Black Widow
My head is filled with cotton wool, and my mouth feels like every grain of sand in the Gobi desert has been stuffed in it.
Even before I’m fully awake, I know I’ve been drugged. Unfortunately, it’s not the first time I’ve had chemicals pumped into my bloodstream to keep me subdued. It’s the consequence of the life I’ve led. The life I’ve been hiding from these past four years.
I can’t exactly hear my heartbeat, but with the absence of any foreign tubes in my mouth, I know at least I’m breathing on my own and not with the aid of intubation like the last time. That’s a good start.
The lights are thankfully low when I attempt to open my eyes. I’m in a room, on a sofa, in an apartment. Shit.
Memories of the evening’s events take precious few minutes to return, and when they do, they’re a touch sketchy. But his presence registers almost immediately.
For a single moment, I wish for the harsher lights of a hospital, the rushed voices of an emergency room providing a soundtrack that tells me I’m not in the deepest, darkest shit. But of course, that’s impossible. A hospital means names, records, and pushy doctors demanding to know every last thing about me. And nosy computers in black sites ready to pounce on the tiniest morsel resulting from a misstep.
I’ve already fucked up by not acting and running when I should have. It’s stupid to even wish for anything that’ll compound that problem. So I tackle the one immediately confronting me.
I take a breath, and I’m surrounded by his scent. God, he smells so good. I want to close my eyes and block out the inevitable. I want to take a deeper hit even as another part of me clamors to stop breathing altogether so I don’t have to face what’s coming. I choose the former option and shut my eyes. I can’t face him again. Not yet.
Killian.
“You’ve been awake for five minutes. How long are you going to ignore me?” the deep, solemn voice asks.
I’m not sure if my shiver is real or in my imagination. “You…” I stop when my tongue refuses to cooperate. I wriggle my jaw and try again. “You drugged…me.” I sound like I’ve downed a full bottle of vodka and chased it with two dozen shots of Jägermeister while high on E.
“It was the only way I could ensure you’d come quietly.”
The last moments in the park remain hazy, but I know enough to arrive at an accurate assessment. “You’re an…asshole.”
“Yes.”
That he’s not even attempting to deny it pisses me off. “Don’t…fucking do that.”
“Agree with you? Why not? It’s true.”
I grit my teeth, only it feels like I’m gnashing a row of marshmallows. Whatever he gave me is taking its sweet time to wear off. It’s keeping my physical responses slow but keeping my brain sharp. “What…did you give me?”
“There’s no official name for it yet. We can come up with a name together when you’re better if you want.”
I ignore that simply because my mouth is too dry to waste my time on unnecessary conversation. Besides, I don’t intend to stick around long enough to do anything Killian Knight suggests in that hypnotic voice of his.
I take a deep breath, curbing the urge to scream. Will I even manage to scream? “How long…have I been…out?” I ask.
“A little under three hours. You’re probably thirsty. I’m sorry but I can’t give you any water just yet. I’ve spent too long looking for you to have you choke on me now. The drug’s effects will wear off in about ten minutes. I have a glass of water waiting right here next to me. Or I can get the champagne chilling in the kitchen if you prefer. We can celebrate however you want,” he offers magnanimously.
You’re insane, I want to say. I want to call him a dozen different derogatory names. Challenge his state of mind. But they would all be true. I know because we have that in common. No, we had that in common. Back when the thrill of an op was a high, that came second only to the fact that I was chasing it with Killian. And every success drew us deeper into our own dark vortex of obsessional sex and guilt-fueled destruction that eventually broke us.
The Bonnie and Clyde of the espionage world, one team member labeled us. And he wasn’t far off. The only thing is that we haven’t perished in a blaze of glory. Yet. But we stroked that edge too many times for fate not to have one eye on payback where we’re concerned. It’s already taken a giant chunk of my heart. I’m almost amused by how very little else there is to take.
Almost. Because I know better than to issue fate that challenge.
“Why?” I ask instead because it’s the only question that might get me some answers.
“I told you in the park. You belong to me. Now that I’ve found you, I’m not letting you go.”
