I watched her for signs of shock, but all she did was breathe. Her colorless eyes stared, her chest rose and fell, and she simply breathed.
I didn’t take my promise back.
She swallowed. “Are you going to call the police?”
We both knew the guard hadn’t come to bring her home. He’d come to dispose of her and the weather was a perfect cover. “No.”
“Why?”
I lied to everyone. Omission was my religion. But the second I saw her on her knees on my kitchen floor, fighting not to fall apart, I saw what I was when my wife left me. Broken and despondent, she didn’t need any more shit. I wasn’t going to lie to her. “I’m going to dispose of the body, wipe the vehicle then dump it.” But I wasn’t going to give Fedorov his wife back. No fucking way. “Are you legally married?”
“What?”
“To Fedorov. Did you sign any legal papers?”
She inhaled and reached for the soap. Small, delicate hands twisted around the bar. “I only signed a prenup,” she admitted. “He said he took care of everything else.”
The asshole probably hadn’t even married her. “What’s your legal last name?” I should’ve run a background check on her the second I’d had a chance.
“I didn’t legally take his name.”
One less complication. “Anything else he holds over you?”
Her head down, she didn’t answer. She scrubbed the dead guard’s blood off her arms.
I gave in to the temptation and stared at her hard nipples and her perfect fucking small breasts. She wasn’t pretty, she was fuck-my-life-up beautiful. I fought to keep from touching her. “I asked you a question.”
She scrubbed the same spot over and over. “I wasn’t born in Russia. I was born here. I’m American.”
The accent. “Okay.” I knew where this was going. “And?” I’d forgotten to ask about it.
“I don’t have an accent. I don’t even speak Russian. My mother does. Her English is accented. I copied it.”
“Why?” The fucking asshole had even controlled her damn speech.
“Viktor likes me to speak a certain way. He made me.”
He’d done a lot more than that. “What else?” My jaw ticked.
She ignored the question. “He’s going to punish me.”
My nostrils flared. “He’s not going to touch you ever again.” Not him or any of his guards. Not as long as I was breathing.
“He’ll find me.” She didn’t speak the words in fear, she stated them as simple fact.
“Good.” Then I wouldn’t have to find him to kill him.
She finally looked up at me. But instead of the panic or fear I was expecting, she stared at me with zero emotion. “You want him to take me?”
She was steeling herself by cutting off feelings, and detaching. She was doing what she’d probably done for five years. It fucking killed me to see it, but it also told me how damn strong she was. “You don’t have to worry about him anymore. I’m not going to let him do a goddamn thing to you. And yes, I want him coming for you. It will be the last thing he does. I promise.”
“He owns me.”
No, he fucking didn’t. “Not anymore.”
“Because you decided to own me now?” Zero intonation in her question, she could’ve been asking me about the weather.
“I don’t own women.” No real man did.
“Then why are you doing this?”
Because she’d dropped to her knees in my kitchen and spread her legs for an impotent arms dealer. I didn’t need a goddamn reason beyond that. “You need help.”
She held my gaze. “I didn’t ask for it.”
“You’re getting it.”
Something I couldn’t decipher crossed her expression, then she inhaled and dropped her head. “Your clothes.”
I didn’t say shit.
She stared at my shirt. “They’re soaked.”
“I know.” Goddamn, I wanted to fucking touch her.
“You should take them off.”
I studied every nuance in her face, her voice, but there was nothing sexual about her comment. “You don’t want me to do that.”
“Why not?”
I told her the truth. “Because I haven’t fucked in weeks.”
Her head popped up and she looked at me with surprise. “But you said you take women as clients.”
“On occasion.” Most of the time I was too damn busy, but recently, none of the women had done it for me.
“Then what do you do the rest of the time?”
I stared at her. Then I said the last fucking thing I should. “Turn around.”
She didn’t question me, or even hesitate. She simply turned.
I reached around her and took the soap from her. Lathering my hands, I ran them over her back. Her soft skin, her submissive nature, her gorgeous fucking body, all I could think about was sinking inside her, but I wasn’t going to. “Do you have family?”
“Why?”
“Because you’re going to need somewhere to go after.” If she stayed here, I’d fuck her for days.
She leaned back toward me. “After he’s dead?”
I didn’t repeat my intention. She’d heard me, but I fucking got it. Words were just words to her. She didn’t know me enough yet to know I wasn’t fucking around, but she would. “Parents?” I moved my hands slowly up the middle of her back.
She dropped her head forward. “My mother.”
I rubbed circles on her neck with my thumbs. “She in state?”
A small moan escaped her lips. “Yes.”
I pressed my fingers deep into the tight muscles below her shoulder blades. “Can you go there?”
She exhaled and suddenly her tone changed. “What do you care?” She stepped forward.
I spun her around and grasped her chin, then I did the first smart thing since she’d walked into my life. “I’m going to solve your problem. Then you’re going to walk away from me.”
Bitterness filtered into her voice. “Because you don’t do repeat clients.”
It wasn’t a question, but I answered it anyway. “You’re not my client.”
She crossed her arms. “Good, because I’m not paying you.”
