Chapter 4
I steppedout of the shower to find two text messages—one from my guys informing me that the forklift was working and the other from my cousin Noemi giving me Shae’s number. The fact that the two showed up together was too tempting. I sent the text to Shae before I could overthink it.
Did I ever imagine my lack of clothing would come up? Not even once.
Did texting about it get my dick hard? Abso-fucking-lutely.
Hell if I didn’t have to get back in and shower again after our exchange. All it took was the flash of an image—her smart mouth speechless as I rammed my cock inside her—and I was too hard to ignore. I had to paint the shower wall with cum like a fucking teenager before I could think straight again.
That woman does something to me, and I don’t like it. My belligerent insistence on seeing her again is evidence enough that she’s a dangerous distraction. Like she so graciously pointed out, I have more important matters that require my attention. And yet … when I considered texting Conner or handing off the meeting to one of my men, I couldn’t do it. I found myself rationalizing a personal appearance. We’ve held up the exchange because of my father’s death. It would be prudent of me to show respect and appreciation by overseeing the matter myself.
That crock of shit is what I continue to tell myself as I park outside the warehouse for my second meeting with Shae Byrne. An unmarked box truck pulls into the lot. I expect to see one of her men behind the wheel, but I should have known better. Shae’s tiny frame is perched in the driver’s seat. She’s wearing dark aviator glasses and the unbothered air of a lion with a full belly.
We round our vehicles at same time and pause to assess one another before meeting in the middle.
The stilettos are gone. She’s all business in what looks like black Doc Martin boots, jeans that are nothing more than a coat of paint over perfectly toned legs, and a black puffer jacket zipped all the way to her chin, right below vibrant crimson lips. A simple shift in wardrobe took her from business glam to a goth-girl wet dream. I’m not sure which I like more.
“You didn’t bring your men to help load,” I note, wondering if they’re coming separately.
“Short notice. Everyone was busy.” She lifts her sunglasses and squints into the back seat of my car. “Looks like I’m not the only one who came alone.”
“I assumed you’d bring your crew.”
“You know what they say about assuming…” she says in a singsong voice.
What I would give to fuck that smart-ass smirk off her face. I’d spin her around, press her flush against the hood of my car, and make her pant until she was too cum drunk to give me sass.
Hell, I have to stop thinking like that before I end up with a hard-on and give her more ammunition.
“At least you dressed appropriately this time.” My clipped words evidence my irritation.
Shae grins wickedly.
I’d question whether she could be a bit unhinged, but I don’t think it would matter. She’s like the overturned semitruck on the side of the highway that you can’t look away from.
“Boots are steel-toed. Want to test them?” she asks in a soft, sultry murmur, tapping the toe of one boot against my own leather work boots. No steel tips on mine, but Shae would have to gain another fifty pounds minimum before she had any hope of causing me harm.
She walks two fingers up my chest, hot-pink-tipped nails poking lightly at the fabric of my jacket. “You know my favorite thing in the whole wide world?” Her breathy voice is a tongue licking the length of my cock.
She’s toying with me. I know it, but I can’t walk away. “What’s that?”
“When men like you underestimate me.”
Lightning fast, her hand clamps around my balls. She’s expecting me to flinch and push her away. I don’t. I let her take me in her small fist and feel the stiffness she’s already inspired, then I crowd her by moving even closer.
“If that’s what you wanted, all you had to do was ask.” I ignore the pinch of pain. She’s not actually trying to hurt me. It could be a hell of a lot worse. This is about power. Respect. I have to hold my ground. Trying to outmaneuver her would give her a win the same as if I’d evaded to protect myself.
“If I wanted you, I’d already have you. This—” She gives me a slight squeeze. “Does nothing for me.”
I raise my hand ever so slowly to circle her neck, my thumb caressing the front of her throat where I can feel her pulse jump. I lean in, pulling her forward at the same time until my lips graze her ear. “Now look who’s making assumptions.” I pull back, drawing an impenetrable mask of indifference over my features. I give her a cold, hard stare before turning away.