This time I feel the shiver a little more. More snippets coalesce into solid memories. I attempt to shake my head, but it barely moves a fraction. “No. There’s…more.”
There has to be. The Killian I knew was ruthless when he needed to be. It’s a prerequisite of the nature of being a spy. In that world, there was no black or white, only an endless, all-encompassing gray. But unless something’s gone very wrong, I know he would never turn the darker side of his considerable skills on me.
But then we haven’t seen each other in four years. I ran from him without saying goodbye, suspecting he would come after me. Maybe I was too good at hiding. Maybe what happened in Cairo affected him almost as much as it did me.
I have no doubt I’ll find out soon enough, so I push those particular memories to one side and attempt to read the tone of the silence.
“You’re right, there’s more. But we have time for that.”
My heart lurches. “I want…to know. Now.”
“And I want to know why you left me,” he replies, that hard edge back in his tone.
“You know why. It…we should never have happened.”
He laughs, a deep sound filled with bitterness that’s nevertheless the sexiest thing I’ve heard in a long time. I’m flat on my back, as helpless as a goddamn baby lamb; the sound attacks my sensitive, needy parts with merciless disregard for my well-being. My nipples tighten and peak. Heat rushes between my legs and gleefully strokes my clit.
“You say that as if you have a choice as to whether the sun rises in the morning or not. Do you really want to waste time on that nonsense?”
“It’s…my life wasn’t…nonsense.”
“I’m not talking about your life before we met. I’m talking about what came after you left that excuse for an existence you were living. Wishing we didn’t happen is useless bullshit. I was yours the moment you looked at me. And you were ready and willing to take me. It’s a waste of time to feel guilt about any of it now.”
“Don’t tell me what to feel.” Yeah, that’s a really powerful comeback.
He sighs after a minute. I hear him move somewhere behind me. He’s probably sitting forward, propping his elbows on his knees like he does when he’s about to tackle a problem with his scarily sharp intellect. I’m almost afraid of what’s coming. But I’m tired of being afraid of every little thing. And yes, I’m also tired of the guilt. If only I could shed it as easily as Killian seems to have shed his.
He was already halfway to dropping that particular set of baggage when I left him four years ago. It was partly why my resentment toward him reached unbearable proportions. He managed to put our iniquities behind him far too easily, whereas I was stuck with the seeds of my sins growing inside me like a living thing.
“After all this time, you still want me. I know you do. Until that belief goes away, nothing is going to stop me from coming after you and keeping you if you manage to get away from me again.”
“You’re…wrong. I don’t want you,” I lie. “I haven’t wanted you for over four years. Let me go, leave New York, and I’ll happily spend another four years proving how I haven’t spent a minute thinking about you.”
He doesn’t respond for a handful of seconds, but he exhales heavily. “That’s going to happen over my dead body.” It’s a low-voiced, lethal vow that resonates deep in my belly.
“I can arrange that too,” I reply, despite the shakiness taking root inside me.
He chuckles. “Okay, have at it. The gun is right there next to you. Pick it up and shoot me if you feel that strongly about living without me.”
“What?”
“Your speech is clearer now. You can probably move now too. Give it another minute and you can sit up and grab the gun.”
My breath catches a little as another cold memory slides into place. That of taking a life. “That’s how you want me to prove I don’t want you? For me to commit murder?” Again?
“It’s certainly a definitive way to end this,” he replies. “You can put us both out of our misery.”
There’s no humor in his voice. A weird sensation grips my nape. Jesus, he can’t mean it, can he? I shake my head to clear the last of the fuzziness. The expanded range of motion confirms that whatever he gave me is leaving my system.
My temple throbs a little as I raise my head and look around properly. I take my time, delaying the moment I have to look at him again. The gun is where he said it was, sitting on a low, expensive-looking coffee table made of solid dark wood and glass. Across from me, a long sectional sofa like the one I’m lying on sits beneath a wide glass window. From the angle of the lights outside, I can tell we’re high up. Damn, that means my chances of getting out of here are limited. I try not to show the dread that morsel of information brings me.
