do meaningless sex. My days are numbered, so my time is valuable.”
Pushing back my chair, too, I stood. “Why are you being such a girl about this whole fuck and feelings and feelings going with fuck and no fuck without feelings thing?” I asked. “Fuck feelings.”
Every bit of easiness left his face, his jaw tightening, but he didn’t respond. He just walked away, giving me the opportunity to see the tat on his back. It was indeed a dragon. A massive dragon, artistically vivid, wings spreading over the upper half of his back, the beast’s head breathing hellacious fire over the right shoulder. Its thick, long tail running down Chad’s spine and disappearing around his side. The expressive ink creature was as scary and intense as the man himself.
When he was a distance off down the hall to his bedroom, he threw over his shoulder, “Have a nice night, Blood.”
Obviously, he was in a shitty mood, so I didn’t bother chasing him. After finger-fucking me in the elevator this morning, he’d dropped something close to a promise for more later, which had me anticipating his return. His attitude now made no sense.
Something must have happened on the road. That shiner on his cheekbone said it all.
Resigning to the idea that he just needed some rest and time to himself, I trudged to the kitchen and helped myself to dinner, then ate in front of the television in the living area while watching NCIS reruns.
I was doing everything in my power to keep my mind off the inevitable bad shit that would be hitting the fan anytime soon. See, The Voice phoned me once a week for updates. And now that Chad had burned out my apartment and everything in it, when The Voice made his call for the week and didn’t get me, then sees nothing on the news about my death, he was going to think I ran. And he was going to come looking. And was going to find me.
He always found me.
Bad shit happened. Terror was coming. But being where Chad was made me think that all was right with the world. I guess I was using him as my shield, looking to him to keep me safe. Which was the stupidest thing I could ever make the mistake of doing. Because the last time I trusted him, he’d ordered his lackeys to duct tape me and lock me in a room while he murdered the rest of my family in cold blood.
Evidently, I hadn’t learned a damn thing, because there I was trusting, believing and…loving…Oh God…loving him all over again.
And then I knew, right there on his couch while watching NCIS, tears welling in my eyes, I knew what this was. The reason I lost my head around him. All the feelings and emotions and weakness, was because I still loved him. The reason why I subconsciously botched every attempt to kill him. It was all because I didn’t hate him, and I didn’t want him dead. I wanted to make myself forgive him, believe there was good in him, trust him, and love him again.
And I succeeded in that, but failed everything else.
This, all of this, was wrong. Asinine.
Loving all wrong. I was loving all wrong.
Appetite lost, I switched off the television and went to put my dish in the sink. Using the back of my hand to dry my stupid, dramatic tears, I dragged my ass down the hall to my bedroom.
Chad’s bedroom door was left ajar and I could see the TV light flashing through the darkness, but I didn’t even bother, I just pushed into my own room and closed the door.
Switching on the lights, I was caught off guard by the sight of the woman sleeping on my bed, automatically reaching for a non-existent gun at my waist.
Nadia.
In a tight red dress and red heels, it seemed as if she’d been waiting for me and fell asleep.
The hell?
Snaking quietly over to the bed, I fixed one knee over her slim torso to half-straddle her, keeping my other foot planted to the ground, then wrapped my fingers around her long, gracious neck and began strangling the life out of her.
Nadia’s eyes popped open like a blinking baby doll, her hands slapping at my wrist as she fought desperately to breathe.
“How the fuck did you get in here?”
With a deep wheeze, she squeezed out, “M-M-Mr. Niiveux.”
“What?” Her response threw me.
She repeated her answer, and I released her, then waited for her lungs to start functioning again before asking, “Why?”
“To be with you.” Nadia sat up and rubbed her throat. “Something about you choosing to be with me?”
Ah, Nadia was my call-girl.
“How long have you been here?”
“He picked me up hours ago and brought me here. Told me not to leave the room. I’ve been waiting for a while.” She looked down at herself, and then the bed. “Guess I got bored and fell asleep.”
Shaking my head, I laughed to myself. If Chad thought he could dangle a fucking carrot in front of me and I wouldn’t hop up like a bunny and bite it, he was sadly mistaken. When I was imprisoned, whatever was brought to my room was mine for the taking.
Nadia was delivered to my room, so I was taking.
I leaned down and fired up a kiss with Nadia as an apology for choking her…and to get her aroused. In no time she was bothered.
Shifting down her body, I sat between her legs and she easily drew them up for me, showing me she was underwear-free.
Smoothing my palms up her inner thighs, I teased a thumb around her lips before finding her glistening tiny clit hidden between her flat lips. The woman was more than ready, as if she’d had this on her mind all night.
After teasing her, I gently eased two fingers inside her, and her legs went even wider as her hips rocked upward, encouraging my fingers deeper.
“Ohmygod, Blood, what have you done to me?” she moaned.
I’m barely doing a damn thing here, over-horny Indian.
“At work last night”—she bit her lip and whimpered when I began working my fingers deeper—”all I could think about was you”—she squeezed her own breasts now— “the way you make me feel…”
Already annoyed, I withdrew my fingers from her and stood up from the bed. Then stripped. “Come on. Shower with me.”
