Black Widow
Present Day
I don’t know why I try to go to sleep after leaving Killian in the study. I can’t deny that I want to block out thinking about Paul Galveston or any of the other slimeballs we met during our stint in Cairo. But there’s no way I can relax with my mind churning with the news that the man behind one of the biggest sex trafficking rings in the world is still alive and breathing free air.
But more than that, the memory of how everything went so very wrong is the one thing I don’t want to think about. Before Cairo, I thought the extra baggage of guilt Killian and I carried might just be bearable and, hell, even lessen once the past lost a little of its sharp sting. But it turned out karma was just getting warmed up. And, in hindsight, a part of me knows I deserve everything that went down in Cairo.
I jump out of bed and pace from one end of the room to the other, wishing I’d taken up Anwat’s offer of another round of Muy Thai when I had the chance. The buildup of restless energy is eating into my emotions and threatening to drive me out of my mind.
I want to punch something. Bad. Or have something punched into me. Like Killian’s cock. The memory of how the sex was between us shivers through me, and I bite my lip to suppress a moan. I need some of that. God, do I need it.
“Can’t sleep?”
I jerk around at his voice. Then twist back around in case he can read my impure thoughts in my face. “No,” I snap.
He doesn’t speak but I know he’s still there. When I risk a glance over my shoulder, he’s looking at the rumpled bed I vacated ten minutes ago. Electricity crackles hotter as his gaze returns to mine. “Wanna get out of here for a little bit?”
My eyes widen. “What? Really?”
“Don’t get excited. We’re just heading to the rooftop.”
Although I deflate a little, the thought of getting out of the apartment, stunning though it is, is very welcome. Because the only other means I can think of to alleviate my anxiety is with sex. The sheet-clawing, hair-pulling, sweat-drenching kind. And I’ve already indulged in way more than I need to in the twelve hours since Killian exploded back into my life.
“Okay.”
He nods and leaves my room and returns a minute later with my running shoes and leather cap. He’s wearing a cap too but his feet are bare. The memory of how much he loves walking around with no shoes knots a ball of raw emotion inside me. I gird myself against it as he waits for me to put my things on. We head to the front door, and I wait while he goes through the rigmarole of the entry code, handprint, and retina scan he told me about last night. When I roll my eyes, he smirks at me. “Yeah, it’s a fucking pain, but you’re worth it.”
I say nothing. He repeats the process again when we reach the outer foyer, which turns out to be as equally stunning as the apartment. And when we enter the elevator, he removes a key from his pocket and slots it into a panel before hitting the button for the rooftop.
“You had all this done in the last four days?” I ask.
“No. I asked Betty to find me a building with security-paranoid tenants. You’ll be shocked at how many there are in this city. This was the best of the bunch. I only needed to modify a few things.”
The elevator spits us out into a glass enclosure. This time he only needs a code and thumbprint to release the door.
We step out into the mid-afternoon sun. I lift my face to it, close my eyes, and breathe in deep. I feel Killian’s gaze on me, but I don’t look at him when I open my eyes. Instead, I take in my surroundings. It’s beautifully landscaped with tall shrubs, weaving vines, and large boxed plants that have a distinctly unweathered look about them. The soil also has a newly churned smell.
“These are new too?” It’s not really a question. And I have an idea why he’s transformed the rooftop into a lush garden when he smiles and points a finger upward.
Surveillance drones. Satellites. To a normal person, the extra precaution he’s taking by filling the roof space with cover-giving foliage would sound like a tinfoil-hat-wearing kook babbling about conspiracies and Big Brother watching. But I know in our case that it’s all justified. Even more so now with the threat Galveston poses and the possibility that he might have the same image Killian used to find me.
I push thoughts of him away for now. There’ll be time enough to deal with him once Betty locates him. Instead I look around. There’s a brand-new barbecue grill that looks large enough to cater for several large families. A cooler sits on a table next to it. And beneath a row of potted palm trees, low seats with fat white cushions have been arranged around a large center table. The space is huge, much bigger than the one I transformed not too far from here. But they both have the same serenity, which is hard to come by in New York City unless you’re insanely loaded. Suddenly, I’m hit with a bout of unfamiliar nostalgia.
“I have a rooftop just like this.”
He’s trailed me as I wandered through the garden and now stares at me, a touch of surprise in his blue eyes. “Yeah?”
I nod. “At the Punishment Club. It was just an unused space before. I designed it and turned it into a relaxation spot…away from the main club.” I don’t know why I’m telling him this. It’s not like we were ever in that get-to-know-each-other stage or will be anytime soon. We went from forbidden fruit to torrid lovers without pausing to take a breath. Then added the dangerous ingredient of international espionage to the mix right up until it all blew up in our faces. Then I took the only option available to me and ran like hell.
He tucks his hands beneath his arms in that effortlessly manly way that makes his thick biceps flex. It’s all I can do not to stare and salivate like a horny idiot. “I’d like to see it one day,” he says.
I press my lips together because I want to blurt out that I’d love to show it to him.
