SEVEN

 

 

The stairs up to the stilted house were at the back of the structure. Shea only found that out after walking almost all the way around it. For some reason, she was nervous to even think about walking beneath it.

Climbing the stairs, she paused on the mid-landing and took a breath before telling herself this was a professional duty and there was no need to be anxious or aggravated. The only reason Shea had to do it at all was because the idiot Diego had bailed and left it to her. Smiling at her own petulance, she carried on up to the top. This responsibility gave her an opportunity and she was going to take advantage of it.

Diego had provided the code she needed to use to get in. Shea prayed that the digits were right. The last thing that she wanted to do was set off some kind of crazy alarm that would lead to the whole compound thinking that she’d been trying to sneak into their leader’s home.

Information was compartmentalized to the craziest degree, even she didn’t know everything that was in these reports and she was carrying the damn things. So, not everyone always knew what others were up to and that could lead to confusion if Diego hadn’t told anyone she was taking his place in delivering these documents.

Keying in the numbers, she held her breath. A light flashed green and she tried the handle. The door opened and relief allowed her to exhale. Going inside, Shea didn’t expect the masculine smell of the place to sock her in the gut. But it did; so hard that she was brought up short. Drawing in a breath, she was shocked by how her eyes started to water, not with tears, but with anticipation. For some reason, she started trying to remember the last time she’d gotten laid.

Swallowing and shaking her head to remind herself that she was a professional, she looked around. There was a massive, fully-equipped kitchen to the right and a dining area to the left beneath the staircase and lowered ceiling. The living area took up the rest of the open-plan space. The fully glazed frontage stretched two floors high.

Beyond the dining table was a wall and a door in a dark corner. The lowered ceiling seemed to hold up a mezzanine that would be open to overlook the living room beneath. It was a large upper floor, so she wondered if maybe the bedroom was up there. It spread from the back wall by the entry door to the front in a side appendage that didn’t detract from the height of the living space.

Creeping across the kitchen and past the floating staircase, she stopped at the bottom of the stairs to peek across the living area out to the huge balcony that was wider than the living room. The whole home was shockingly modern, made up of warm woods and state-of-the-art appliances. There was a TV and a sound system as well. Could the man who’d held her at gunpoint enjoy music?

“Diego’s a sonofabitch.”

Startled by his voice, Shea spun around and discovered the Laird on the staircase, in jeans and a tee-shirt, more casual than he had been the other day when he’d threatened her in the yard. But, he wasn’t too fazed by her presence because he carried on descending the stairs without objecting or retrieving a weapon.

Clearing her throat, she composed herself. “I take it I’m supposed to agree with everything you say.” Pausing at the bottom of the stairs, he narrowed his eyes. This wasn’t Diego and she doubted she’d get away with joking around, so she tried a smile instead. “You have a beautiful home.”

Maybe her smile didn’t come across as sincere. Not that it mattered, he wasn’t going to play at social niceties and didn’t even try to hazard one in return. Turning his back on her to go into the kitchen, he gave her the chance to roll her eyes at herself. This time, when it really mattered, she wasn’t making the best of impressions.

Giving up without achieving her goal wasn’t a part of her character. So, she forged on, trying to make a connection. “I’d ask if you’ve stayed here long,” she said. “But, I guess that’s a stupid question since you’ve lived here all your life.”

He was doing something in the corner and pressed a bunch of buttons on the coffee machine, which began grinding beans, all but cutting off her last word. Reminding herself that this was supposed to be a professional meeting, Shea put her attempt to make friends with him on hold, thinking maybe she could find an in with the work.

As soon as the coffee machine finished, she walked toward the central island, intending to put the reports down. But, the scent of coffee mingled with the smell of whatever cologne he was wearing. The combination of aromas dazed her to the point that her eyes blurred again and she had to stop midway.

In the weeks she’d been here, Shea had often reflected on how difficult it must be for her comrades not to have contact with the opposite sex. Yet, there she was, surrounded by men, and unable to have contact with them. Until she’d come to the Laird’s house, she really hadn’t given it more than a passing thought. Now, the notion was so preoccupying that she couldn’t follow through on the simplest task.

Both the Laird and the coffee machine were on the other side of the kitchen island, ten to fifteen feet away from her, yet somehow both succeeded in having an impact. Shea managed to shake herself back to her senses and started toward the island again. When she got there, she put a hand on it to support herself. Still trying to get it together, she did her best not to panic when he came around the island toward her.

The closer he got, the more she tensed. Fear wasn’t what made her cling tighter to the papers. The Laird stopped in front of her and held out a hand. For a second, she looked at it wondering if he wanted hers in return, then she remembered what she was holding.