I searched every inch of her face because, God help me, I was looking for a fucking in. One damn sign that she wanted me to touch her. Bitterness, defiance, it wasn’t the opposite of indifference, I fucking knew that, but I wanted more than that small moan. “What do you want?”
She pulled out of my grasp. “Is that a joke?”
Her accent had all but disappeared. “Do I look like I’m joking?”
She gave me her back. “I want to finish showering, alone. Please leave.”
I stepped out of my boots. Pulling my T-shirt over my head, I dropped it then unbuttoned my pants.
She turned back around. “I said….” Her gaze cut to my rock-hard dick, and she trailed off. “What are you doing?” Her throat moved with a swallow.
I kicked off my wet pants. “Leaving.” I reached for the soap. “After I rinse off.” I scrubbed my hands and arms. “Unless you want to fuck.”
Her eyes on my junk, she didn’t move.
“Step aside,” I warned.
“You’re even bigger than—” She stopped herself.
I locked down my expression. “Vega?” I didn’t get attached to women. That was a luxury I couldn’t afford in my line of work. And not getting attached meant not fucking attached, in any goddamn way. I told myself I didn’t give a shit how many ways Vega had taken her. I told myself, if she could take a big dick, even better. But the thought of Vega grinding on her made my jaw clench and my muscles fucking twitch.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Good. I wanted her to fucking look. I wanted her to see every goddamn inch of my cock and think about how I would feel inside her. “You going to move?” Because I was about to say fuck it and find out just how much of me she could take.
She bit her bottom lip.
Goddamn it.
I stepped up to her. My dick an inch from her small body, my chest close to those hard nipples, I reached around her petite frame and rinsed my arms. Low, controlled, I spoke. “You never answered my question.”
Her gaze traveled up my body and stopped at my mouth. She licked her bottom lip. “What question?”
I braced my hands on the wall behind her. “Vega ever make you come?” I knew Alex Vega. He lived for money, not pleasing women. I also knew the rumors about Fedorov. He was a sick fuck. And I knew what I’d seen in my kitchen. This woman had been completely controlled. Fedorov had owned everything about her, including her pleasure.
She dropped her gaze to my chest, but not before I saw the faint blush to her cheeks.
“Answer me,” I demanded.
Her voice turned quiet. “Why are you doing this? Do you think you could possibly humiliate me any more than him?”
I tipped her chin. “You think I’m trying to humiliate you?”
“Doesn’t every man want to break a woman down?”
Fedorov was dead. So motherfucking dead. “No,” I answered. “Only the assholes.” I fought for an even inhale. “I’m not trying to break you. I’m trying to gauge the mixed signals you’re putting off, because I’m not some asshole who’s going to force myself on you.” I pushed off the wall. “You see my desire. You know where I stand.” I stepped around her.
“Where are you going?”
I didn’t look back. “To clean up.”
I grabbed a towel and dry clothes, then my phone. I was so fucking pissed at what that asshole had done to her that I forgot to check the surveillance feeds before I called André Luna.
A sniper in the Marines, Luna now owned his own personal security firm. He answered on the first ring. “It’s been a while, Marek.”
I didn’t deny it. “I need a pick up in thirty.” I worked alone, always, but Luna had been there for me a couple times and I’d always repaid the favor.
“Last time you needed a pick up, you almost bled out on my front seat.”
I pulled off my wet bandages then threw on a T-shirt. “And you upgraded to a new vehicle.” Six of them, actually. I’d bought him the new SUVs because he’d needed them and didn’t have the funds at the time. He’d been pissed as hell and tried to give five of them back, saying he didn’t do handouts. I’d told him six vehicles didn’t make up for saving my life.
“You injured?”
“I’m fine.” I yanked my pants up. I was so fucking pissed at Fedorov, I barely felt my wounds. “I’ll be under the new southern overpass to the port. Thirty minutes.”
“You do know there’s a hurricane making landfall?”
“It’s still tropical force winds and it’s only the outer bands.”
“Regardless, I pulled all my men. Anyone not on a crucial assignment is here on lockdown till it passes.”
I ran through a mental checklist of his employees. “Tyler still working for you?” No family yet, he’d do it.
“You’re not hearing me, Marek. I’m not sending any of my men out in this. Can’t it wait?”
“No.” I needed the cover of the storm.
Luna muttered a curse in Spanish. “You know what my problem is?” He didn’t wait for me to answer. “I’m too fucking curious. Every time you call, you make it sound like you need a pick up from some damn picnic in the park, but when I get there, something epically fucked has gone down. So yeah, I’m gonna bite. Where’s the drop-off?”
“My house.”
“That’s it? There gonna be heat?”
“No.” Not if I moved quick.
He chuckled. “Why don’t I believe you?”
I didn’t answer.
“All right, damn it. But hold up, let me check the radar.”
I waited.
“Mierda,” he swore low and quiet. “Thirty minutes out then twenty to your place and twenty, twenty-five back here. That puts us right in the middle of this thing.”
“Weight the vehicle, make it twenty-five minutes and meet me at the southern overpass.”