Nadia didn’t give the idea a second thought. She was off the bed and out of her dress before I could offer a hand.
We soaked in a warm bath together. And we fucked. We showered again. And we fucked. We dried off. And we fucked. I blow-dried and twisted her hair. And we fucked. We went back into the bedroom. And we fucked.
When I was done using her out of my own righteous anger, I left her dozing off under the royal purple covers and padded back to the bathroom to blow-dry my hair this time.
Screw Chad and his twisted issues, playing me all the time like I was a piece on his fucking chessboard. If he wasn’t going to be with me, then what was his motive for bringing me here, in his house? Why was he keeping me alive? Why did I have a room redone for me and a closet full of brand new clothes? Why wasn’t he talking to me about the serious shit that’s to follow?
What was he doing to me?
Powering off the blow-dryer, I swept my hair to the side and braided it in a tight fish plait. The thing, thick as a rope, snaked down over my shoulder and ended just below my breast.
Yawning, I ambled back out into the bedroom, thinking to wear Nadia out some more. But Nadia wasn’t there.
Chad was.
Sitting at the end of my bed, just staring at the floor.
He’d gotten rid of Nadia. Sex noises must have been too loud for him to get that rest he’d so badly needed.
Bastard.
“Every single test I give you,” he said without looking up at me, “you fail.”
“Then quit it with the goddamn tests,” I hissed at him. “I’m not a fucking lab rat.”
Eyes dark and blistering, he looked up at me. “I should just—” he stopped and stood up, growling deep in his throat as he began pacing the length of the room. Once, twice, three times, before he pivoted, grabbed the fancy lamp from the nightstand and pelted it in my direction across the room.
The lamp came nowhere near me. It busted into pieces when it landed on the coffee table at the little sitting area. “You fucking infuriate me, Blood! That’s what you do. Every. Fucking. Time!”
Too bad I didn’t give a shit about his anger right now. I was angry, too.
“I deliberately failed your test to prove something both to you, and myself. That I want you. Nadia and I just fucked over and over, and I came over and over, and at the end of each orgasm, I wanted you. I was empty. Something was missing. I wanted you inside me. To make me feel things only you make me feel. So yeah, congratulations, you’ve ruined me for women. You’ve turned me straight. Does it make you feel better that I both failed and passed your test?”
For a moment, he just glared at me like he wanted to mow me down, fury luminous in his eyes.
He stalked up to me and I remained planted, hoping this would be an “I’m sorry” followed up with a kiss and a really good fuck.
Leaning down to level our eyes, and keeping his hands to himself, he whispered, low and menacing, “Fuck you, Blood. Just…fuck you.”
“Fuck me?” I bit back a laugh. “What are you? Twelve?”
His mighty fists clenched open and close, open and close, open and close. Then, wagging his head as if to clear it, he turned from me and marched out of the room.
Only when he was out the door and out of view, did I yell back, “Well, fuck you, too, asshole!”
And then I put my hand over my mouth and laughed.
Apparently, I was twelve, too.
The next morning I found Chad in the same spot at the breakfast bar. Except this time he wasn’t dressed to go out.
The dragon tattoo a masterpiece on his back; he was in old, faded jeans that rode low on his hips, and nothing else. Nibbling down strawberries and reading the morning paper. Same scene as yesterday morning, but with less clothes and a new haircut.
Vivian was puttering around in the kitchen, but her cheeks were curiously flushed red, as it seemed more like she was surreptitiously eyeballing Chad’s chest than paying attention to her task at hand. Well, she was a woman, after all. No matter the age or occupation, one could not deny Chad’s wickedly powerful magnetism. If he could make me, a straight-up dike, crave him, I could only imagine what he did to the straight women.
Just like yesterday morning, I went to the breakfast bar and sat next to him.
No acknowledgment. Teeth sinking into strawberries, eyes remaining on the paper.
“So…” I dragged, fishing for conversation. “I see you took my advice and got a haircut.”
Nothing.
Vivian poured me coffee and portioned out my breakfast, still sporting a blush as she passed me the tray.
To keep from making further embarrassment of myself, I stuffed my mouth full with eggs and pancakes. But his cold shoulder was starting to bother me big time.
I just couldn’t stand not having his attention. I swallowed my mouthful of food and asked, “You don’t ‘work’ on Thursdays?”
Chad picked up his steaming cup of coffee and the morning paper, then stood and directed at Vivian in Spanish, “When she’s done eating, bring her to the movie room. We have important matters to discuss.”
To Vivian. As if I wasn’t sitting there right next to him. Could this widely feared, eminent, egregious criminal be any more childish?
As he stalked off, I said to his dragon, “Now you’ve gone from being a twelve-year-old to a six-year-old.”
Of course, he said nothing, just strolled right out of the room.
Jabbing at a piece of pancake with my fork, I asked Vivian, “Is he always such an immature jerk?”