“Oh,” she said and handed over the reports. He stayed there in front of her, reading the top sheet, then he opened the first report and scanned the second page. “There’s an interesting piece of information on page three.”

Glancing at her for a dubious second, he turned the page to check the section she’d highlighted. His expression didn’t change, signaling that he wasn’t impressed. “A raccoon?”

In her opinion, the animal was pretty wily. “That little guy got through all of your defenses and made it inside,” she said. “He should be knighted or something.”

The Laird tossed the reports onto the island and headed back toward his coffee machine. “We don’t do that here.”

She sighed. “No,” she murmured to herself, her eyes drifting toward the window. “That might be too much fun.” Trying to sound enthusiastic, she raised her voice to call. “It would give you an excuse to play with a sword.”

“I don’t need an excuse to do what I want,” he said. “Coffee?”

Her presence seemed to irk him, so it didn’t seem to make sense that he’d be hospitable and offer her a drink. Stunned, she glanced around to check if he was talking to her. As the cliché went, there was no one else here.

“Me?”

In the corner by the coffee machine, he had been awaiting her response. “Forget it. Time’s up.”

Gasping, Shea darted around the island. “No! I want coffee. I love coffee. Yes, please to coffee.”

“How do you want it?” he asked.

Zipping up to his side, she was excited by the prospect of good java. “Give it to me anyway you want.”

Shea wasn’t really thinking about how that might be interpreted until she tipped her head to the side to look up at him. Their eyes locked. Suspended in that moment, she was mesmerized by how the deep brown of his eyes seemed to swirl. It hypnotized her, making her breathing grow shallow and her lips dry out.

After a few seconds, she thought it might be weird that she was staring, but couldn’t figure out if he was staring too. Everything was just on pause. It was a nice sensation, relaxing, yet enthralling. He smelled good, the coffee smelled good. It was warm and… safe. Shea had never expected to be this close to the Laird or to find him so appealing.

But, it didn’t take her long to get too comfortable. “When was the last time you had sex?” That ridiculous question broke the easy mood in a flash. His scowl snapped into place; he stepped away. “I’m sorry, I… I don’t know why I asked that.”

She really didn’t. On her arrival, she’d had that stupid moment thinking about her own last carnal experience. Somehow, in her warped reporter’s subconscious that pondering had come out as a question about his.

“I was wrong in the yard,” he said. “You’re not the idiot, my lieutenant is. He assured me that you weren’t playing games with my men.”

Diego had told her that he’d assured the Laird she wasn’t playing the sex card and then it was one of the first subjects she broached with him. He was right, she was an idiot.

“I’m not playing games with your men,” Shea said. “Diego is the only man I’ve ever said the word sex to since I’ve been here… until I said it to you just now…” His curiosity piqued… though what she read in his glare was probably closer to suspicion than intrigue. She hurried to clarify. “Not in invitation, I wasn’t coming on to him… I haven’t come on to any guy the whole time I’ve been here… and I’ve ignored all flirtation. I’m not stupid. You think I want to get a reputation in a place like this? You must be crazy.” His chin rose. “My shirt’s damn near buttoned to my chin every day.” Why did she feel like she needed this man’s approval? Why was it so important to her not to let him down? She didn’t fear another weapon in her face. She didn’t fear him. Yet, she knew he was the puppet master, which may be why she kept babbling. “I had a stepbrother who liked to try it on with me when I was a teenager. Every time I fought back, I got a beating from my stepfather. He used to beat on me for enticing his son, isn’t that crazy? I didn’t want the bastard’s hands on me, why would I try to tempt him?”

She shivered with the disgust that always accompanied the memory. The Laird’s expression hadn’t changed, but he took another step backwards.

Thinking that maybe he was disgusted by her too, Shea didn’t know how to fix her blunder. He opened a drawer and for a fraction of a second, she held her breath, hoping he wasn’t going to produce a weapon. Instead, he pulled out a legal notepad and a pencil.

Giving them a shove, he slid them the length of the kitchen island toward her, forcing her to catch them or watch them go skidding off the end. Shea went with the former.

“Write down their names, last known address, and social security numbers, if you have them. If not, I can find them.”

Leaving her to blink at the blank pad beneath her palm, he went to pour coffee. “Why?” she asked, but already knew the answer.

Diego had told her that Raid would settle her scores for her and the Laird was proving that her friend had been right. That power, the promise, it was hot; though she knew feeling that way probably didn’t say anything good about her character.

When he came over with her coffee, one corner of his mouth was higher than the other, betraying the enjoyment he took in his work. “Why not?”

That wasn’t a joke, though it was sort of amusing… and horrifying. “I had a boyfriend who called me a slut once.” Sipping the sumptuous liquid he’d handed her, she subdued her smile. “Just trying to work out where you draw the line.”