“So…punishment club?” he asks with raised eyebrows after a pulse of silence.
I jerk out a shrug. “Seemed like a good idea at the time. I just had no idea how much it would take off.”
He nods. “The concept is certainly interesting.”
“Not really. There’s a hell of a lot of guilt going around.”
“And has it helped you?” he asks after another minute passes.
I stiffen a little. “It’s not about me.”
“Why the hell not? You created the place. And you’ve cared about it enough to stick with it for four years.”
“It wasn’t just for me.”
He frowns. “For Axel? So he’s reaping the benefits of all your hard work?”
There’s a pulse of annoyance in his voice that I’m not going to acknowledge. I get the feeling that his irrational jealousy won’t disappear until he sees Axel and Cleo together and witnesses for himself how those two react around each other. Talk about fucking combustible. But I also think about the punishment rooms we reserved for ourselves when we first opened the club.
Axel has a chair and a bank of TV screens.
Mine has a bed and a box with a single photo tucked inside. Sealed four years ago and never opened.
I carefully neutralize my features. Killian was always a master at reading me. The secret in that box is one he doesn’t need to know. Maybe I’m punishing him too the way I’ve been punishing myself by not telling him. But that particular punishment is primarily mine to bear. My secret to keep.
“Axel is not an issue, Killian. Seriously.”
His jaw flexes. “So you keep saying, baby. But I’m having a hard time dealing with the fact that he’s had you for four years.” He stays me with a halting hand when I open my mouth. “Yeah, maybe not sexually, but still. Four years. I barely had you for one. So you have to get why I go a little nuts when you mention him.”
Huh. I never thought of it that way. And the more I think about it now, the more I realize that, had I thought of any woman with Killian in the same way, I probably would be feeling less than ecstatic too. “Well, technically, I didn’t mention him. You did.”
His eyes narrow. Before we disintegrate into another fight, I walk over and drop down into one of the cushy seats. He follows and sits next to me. Above us, the canopy of miniature palm trees shields us from the sky, but enough sunlight filters through to warm my face.
I close my eyes and tuck my hands behind my head. “I could really do with a beer.”
“Are you trying to avoid another fight with me?” he asks.
“Yes.”
He sighs, and I hear him move away. Half a minute later, he returns. “Here.”
I open my eyes, and he’s holding out a cold Bud Light. “Thanks.” I take it from him and gulp down several mouthfuls.
He keeps looking at me without drinking from his own bottle.
“What?”
“When did you start drinking beer?” he asks.
I tense a little, and my gaze shifts from his. “A while back.” When I was on a downward spiral into my own hell-based drama.
“What aren’t you telling me, baby?”
God. A whole lot. But this one I can admit to without feeling as if what remains of my soul isn’t being ripped out. “You were forced into therapy. I…found other means to…exist.”
He looks into my eyes, and we both silently admit that, while I was the one to leave, it wasn’t easy for me either. “Booze?” he asks.
I nod, feeling a tiny cathartic release I don’t really deserve for that admission. “For a time.”
“And the other times? Drugs?” he probes.
I shake my head. “No. I listen to a twenty-five-year-old CEO cry for three hours straight about how he wants to bang his fifty-five-year-old secretary because she looks like his high school teacher. Or a fitness instructor who flogs himself because he can’t get over accidentally killing his neighbor’s dog.”
He shakes his head and takes a long swig of beer as his gaze hovers contemplatively in the middle distance. “So the club wasn’t totally a punishment for you. It was partly your savior,” he observes quietly.
The bottle starts to slip from my fingers as shock pummels me.
His stunning eyes return to mine, seeing far too much. I must look as poleaxed as I feel because he caresses my cheek with a finger. “It’s okay, baby.”
I jerk away. “It’s not okay. And you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” But I strongly suspect that he does. Jesus.
Killian Knight wouldn’t have risen to the high rank he did at the Fallhurst Institute, all while maintaining his normal nerdy billionaire existence, if he wasn’t clever. Although he’s never taken the test, his IQ is estimated to be insanely high. Right in this moment, I resent his ability to turn all that high-mental-quotient brain and blue-eyed, mind-scrambling face on me.
A beep from his pants pocket saves me from defending myself further. Or providing answers to the myriad questions I see brimming in his eyes.
He pulls out a sleek gadget and looks down at the screen. He scrolls through whatever information is displayed and then glances at me. “Wanna take this field trip a little further?”
I inhale in surprise. “Where?”
“Betty has mapped out a route to the club with the least amount of functioning CCTV cameras. And another route to your apartment.” He looks up at me. “Which one do you want to hit first?”
“My apartment,” I respond immediately. “I can’t go to the club dressed like this.”
“We’ll have something to eat first, then we’ll go. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Great.” He puts the gadget away and nods to the cooling bottle in my hand. “Finish your beer.”
* * *
We eat an early dinner prepared by Mitch, and this time I wisely don’t make a comment about how great the steak and salad are. Afterward, Killian disappears into his study for half an hour. I use the app on my phone to check the footage from the security cameras I placed at vantage points around my apartment building.