She allows me to go. Amusement brightens her eyes, the only clue as to what she might be thinking. All that damn bravado makes me want to rattle her composure—make her drop her shields and reveal what’s underneath. That’s the last thing I should want where Shae Byrne is concerned.
“Come on, let’s get this over with,” I loft dryly over my shoulder.
“I suppose you know how to work a forklift?” Her footsteps crunch on the gravel a few steps behind me.
“I suppose I do. Are you trying to tell me there’s something you can’t do?”
“Never tried, but there’s a first time for everything. Happy to give it a go.”
“Your guns, sweetheart. You fuck ’em up, you take the blame.”
“True, but it seems like a waste if I don’t give it a try. When else will I have the opportunity to play with such … impressive equipment?”
Jesus, does it ever end? Could she stop herself even if she wanted to? Doubtful.
I shake my head and unlock the door. “Those cousins of yours must really give you hell.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She shuts the door behind us with more force than necessary.
I level her with a glare. “Means you don’t have to put on a show all the time. You’re a badass, I get it.”
A minuscule twitch dances beneath her right eye, so small I would have missed it if I hadn’t been primed to analyze her reaction.
She recovers quickly, a Cheshire grin creeping across her face. “Maybe that’s just who I am.”
“Or maybe you’ve played the part so long, you don’t know the difference.”
She inches forward, the first glint of anger sharpening her features. “You’re awfully knowledgeable about me, considering you know nothing about me. Why is that? Maybe you’re projecting. Huh?” She pokes a finger into my chest. “How’s it feel to fill Daddy’s shoes? A touch of impostor syndrome setting in?”
She has my blood boiling in a handful of seconds. I unclench my fists and open my mouth to respond when reason slams into me. Arguing will get me nowhere. The best way to get under her skin is to rise above her ploys.
I clench my jaw shut and take a deep, cleansing breath before continuing. “Forklift’s this way.” I push past her, my shoulder bumping against hers.
Way to rise above, asshole.
A humorless laugh dances across the back of my neck as she follows me.
I wait for her retort. There’s no way she’ll let it end without having the last word. I’m so concentrated on what she might say that I fail to notice half of the crates are gone until I’m right upon them—or where they should have been. My hands go to my hips as I stare at the remaining crates. Shae stops beside me in a similar fashion. Before either of us can say anything, a searing pain lances through my skull, and darkness threatens my vision.
I’m on my knees.
Hands … pulling me.
A ruckus of sound rings in my ears, but I’m too disoriented to understand what’s happening. I do my best to blink away my confusion and realize I hear Shae cursing nearby. That helps clear out the cobwebs more than anything.
Someone is in the warehouse.
They attacked us.
Shae.
If they hurt her, I’ll kill them. I’ll peel back their fucking ribs and rip out their hearts with my bare hands.
I shake my head, using the pain to focus and take in the scene around me. Four masked men speak rapidly to one another. Foreign. Frantic. Whatever their plan, this wasn’t it.
I’m on the floor. My hands are secured behind me to the wide metal beam at my back. I feel Shae before I see her. She’s thrashing against her bindings next to me, secured to the side of the beam with our shoulders touching.
“You hurt?” I ask under my breath so as not to draw attention.
“Just my pride. I can’t believe I let them get the drop on us,” she hisses. “With you bashed over the head, I couldn’t take all four.”
“They didn’t try to knock you out?”
“They tried.”
I don’t have to see her smile to know it’s there.
A grunt of amusement angers the pounding in my head.
“If it’s any consolation, I was impressed you never fully blacked out. Should have known you’d be hard-headed,” she adds somewhat wistfully.
It strikes me that she isn’t remotely panicked. Pissed, yes. Inconvenienced, sure. But not scared.
The girl has balls of steel.
I’m not particularly worried, but most people would be. From my perspective, these assholes thought they’d slip in without ever being seen. They’ll most likely take what they came for and leave us here. Workers are rarely over here. This warehouse isn’t used frequently—that’s why it was chosen to store the crates. But our families will come looking for us … eventually.