I take in the sleek, suspended marble fireplace, the plush carpeting, the tasteful pieces of art and expensive furniture. The space may be minimalist, but it’s the type that screams class and money.
I’m not surprised. Killian Knight was seriously loaded long before I met him. A technology-genius-and-coder-turned-spy, he was amply rewarded by a government eager to win the espionage war, and pounced on his every invention.
He was twenty-nine when we met and ready to retire. Or so he said. It may have been a lie. We excelled at those too. Especially the ones we fed ourselves.
What has time done to him? In the shadows of the park, I didn’t get the chance to see him as clearly as I wanted to. I’m still not sure I want to. But I can’t stay on this damn sofa forever.
Stomach clenched tight, I tentatively sit up and swing my legs to the floor. Only then do I notice my hoodie is gone, and so is my cap.
“Where are my things?” I demand with my eyes trained on the fireplace.
“You can’t avoid me forever, sweetheart. Look at me,” he commands.
Self-preservation urges me to scream no. But enough of this shit. Making grown men cry is literally part of my job description. Time to take this bull by its horns.
I turn my head slowly to the left and set eyes properly on Killian Knight for the first time in over four years. As predicted, and as I vainly hoped wouldn’t be the case, I lose the ability to breathe the moment our gazes lock.
Cobalt-blue eyes cut through the armor I’ve erected around myself like a hot knife through butter. Eyebrows a couple of shades darker than his brown hair rest broodingly over his watchful eyes.
His face is leaner and his cheekbones a little sharper than I remember. The meaner look is heightened by the square, stubble-shadowed jaw and longer hairstyle. But it’s his mouth that captures my attention. Nothing about Killian’s lips has changed. His upper lip is a harsh, curved line that always hints at darkness and cruelty. Whereas his fuller bottom lip is the last word in carnal temptation. The memory of what those lips have done to me, how they’ve made me scream and beg and claw in ecstasy, glides right through the crack he’s opened with his potent stare.
That silent, deadly scrutiny rakes my face, taking in every inch of my skin before he looks into my eyes again. “Hey, baby,” he murmurs, his voice deep and rough with whatever emotions he’s experiencing. The sexiest sound known to woman. Aimed straight at my core.
I snatch my gaze away before the sound weakens me further, and I gulp in a deep breath. Desperately, I focus on something other than the man sitting a few feet away, watching me with a single-minded concentration that is freaking me out.
He’s sitting in a black leather armchair. The type that squats low on the floor and looks expensive enough to cost a whole month’s rent in the Gramercy Park apartment I call home. Next to him is a smaller coffee table with the glass of water he promised me. Beside the glass is a bowl of ice chips, a towel, and a straw.
He has no weapon, which means with my gun I’ll have the upper hand. But I’m not going to shoot Killian Knight. We both know that. However, I’m not above disabling him to make my escape if I have to.
“Whatever you’re planning in that gorgeous head of yours, have mercy on me and make it lethal?”
The casually murmured words ramp up my agitation. “God, could you please stop talking like that? I’m not going to shoot you.”
One corner of his mouth lifts. “Okay. I’m glad we’ve got that cleared up. Can we talk about us now?” he suggests.
I jerk to my feet and grimace when I sway a little. “There’s nothing to talk about. Whatever us there was before is over and done with. Where are my things?” I look around while studiously avoiding looking at him.
“You’ll get them back when you need them. Sit down. You shouldn’t be on your feet just yet.”
“I’m fine,” I snap, just before a particularly heavy throb pounds my temples. I lift my hand to massage the area before the weakness of the action registers. I drop my hands but it’s too late.
He stands and I can’t help myself. I watch him walk over with the glass of water in his hand. Killian has kept himself fit. I knew that from the park when I was pressed against his hard body. But seeing him now, watching his broad shoulders and his long-legged sexy swagger that used to draw immediate attention when he walked into a room, I feel decidedly, shamefully frailer.
He reaches me and holds out the glass. “Sit down and drink this.”