“Three tours in Afghanistan and I’m gonna get taken out by a fucking hurricane. Your ass is gonna owe me for this.”
“If it gets rough, you can ride it out at my place.” I was inland.
“I’m not locking myself up at your low-lying Fort Knox compound. You’re in the middle of a fucking flood zone. The apocalypse? Yeah, I’m coming to you. But a hurricane? No fucking thanks. Now you have twenty-four minutes. Don’t be late.” He hung up.
I grabbed a tactical vest and two sidearms from the safe in my bedroom closet. Slipping the vest over my head, I adjusted the Velcro straps and holstered the weapons. I felt her presence before I heard her.
“I’m going out.” I turned.
Holding the towel against her chest, she fought to not look alarmed. “There’s a hurricane.”
“The winds haven’t reached category one yet.” I loaded a few extra clips. “You’re staying here. I have a safe room in the barn.” Despite what Luna had said, it was safe as hell in a hurricane.
She bit her lip and averted her gaze.
Her body language gave me pause. “What’s wrong?”
Her shoulders rose with an inhale, but she didn’t look at me. “I told Viktor about the barn. If he shows up and I’m not in the house, he’ll look there first.”
Goddamn it. I pulled a jacket from my closet. “Put this on over your clothes and tie your hair back.” I didn’t need any of her fucking DNA in that SUV. “You’re coming with me.”
She glanced at Hunter as he lay at the end of the bed. “Is it safe to go out?”
“Safer than you being here alone and him knowing about the barn.” I grabbed another jacket for myself. “Get dressed, then meet me in the garage.” I walked out.
I grabbed a gallon of bleach and poured it over the front porch. With the rain already picking up, any visual evidence would be gone before we returned. Back in the garage, I opened the door, put on gloves, then jogged to the SUV and got behind the wheel. The wind gusting like fuck, I backed into the garage just far enough to cover the rear of the vehicle.
I was loading five-gallon gas cans in the back of the SUV next to the body when she came out of the house.
Swimming in my jacket, she was dressed in jeans and she’d pulled her hair back. She looked like a completely different woman than the one I’d found in my kitchen.
She glanced at the SUV. “We’re going in that?”
I nodded once. “We’re dumping it.”
“Peter is in there.”
I grabbed an extra pair of gloves and ignored her statement. “Put these on and get in the front passenger seat.”
“How will we get back?”
“A friend of mine.”
“Someone you trust?”
“We served together.” I closed the back hatch. “Get in.”
Pocketing my garage opener, I waited till she was in the SUV, then I got behind the wheel. “Buckle in but don’t touch anything else.” I checked the gas gauge to make sure we had fuel.
She reached for the seat belt with a gloved hand. “You sound like you’ve done this before.”
“A few times.” More than a few. But the two wounds on my body were evidence that I was losing my edge. I navigated my unpaved driveway. The SUV handled the wind gusts, but we were protected by the woods around us.
She was silent until we pulled onto the county road. “Why do you live out here?” Her eyes trained on the road, she stared straight ahead.
“I don’t like cities.” Four tours had cured me of ever wanting to live in an urban environment. Rain sheeted against the windshield and water filled the runoff ditches on either side of the road.
“You could live on the beach,” she said absently.
I could live a lot of places. “Is that where you want to live?”
A gust of wind made the vehicle swerve, and she gasped.
“We’re fine.” I corrected and stepped on the gas as a huge gust threw a wall of water at the SUV.
She snapped. “We’re in a stolen car with a dead body, enough gas to commit arson and we’re driving through a hurricane. You have stitches and a gunshot wound, and I have an insane husband. That isn’t fine.”
I navigated around a fallen branch in the road and pointed out the obvious. “If you never signed a marriage certificate, you’re not legally married.”
She gripped the shoulder strap of her seat belt. “I told you, he said he took care of that.”
“By forging your name?”
She threw her hands up. “I don’t know! Okay? I don’t know what he did! I just want to live through this and not go to jail!”
“You’re not going to jail.” No one was out on the road, including cops. That’s why I needed to dump the body now instead of later.
“This wasn’t supposed to happen. I wouldn’t be in this situation if Alex hadn’t dumped me at your house!”
I gripped the fucking steering wheel and fought to keep my tone even. “And what situation is that? An abusive relationship with a manipulative arms dealer who loans you out to a male prostitute?” I gunned the SUV around another fallen branch. “Or almost getting killed in the back of a stolen SUV by a hired gun of your husband’s?”
“He wasn’t going to kill me. Viktor would never allow that!”
“Right. He was going to pay you half a million dollars and let you walk.” She had no fucking clue who she’d gotten in bed with.
She turned in her seat. “You’re a male prostitute. You said so yourself.”
I threw her attitude right back on her. “Is that why you said no to me in the shower?”
She crossed her arms. “I didn’t have to say no because you didn’t ask a question.”
Jesus Christ. “Let me spell it out for you, sweetheart. When a naked man with a hard-on asks you what you want, that’s a fucking question.” I pulled under the overpass. Construction on one side, stacked concrete barriers on the other, there were no security cameras and no direct rain. I cut the engine. “Get out.”