“Depends,” he said.

“On?”

“Are you a slut?”

Turning his back without awaiting an answer, he retrieved his coffee.

There was something so masculine about his ease. This man was in charge of everything around them, everything, and everyone answered to him. This man was Laird. Lord and Master. He owned everything. Dictated the terms under which not only the inmates lived, but every employee too. At any moment, on a whim, he could order her, or anyone into a cell, and no one would question him.

Shit, she was turned on. For two months, Shea had lived her life surrounded by nothing but men; strong, virile men who were capable of anything. In all that time, she’d had no carnal stirrings, even when the most attractive of her comrades had been checking her out.

But, watching her boss clean up his coffee machine with his back to her, all she could think about was how badly she wanted to go over there and slide her hands around his hips to unbuckle his belt so she could slip her hands into his jeans and—

“Shea?”

At some point during her mental violation of him, he’d turned around. From the look on his face, she’d guess he expected a response.

Trouble was, Shea had no idea what he’d just said. “Hmm?”

“Would you like to sit outside?”

“Would I…” This was more than just coffee, he was offering her… conversation? No, it couldn’t be, he didn’t seem to be a man of many words. Even sitting in silence with him would raise questions among the others if they were seen. “The guard tower…”

He frowned like either he didn’t understand why she’d brought it up or he was offended that she had. “Work for me.”

Walking past her, it appeared he was going outside whether she was going to join him or not. It didn’t take her long to grab her coffee and go after him.

All that was waiting for her in Diego’s office was work, so there was no need to rush back. Besides, Shea had vowed to try getting to know the boss better while her friend was away. Missing this chance would be insane, even if she was still reeling from her unexpected reaction to being in proximity to him.

Outside, to the right of the sliding glass door that took them onto the balcony, she noted a wide patio bed. The Laird bypassed that and went to the table and chairs arranged to the left. A patio couch ran parallel to the window with a glass table in front of it and chairs around the other sides.

Her benefactor sat on the furthest chair at the head of the table. Taking a tentative seat on the edge of the couch, she steadied her breathing.

“Do you like bruises?” he asked.

Shea had wondered what they’d talk about and had hoped she wouldn’t have to lead the conversation, assuming that any topic she selected would likely end with him getting offended. In a thousand years, she’d never have anticipated his question.

“Excuse me?” she asked, peeking over the rim of her coffee cup.

Just like inside, he was calm to the point of serene. “Before I ask if the boyfriend left bruises, I have to know if you like that kind of thing… I can’t persecute a man for giving you what you wanted.”

Lowering her cup, her lips moved, except she couldn’t quite find the words because she wasn’t really sure how to respond.

This wasn’t any kind of casual getting to know each other conversation. The Laird had asked her outside to interview her about what he’d obviously thought was her actual request for him to take down her ex-boyfriend.

“I… I wasn’t really pitching my ex. I wasn’t pitching anyone. I just asked because… I’m curious about you.”

“Oh,” he said like he really hadn’t realized that.

Putting her coffee cup on the glass table, Shea slid down the couch in his direction, coming to a stop at the end, as close to him as she could get.

Leaning over, she skimmed her fingertips across his knuckles on the arm of his chair. Taking his lack of a reaction as a good sign, Shea rested her palm on the back of his hand. “Is that the only reason people come here? To pitch their enemies to you?” His attention dropped to her hand on his; her heart began to pound. “I don’t have any enemies I want you to go after, Raid.” Surprise flashed in his eyes when they leaped to hers. “I realize I’m taking my life in my hands being this close to you, talking to you this way.” Using his name. “Should I be afraid of you?”

The Laird didn’t answer her. “What do you want from me?” he asked, darkened by suspicion.

That was a good question and one she was still trying to figure out the answer to. At first, it had seemed so simple. Befriend whoever she had to and get the hell out of Dodge. Except, now she had friends and was curious about the mission they all seemed so dedicated to.

This compound might be made of concrete and steel, but she didn’t fear the walls or the security. These were people, most of whom had treated her with respect. All of her comrades were all under this man who sat perpendicular to her. A man she just couldn’t figure out.

“You and your people saved my life,” she said, realizing for the first time just how grateful she was to them for that.

They could’ve chosen to kill her, as was procedure, or just left her in the forest to die alone. Yet, she’d been brought into their sanctuary, given excellent medical care, and access to everything she needed to ensure she didn’t suffer.

Shea had been fed, kept warm, given shelter and purpose. Most of what she’d been given, of the leniencies she’d been shown, were down to Diego, but the Laird had to be responsible for giving final authorization. The two men were close, maybe more than they admitted even to each other, and their relationship intrigued her.

