CHAPTER NINE
The idiotic man had only been a few seconds in trying to take advantage of her before he was suddenly gone. Isabella startled, because he hadn’t even budged at her first few attempts at pushing him off using her human strength, telling of the strength beneath the lanky figure. She’d been considering showing off some of her fighting moves, then reconsidering as it might jeopardize her concubine act.
Then he was off her in an instant, and she heard the grunt before she saw the sight. Her eyes met Dylan’s, and the coldness in Sanders’ gaze had her shivering. It extended beyond, and she imagined the coldness in Dylan’s brown eyes, too—more ruthless, more dangerous.
“I could have handled it—” she began, but he interrupted her with an icy tone.
“He’s never going to touch you again,” was all he said before he hauled the unconscious Lance up and over his shoulder. It was a power move that he handled with ease, and Isabella gulped.
“We need to get out of here fast,” he told her while walking to the door. “Robin was almost taken and I don’t think she’ll last much longer in there.”
The words unspoken were clear. Robin was a very pretty girl, and someone else was going to get interested soon. Isabella’s mouth went tight at the thought, and anger clouded her mind. Wordlessly, Isabella followed.
They reached the ship in no time and deposited Lance in the cell below, then did a quick discussion of their discoveries. Isabella had hunted some pretty valuable information via what she heard—namely, about Henley speaking to an unknown man on the phone from time to time that everyone speculated over, because of how rare it was and how much money was involved in the conversation. Gossip really spread viciously here, but Isabella knew they had to find out the truth if they wanted to prevent this from happening again.
They both decided at the same time to do one last thing. They went back down from the ship, using the fog again in silent camaraderie to hide themselves.
Then they navigated the quiet paths towards Henley’s office.
*****
The compound where Henley’s office was located was more guarded than most, but it was easy enough to climb the fence and sneak down from behind. His office was locked, so they picked at the window and slid in from there, adjusting to the dark room before moving along quietly. Whispers could be heard in the compound, faint and non-alarming, urging Isabella to be extra careful not to accidentally stumble over any of Henley’s collection.
Dylan worked on the desk, while Isabella checked the figurines and antiques one by one. They were from different eras and there wasn’t a pattern at all to indicate who might have a hankering for the whole collection—and usually, Isabella was good at figuring out collections, having helped Isaac collect some valuables herself.
When she finished looking over the collection, she touched the walls and felt through them for any hidden compartments, finally hitting the jackpot when a tiny vault was found behind an expensive Chinese painting. It was protected by numbers, and she was studying it closely when she heard it—footsteps drawing near. Then, voices outside.
Her eyes met Dylan’s. He quietly closed the drawers and she went to him, but there was nowhere to hide in this tiny space. The voices stopped in front of the office door, and suddenly there was also no time to even get out the window, which they’d closed after they climbed in.
There was only one other option, a tactic used by most thieves when caught in the act—and that was to pretend that they were supposed to be here in the first place.
Isabella watched the same conclusion reach Dylan’s eyes. The knob turned, and suddenly he was lifting her towards the desk and quietly plopping her down on it. She only had a second to register what he was going to do before Dylan yanked her kimono to the side, revealing her string bra as she’d removed her shirt beneath earlier when Lance had torn it open.
Then Dylan was leaning his head forward.
Then his mouth was meeting hers.
The first touch of their lips should have been bland and forgettable, because they were just strangers stuck together who barely had time to get to know each other. But bland was the farthest word she would use to describe this as he kissed her hard, opening her mouth with his. A hand went up to slide her kimono further down, coming in contact with her bare skin. His body slid in between her legs, and his tongue slid in between her lips.
Fire erupted inside her—hot, heavy and all too consuming. It swallowed her whole and made heat travel up her spine as he turned the kiss higher, blatant with it. The knob turned.
He pulled her flush against him, catching the moan that came out of her throat. Still blatantly, he groaned in response—and while Isabella told herself over and over that this was practiced and that groan was deliberate, her stomach jumped and flipped, and something in her throbbed hotly.
The voices stopped outside. That was all Isabella remembered before Dylan angled the kiss again and it consumed her completely.
Sanders’ face…Sanders’ face…the mantra repeated in her head. But it was drowned out by the wine he drunk earlier, she could taste him—all of Dylan, all that clean and male taste that singed her.
She could smell him, and it took her a second to realize what was mixed in.
Arousal.
A thumb settled on top of her bra, rubbing a stiffened nipple. Her breath sharpened, and so did his.
Then they were interrupted by the sound of a loud voice.
“What the hell is going on here?”
Dylan slowly pulled back, his eyes dark and his breathing erratic. Isabella’s world slowly righted itself as the buzz ebbed away.
In the doorway stood Henley, staring at them in disapproval.
Isabella’s back faced the door, so she couldn’t see Henley. But she could see the lecherous grin cross Dylan’s mouth as his eyes glazed over and his speech slurred.
“My man. My woman wants to be fucked where she’d be caught. Do you mind?”
Isabella turned her head, opening her mouth seductively even while her heart beat too fast.
“Oops,” she giggled, burying her head on Dylan’s chest for effect. Heat radiated off him, bothering her more than comforting her with how good it felt.
Henley’s lips flattened.
“You’ve been acting very strange lately, Sanders. I’m concerned about you.”
Dylan bared his teeth. “Oh, yeah?”
Isabella held her breath, preparing for a fight.
But instead of attacking, she heard Henley sigh.
“But this isn’t the first time you’ve been caught fucking in my compound. Make sure I don’t find you inside my office again.”
The words were delivered almost casually, but the meaning was clear—do it again, and they were dead.
Dylan grinned again, clearly too drunk on his ass to understand. His stance relaxed against her, and he opened his mouth to slur some more words.
But the words never came as an explosion rocked the ground, one so loud that it shook Henley’s collection with it. Men shouted from outside, and footsteps pounded on the ground. Henley and Dylan straightened up in unison, moving towards the door. Isabella followed suit.
The sight that greeted her made her eyes widen.
There was fire everywhere—particularly in the center of the island, where most of the black market goods and some prison buildings were located. Another explosion rocked the ground, and Henley cursed again. Then he started shouting orders about as men ran and took out their weapons.
“Stay here,” he barked at Dylan. Then he was off, too.
The moment he was gone, Dylan let go of his drunken act immediately. They went with the group and went through the fog, running towards the center as yet another explosion hit. It sounded like fireworks, only louder, and smoke soon filled the air.
“The plan wasn’t tonight,” Dylan said tightly.
Isabella knew.
It only meant something had gone terribly wrong.
When they reached the area, chaos greeted them everywhere. Most of the stalls that had been closed for the night were now on fire, and she could see kids running around, either trying to escape or defend themselves—the slaves, she realized. Some of the slaves were free, and the guards were attacking them with weapons.
She reacted in an instant. Isabella took out her dagger and went for the nearest guard, who was trying to lift a little girl in the air. Two slices and the man was down for the count, blood spraying everywhere. She went on autopilot, killing as many as she could, half-aware of Dylan doing the same near her. They shouted directions at the older kids to get the boats ready and to get the younger ones away because they stood no chance. Some of them listened—others didn’t, too absorbed in trying to destroy those that had hurt them.
Just as the thought crossed her mind that this needed to be contained immediately, another explosion sounded and more fire blazed. Isabella glanced in the direction it came from. She saw Simon, surrounded by pirates and holding a torch in his hand, his face bloodied and bruised. She glanced at the man fighting beside him.
She froze.
It was her brother.
And he was getting pummeled and within an inch of his life.