Pursing her lips, Vivian gave me the stink-eye. “Mr. Niiveux nice to everybody. Mr. Niiveux take care everybody. But you,”—she wagged a finger at me, like I was an errant student giving trouble at the back of the classroom—”you do something to him. You make him smile down with frown and bad mood.”
She seriously needed to brush up on her English.
“Me?” I said, indignant. “I don’t do anything to him. He’s just an arrogant dickhead.”
“Sí. Sí. You do something. You,” the woman accused me, pointing at me with her index finger like a M16 or something. Muttering a whole jumble of words in Spanish—which were all curses against me, as she clearly didn’t know I understood Spanish.
Picking up a dishrag, she began wiping down the already clean countertop. “And I no like that you do something to Mr. Niiveux. You trouble. I know from start you trouble. I no like that you upset Mr. Niiveux.”
Okayyyyy. So there’s a loyal housemaid. Very passionate and concerned about her boss’s disposition. However, she shouldn’t be talking down to me like this. I was pretty sure if I told Chad, she’d lose her job. But I was no tattletale. If she wanted to hate me because I “did something to her boss” that was her problem.
I let her carry on with her curses in Spanish, pretending I didn’t understand.
When I was finished with breakfast, I shoved the dish across the counter, and said to her in Spanish, “Now, where’s the movie room?”
Vivian’s head shot up, eyes widening, her mouth snapping shut. Tossing down the dishrag on the counter, she meekly walked out of the kitchen and I followed.
The movie room had to be accessed through the library. A door I hadn’t noticed at all yesterday was tucked away at the end of the non-fiction shelf. Only noticeable now because the door was left ajar.
Vivian motioned to the door, but then touched my shoulder, and in ten shades of humility, whispered, “Lo siento”.
She wasn’t genuinely sorry. Just worried I would complain to Chad then her ass would be grass. I patted her hand nonetheless and gave her a smile. A genuine one. Then went through the door.
The movie room was dark and cozy, with six warm-brown recliner chairs facing the big screen.
Chad was in one of them, his feet stretched out before him, his head dipped low as he messed with his iPad, the screen light glowing on his face.
“Close the door,” he said without looking up.
I did as he asked and navigated to where he was. “You’re staying home with me today to watch movies? I choose porn.”
“Sit,” he ordered.
I’d been about to sit, but his command stopped me. “Or what?”
Irritated eyes raised from the tablet screen and up to me. “Today is not the day to mouth off with me, Blood.”
“Or. What?”
Quicker than I could register, he shot up and tackled me into the chair, his forearm above my breasts on my chest, keeping me down, his bent knee between my thighs.
Even in that deadly hold, all I could think about was his knee between my thighs, grazing against my core that was so hungry for him.
“Mouth off with me today and I’ll be forced to shove my cock in your mouth and fuck it until you choke on my fucking cum.”
Daringly, I grinned. “Sounds like a really hot way to die. Better than a bullet.”
Emitting a frustrated groan, he pressed his forearm harder against my chest. “Why are you so infuriatingly defiant?”
“Because…rules are not for us.”
Almost imperceptibly, his head jerked back.
Rules are not for us. It’s what he used to say to me when we were younger. I held my breath and waited, waited for him to see that it was me. Jhay.
His Tweety Byrd.
Disappointingly, he didn’t.
He backed off, picked up his tablet from where it had fallen on the thick carpeted floor and sat back down.
“Seeing that the threat of death turns you on instead of scares you, I’m gonna have to ask you kindly to chill the fuck out. You’re giving me a goddamn headache,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “Someone’s after you, and I need to find out who it is so I can stop them before it’s too late.”
Oh God. My time has run out. “What do you mean someone’s after me?”
“Well, two different sets of people,” he spared. “But before we get into that, I need you to tell me something first.” He set his iPad face-down on his lap, then interlaced his fingers on top of it. “Who sent you to kill me?”
An answer I wish I knew. “I don’t know.”
Chad frowned at me. “This room is soundproofed, Blood. It’s why I called you in here. So if you’re worried about being heard, don’t be.”
In the assassin world, assignments were never discussed with anyone but the one who gave it. It was a rule: if broken, one would suffer painfully, most of the time in death. So naturally, Chad thought I was being spurious to protect myself. But really, I would tell him anything he wanted to know at this point. This one thing, however, I didn’t know.
“I don’t know who sent me, Chad.”
Losing his patience, Chad rubbed his hands down his face, asking, “Wha-What do you mean you don’t know? You do realize I’m trying to protect you here, right?”
Leaning over my chair handle to his, I took one of his hands in mine so he could look at me and mark the veracity of my words, spoken in our second tongue, Russian. “Chadrick Ivanovich Niiveux, I do not know who sent me to kill you. I am a prisoner. I do as I am told because it is either that or death. For twelve years I have been imprisoned. I have been beaten, raped, and forced to kill. You did this. You let me live. Why didn’t you kill me? Why did you leave me to suffer?”
Face white as a ghost’s, lips parting in absolute horror, Chad froze up, still as a statue.
“I do not know who is behind all this,” I went on. “But I think the real answer to your question is…you. You sent me to kill you, Blood. You.”