The Laird wasn’t interested in her gratitude. “I held a gun to your head.”

Shea wasn’t likely to forget that in a hurry. Being pulled from her cell and dragged out to be made a spectacle of was traumatizing enough in itself without adding in the gun. The Laird wasn’t wrong; he had held a gun to her head. Except, he hadn’t pulled the trigger, and that spoke volumes. Maybe not about his respect for her, he probably couldn’t care less about her. Something had made him spare her, maybe his friendship with Diego, maybe something else. Out here, she was at his mercy, and time after time, he kept showing it to her, even though he could get away with treating her in any manner he chose without repercussions.

Growing up in this environment would’ve desensitized him to it. This place could have turned him into a monster. But, cruelty didn’t earn respect and men like Diego, who she trusted, respected their Laird.

“One day you might hold a gun to my head again,” she said, having decided long ago that life could only be lived in the minute. The past wasn’t the sum of a person, neither was the future. They were only what they were in the moment. “But, right here, this morning, should I be afraid?”

His brow was drawn low. His suspicion hadn’t gone anywhere; she imagined he lived his life in a perpetual state of doubt. “Everybody wants something,” he said.

Keeping their eyes locked on each other, he moved his hand out from under hers. Without taking it away, he switched their positions. Putting his hand over hers, he curled his fingers around her middle finger.

She smiled wondering if the contact was a sign of affection. When he scowled and pulled her finger back hard, she gasped at the searing pain caused by the agonizing angle. “You’re vulnerable,” he growled. “You drop your guard too easily and one day my men will take advantage of that.”

Though the pain persisted, she gritted her teeth and breathed through it. Goddamn him, if this was another test, she didn’t want to fail. “No,” she hissed. “I’m under your protection.”

His brow rose in acknowledgment. “You’re smart to remember that… I won’t be taken advantage of, not by anyone. You’re safe out there because I say you are… I can take that protection away at any second. If you want my help with your enemies, you take the pledge. Until that day comes, you’re my enemy.”

Releasing her, he thrust her away so hard that she fell back on the couch. Shea immediately sat up, and rubbed her throbbing knuckle. Subduing her anger wasn’t easy, but she had to try her best not to lash out because it wouldn’t get her anywhere except barred from the Laird’s home.

“Diego wouldn’t have sent me to you if he didn’t trust me,” she said.

Raid scoffed. “Diego knows you’re no threat. What could you do to me? Any plan you concoct will never end in your favor. The only internet connection for hundreds of miles links in upstairs to this building alone, nowhere else on the compound. And, if you think that riding my cock will get you access, you’re crazy. Even if you thought you could get near the system, you need my private access codes, and no one has those,” he sneered. “I don’t give a damn how much of a slut you are. I’ll fuck you if I want to fuck you and no matter how damn good you are, you won’t get any special perks. No one’s coming to save you. You can’t fight your way out. And, if you think I’m dumb enough to trust you, then you’re delusional and you’ll make me rethink leaving you drugged up in the infirmary.”

Shooting to her feet, she didn’t care about how good the coffee was or about getting close to the man, she was beginning to see him for exactly who he was. “You’re bitter,” she snapped, losing her grip on her anger. “And you’re twisted! You take pleasure in this! In all of this…” She gestured toward the compound beneath them. “You enjoy watching your prisoners suffer and enjoy seeing your employees cower!”

He jumped to his feet. “You’re goddamn right I do! This is what I was raised to be! This! This is it! I will do it well because like it or not this, that you find so abhorrent, is important! We will keep people safe! No matter the cost! No matter the sacrifice! We will be here doing the work others failed to do!”

Blood rushed through her veins. The anger was still there, but when she saw the passion burning from him, she felt an all-consuming compulsion to understand. Him, this, all of it. She wanted to understand.

“Raid,” she whispered.

“Get out of here, Shea,” he said and tried to turn his back on her. Lunging forward, she tried to grab for his wrist, but he snatched it out of her reach. “Get the fuck out of here before I decide to teach you what it feels like when a real man inflicts pain.”

There was enough of a sinister tone in his snarl to make her back away. Searching his eyes, Shea couldn’t see the man she’d stared into at the coffee machine, but she did see one with depths that she wanted to explore. Diego had called Raid volatile; she wasn’t so sure it was a personality flaw. The Laird didn’t act erratically for no reason, he was just more complex than most realized.

Figuring he needed time to compose himself, and that she wouldn’t get anywhere by probing further, she turned and left the house thinking about what the next nine and a half days might hold. Diego couldn’t get back fast enough. If she kept pushing the boss’s buttons like this, there wouldn’t be much of her left on day ten… if there was anything left at all.