I’m relieved when nothing jumps out at me.
The other ghost from my past is keeping her distance. After three weeks, I’m beginning to wonder if our meeting was just a freakish coincidence.
Except there’s no such thing. Wasn’t that what Killian drummed into me the very first day of training? I think of that black site in Virginia with a mixture of awe and guilt. I loved the training, putting my brain through hell and my body through worse. I loved the clandestine meetings with Killian in the woods behind the facility even more. I discovered that being fucked against a tree, while seriously uncomfortable for my back, was still one of the hottest things I’ve done. And it was great while it lasted.
Until we were busted.
By her.
I frown now and shake my head. Her call out of the blue, after two years of silence, scared the shit out of me. But what scared me even more was running into her three weeks ago at the club. I was certain it wasn’t a coincidence until I found out she was there to see Axel. She hasn’t contacted me again. Because I told her to leave me alone? Yeah, when did she ever listen?
“Something’s wrong. What is it?”
Holy shit. The questions don’t stop coming. I stash my phone and roll my eyes at Killian. “Other than my need to get out of here?”
“Don’t give me that,” he snaps. When I remain mutinously silent, he points at me. “I’m going to get it out of you. You know that, don’t you?”
Sadly, that’s what terrifies me. “Have at it. I’m going to have fun watching you try.”
There’s no half-joking comeback this time. He’s all business as he folds back the sleeves of his dark blue shirt, worn over black pants. He’s run a brush through his hair at some point in the last half hour. I note its shoulder length. I note his designer stubble. Hell, I notice everything about him. And the package that is Killian Knight does something to my breathing that I’m sure scientists would have a field day with when I drop dead from the effect.
“Are you ready to go, or are you happy to stand there eye-fucking me all night?”
Heat singes my cheeks. I want to walk over and punch him. Then climb him and wrap my body around his the way I used to love doing.
Jesus. Get a fucking grip.
I yank my backpack—which had miraculously made an appearance when we returned from the roof—off the sofa and stalk down the hallway.
He follows, and we leave the apartment. The downstairs lobby is just as stunningly beautiful as what I’ve seen of the rest of the apartment building so far. It’s also completely empty, which is strange for such an upmarket place.
I wonder whether it’s by design or luck and then roll my eyes at myself. No such thing as luck.
The second we hit the street, Killian places his hand in the small of my back and hustles me to the black SUV parked on the curb. Before we slide into the backseat, I notice another SUV idling a few meters away.
Mitch is behind the wheel of ours, with another guy in the passenger seat. “That’s Linc. Say hi, Linc,” Killian says.
The burly man is almost a carbon copy of Mitch, save for the fact that he’s black and his head is completely bald. He turns and offers me a courteous smile. “Evening, ma’am.”
Killian doesn’t offer my name, and I realized he didn’t with Mitch this morning either.
“Hi,” I reply.
We merge into traffic. Killian is back to fiddling with the gadget in his hand, and I look out to get my bearings. Upper East Side, four blocks from Axel’s apartment. I keep that nugget to myself.
We don’t talk for a few streets, until I notice what’s happening with the stoplights.
I glance over at Killian. He’s busy working away at his little gadget. I frown. “Are you doing this?”
“What?”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
He raises his head and looks over at me. “You’re talking about the lights? I remember you mentioning how it drove you nuts when you’re at a stoplight and it turns from green back to red in like five seconds.”
My eyes widen. “Yes…and?”
His smile turns into a grin and he waves his little gadget at me. “I found out that it drove me nuts too.”
“So…”
His eyebrows waggle. “You stick with me and it’ll be green lights all the way, baby.”
What the fuck? “I’m pretty sure that’s illegal.”
His smile evaporates, and iron-willed Killian is back. “So is tampering with CCTV cameras, but I’m absolutely sure I want you off the streets pretty fucking damn quick. If the cost of that is a few hundred people being three minutes late to wherever they’re headed, I’m completely okay with that.”
We make it to Gramercy Park in less than twenty minutes. I’m thinking this is what heads of state must feel like when traffic stops for them as I get out and walk into my apartment building. It may have been illegal, but shit, I could get used to it very fast. I don’t tell Killian though. He’ll probably gift wrap the algorithm for me in ten seconds.
And what’s wrong that? a tiny, mildly exasperated voice asks.
A hundred different reasons. I’m reminding myself of what those reasons are when I approach the door to my apartment. Before I can insert my key, Killian’s arm slides around my waist and pulls me back into his body.
“Hang tight for a second,” he says. “Can I have your key?”
I want to refuse, but Mitch and Linc are standing in front of my door. And I get the feeling I won’t be let through it until Killian does whatever security check he intends to do. I hand over the key. When they disappear inside, I step away from Killian.
“I have my own security, you know.”
He nods, but his eyes remain in the doorway. The two bodyguards return a couple of minutes later. “All clear.”
I purse my lips and refrain from saying what’s on my mind as they position themselves on either side of my front door. We enter, and I’m shutting the door behind me when Killian inhales sharply.
“Jesus. What the fuck is that?”