I slide my gaze from his body, turn away, and shake my head. “I’m not accepting anything from you. How do I know you’re not going to drug me again?”
“Because I want to have a conversation with you. And to do that, I need you awake and alert.”
“At the risk of sounding like a broken record, we have nothing more to say to each other.”
“If you’re sure we’ve exhausted conversation, may I suggest other activities?” he says, his voice a fraction deeper.
I know what that means. And, God, I can’t entertain that suggestion. Even a little bit. “You may not.”
He sighs heavily. A familiar, melodramatic sound that used to make me laugh. The memory tugs hard at me. I shift my gaze back to the window. Dawn is fast approaching. I don’t need to be back at the Punishment Club for another several hours. But the reminder that I have a life out there, one that’s been violently interrupted by my past, is rammed home to me.
“I can’t stay here,” I say without looking at him.
He doesn’t reply.
“Whatever you’ve planned by kidnapping me, it’s not going to work,” I stress.
More silence. Against my will, my attention is drawn back to him. The glass is on the coffee table, and his gaze is on my body. I open my mouth to say God knows what, but the look in his eyes stops me.
He inhales raggedly as his eyes slide all over me. “I didn’t forget how beautiful you were, but, God, having you right here, in front of me, you’re even more beautiful than I remember.” His voice is gravel-rough, filled with the same churning hunger dredging through me.
And just like that I’m trapped. By his words. By his eyes. By every essence of the man in front of me. His hold on me was shamefully effortless right from the start. Against my will, I allow myself a small sliver of him, and let my gaze feast on him too.
Time has given Killian’s fallen-angel looks an even more lethal edge. The air around him bristles with danger and something else I can’t place my finger on.
“You’ve changed,” I say, more than a little distracted by the shift of cotton moving over his shoulders and torso as he withstands my scrutiny. “You seem…harder.” Not that he was soft before.
“It’s been hell without you,” he responds simply.
Killian’s ability to disarm me with words had knocked me off my feet within a few minutes of first meeting him. The deadly effect hasn’t worn off. “You say that like it was paradise before.”
“Then let me rephrase. It’s been a different kind of hell without you. I’ve discovered there are several layers of hell since you left me.”
Every breath I take rattles its way weakly into my lungs. “You can’t hold me responsible for your suffering.”
He steps closer into my personal space. Until we’re almost sharing oxygen. My tingling intensifies until my whole body is vibrating on a fine frequency only Killian Knight has been able to strike. “Can’t I? I may have failed at many things, but I know I didn’t fail to tell you or show you how much you meant to me. You knew exactly what leaving would do to me,” he says with more than a hint of a chill in his voice.
“Killian…” I stop and clear my throat when my voice sounds like I’m in the middle of a porn movie. I see its effect on him when his eyes darken.
“God, do you have any idea how many times I’ve heard you say my name like that in my dreams?”
“Killian—”
A rough sound rumbles out of him. “You keep saying my name like that and it’ll make me forget about the conversation we need to have. Instead I’ll make it my mission to strip those clothes off your body and reintroduce myself to this lean, mean new you. I like it, by the way. Not that there was anything wrong with the old you. I’m not entirely convinced about the hair color though, but I can come around to—”
“Stop! For the love of God, you’re driving me nuts.”
A half smile twitches his lips as he stares at me. But there’s no humor in his eyes. He’s watching me like a hawk. Enough that I know he’ll capture me in a second if I follow my instinct and try to flee again.
“I’m still very much open to trying other forms of communication,” he says gruffly. His eyes are twin fires of blazing hunger as they latch onto my mouth.
The fierce tingling that starts where his eyes remain makes me want to lick my lips. Over and over. Just to see if the memory of his kiss is as mind-blowing as I remember. God, I can’t take much more of this. I retreat a couple of steps away from him, and I nod at the glass on the table. “Can I have the water now?”
His gaze slowly rises to meet mine. “Of course.”
The moment he turns away to grab the glass, I bolt for the only opening that leads out of the living room. It’s a wide entryway with two hallways branching out on either side. Behind me, I hear the glass hit the table right before he curses under his breath.