My family knows how busy I’ve been. I doubt my absence would be questioned immediately. Let’s hope Shae’s cousins are diligent about keeping tabs on her.
“You have your phone still?” Mine’s gone, I know that much. It was in my back pocket, and it’s not there now between me and the concrete floor.
“They took everything—phones and weapons.”
“Looks like they’re taking your crates as well,” I point out. Three of the men are still bickering while one drives the forklift in from outside, sliding its prongs under one of the two remaining crates about fifty feet from us. If we hadn’t been arguing ourselves, maybe we would have heard the machine, but it’s a moot point now.
“So it would seem. Not sure how they knew to come after them.”
“You suggesting a leak on our end?”
Her shrugging shoulder rubs against mine. “Just noting there was likely some source of information—I doubt a worker happened upon them randomly.”
She’s right, so I keep quiet. No need to point out the source could have come from her end as easily as mine.
“Any idea what they’re speaking?” I ask while the men are too preoccupied to pay us any attention, not to mention the forklift is easily loud enough to drown out our whispers.
“I’m wondering if it’s Romanian.”
“Sounds almost Greek.”
“They don’t look Greek. At least, not the one I saw.”
“You saw one of their faces?” I crane my neck to look at her, my words taking on a hard edge. If she can identify them, that might make her a target. It’s an added complication, and I don’t like it.
“Ripped off one of their masks before they got me bound. The short one. Sure didn’t look Greek to me, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. You have beef with the Romanians?”
“Not that I know of. Could also be the Albanians. Their languages sound similar.”
“No,” she breathes.
“No, what?” A new sliver of tension coils in my muscles.
Before she can explain, a phone chimes. All four men still before one lifts a phone to his ear and answers. His eyes flick our direction as he speaks a string of hushed, wary words. The others watch him with rapt attention.
A call from their superior. And they’re having to report a snag. Us.
The call goes on for no more than two minutes, and after, he reports the results to the others.
They immediately launch into an argument, tensions skyrocketing. One man marches over to us and pulls out a gun. It’s aimed at her head.
“Wait,” she demands. “Don’t make a mistake you can’t undo. Think about it. If you take us with you, you’ll have time to consider your options. Our families will want us back. You could ransom us.”
The man’s hand tremors, and desperation glints in his wide eyes. Two of his buddies seem to try to talk him down. While they are distracted, I murmur to Shae. “You know what you’re doing?”
“Isn’t that obvious? Buying us time. Can’t figure a way out if we’re dead.”
“True, but don’t you think we should at least try to convince them to leave us here alive?”
The men start yelling at one another. The one with the gun seems to be running the show. He barks one last time before they begin to get the last crate loaded. Time is running out.
“Shit, shit!” Shae’s voice is pitched his with urgency. She wasn’t concerned before, but something’s changed. Something has her spooked, and while I may not have spent much time with her, Shae has made it clear that she doesn’t spook easily.
“What the fuck is happening here?” I demand quietly.
“You’re right. They’re Albanian.” The last word is spoken so softly it’s nearly inaudible.
“And I take it that’s a bad thing?”
“It’s complicated. They’re not going to want to leave us alive. Not when I can identify them.”
Fuck.
The sound of continued bickering announces their return. There’s only one reason for them to come back inside, and that’s us.
I speak up before they reach us. “The guns are replaceable, we’re not. You should know that you’ll be making this infinitely worse for yourselves if you kill us. Our families will come after you.” I inject every ounce of authority I possess into my voice. Their ski masks prevent me from seeing their expressions, but their body language conveys plenty.
Three of the four taper off before reaching us, all of them tense and fidgeting with nervous energy in various ways. The leader walks all the way over, his steps determined. But when he stands over me and raises his gun, he’s close enough that I can see the conflict in his eyes. His back is against a wall. He feels he has no choice.
“Take us with you,” Shae demands with absolute confidence. “Why rush this decision when you don’t have to? You can always kill us later, but for now, take us with you.”