I mutter a quick, desperate prayer to a God I know no longer takes petitions from me, and I vault down the right hallway. Relief floods me as I see a foyer and wide double doors. I reach them and then realize why Killian sounded more exasperated than alarmed by my attempted escape.
The doors in front of me are no ordinary ones. For a start, there’s no handle. I search valiantly for an opening anyway as I hear him approaching.
“Don’t waste your time. I’ve been in town for four days. I’ve had more than enough time to put a few contingencies in place for when I found you. That front door for instance.” He strolls toward me as I slide my hand along the very thin edge where the door meets the frame. Nothing. I’m still searching when he leans in close like he did at the tree in the park and plants his hands on either side of my head. I don’t turn around. “To your left,” he says softly in my ear after the silence stretches out for a tense moment.
I reluctantly turn my head and see a slim panel set into the wall. He reaches out and touches a button, and the sleek glass surface lights up in neon blue. “Alphanumeric code, a warm palm print that registers my heartbeat, and a retina scan. And that’s just for starters. If by some miracle you manage to leave the apartment—and I don’t underestimate your ability to do so—there’s another door before you reach the elevator. That one needs a different set of commands. As for this door, it may look like wood, but there’s a titanium panel inserted between the two outer layers, just in case you happen to carry an ax in that backpack of yours and you think of hacking at it. We’re on the twenty-eighth floor. The fire escape is temporarily out of commission, and the windows are sealed tight.”
With each bullet point of precautions he’s taken to prevent me from leaving, my heart drops lower into my belly.
“The only other occupant on this floor accepted a very generous offer to vacate his apartment for a while, so we have the whole floor to ourselves.”
“Stop acting like we’re on a vacation, Killian. You’ve kidnapped me.”
“I’m keeping you safe.”
“God, you’re deluded. You must also be really desperate to go to these lengths to imprison a woman who doesn’t want you.”
“You don’t want me? Then why are you shaking, baby?” His breath washes over me right before his lips graze the sensitive skin beneath my ear.
“In case you can’t tell, I’m shaking because I’m fucking pissed.”
His chest brushes against my back as he slowly closes the gap between us. “I know you are. And I’m right here. Feel free to work out your frustrations on me any way you want. But you’re not leaving this apartment.”
I slam my hand against the door, more than a little panicked at the weakness infusing my body from his proximity. “This is nuts. You can’t keep me here forever.”
He doesn’t say anything, and my trepidation grows. I know how blind to everything our obsession made us in the past. If Killian has retained even a fraction of that, I’m in deep trouble. I also know that when Killian doesn’t speak, it’s because he believes his silence will express his feelings.
His mouth skims the top of my spine and then returns for a firmer, longer kiss. I press myself against the door in a vain attempt to escape him. “Killian, no.”
“Yes. With every breath in my body, yes,” he insists gruffly.
I fight the melting in my brain and struggle to retain an ounce of sanity. “You…you said there was more to why you’ve brought me here.”
He exhales harshly. “There is, but dear God, how the hell do you expect me to think straight enough to talk to you when you’re this close? When I’m dying to be inside you again? Do you have any idea how much I need you right now?”
I don’t respond in the vain hope that he’ll stop talking. Stop evoking a thousand shards of memories.
“Turn around, baby,” he insists. “Kiss me.”
I shake my head and try to pull away, but there’s nowhere to go. “Tell me why you think I’m in danger.”
“I don’t think. I know.”
The unwavering certainty in his voice. The locked door. The extra manpower in the park. Knocking me out to ensure my compliance.
He may have his own intensely person reasons for tracking me down and kidnapping me, but the tightening in my gut tells me that the more that’s coming will alter my reality. Possibly in the long term. But there’s no hiding from this. Not anymore. And if a ghost is reawakening, I want to know which one it is.
“Who?” I force the word out through a throat fighting to stay closed.
He inhales slowly. My heart is trying to beat itself out of my chest when I feel his breath on my neck. “Cairo.”