CHAPTER TEN
ZARA
The cool air slaps my cheeks, and I inhale the damp, mossy sweetness. It’s refreshing. A perfect wake-up call, both for my morning and my grim situation. Dawn is my favorite part of day. It’s still and quiet. Secrets have room to breathe.
As soon as my feet clomp off the final step leading out of the tower suites, I set off to a run, past the countless guards that patrol the La Lune Noire grounds. Day and night.
Freedom instantly swims in my veins, my ponytail swishing with deliverance.
For this fleeting stretch of time, I’m not abandoned or grieving my mother all over again.
I’m not failing a mission for the first time, livid that I’m alone in this world, questioning my path in life, or attracted to a man who will very possibly end my existence—if I don’t end his first.
With each pounding step, I’m simply Zara.
Or Penelope—that was my name before my mother was murdered.
In most respects, Penelope died with her.
But her essence is revived in snippets of shadowed liberation.
Sensing that nine-year-old whimsy is always a tortured mix of hope and hurt. Today, I choose hope.
Maybe this is all I needed. To remind myself that I’m a warrior. That I don’t cower. That I don’t fucking lose. That I—
“Sorry, miss. That’s as far as you go.”
I whirl around and spot a thug—or guard—in a suit about twenty yards away. “Excuse me?”
“That’s as far as you’re permitted to go,” he reiterates, strolling toward me.
There are four others against the building, all staring me down. What the hell? Their job is to secure the resort, and they’re wasting their time with my morning run?
“Permitted by whom?” I ask, maintaining a stationary jog.
“Those are our orders.” He slices his hand through the air—like a fancy butler—at the trail encircling the grounds. “You’re welcome to exercise on property.”
This has to be a fucking joke.
“You’re telling me”—I peer up at the extravagant resort piercing the twilight sky, which is practically a city in itself, but that does nothing to quiet my rage—“I’m not allowed to leave?”
“That’s correct, ma’am.”
I keep moving in place, refusing to let these assholes steal my taste of freedom. “Do you go home after your shift?”
“Ma’am,” he grunts.
“For the love of Pete, do not ma’am me again. I’m not even a member, though I highly doubt this would be typical in that instance either. I am an employee, who would like to—”
“You’re living in the suites,” he cuts me off.
That effectively stops my jog. I rest my hand on my hip while subtly cataloging my surroundings. “And, what, that makes me a prisoner?”
“Protected,” he corrects with a heaping mound of bullshit.
“How considerate.” I bounce on my toes, a clear indicator that I’m about to sprint—and he shouldn’t follow. “But I promise if some bastard attacks me on the path, it will be their very worst and last encounter.”
He palms the pistol tucked into his waistband with a warning leer. “Undoubtedly.”
The other four wander closer now that this one has a hand on his weapon. This can’t be the traditional security lineup for this one area. It must be because someone relayed my skills—or assumed skills.
“Okay.” With a let’s-do-this clap, I decide to make the best of it. “How about we make this interesting?”
The corners of his mouth twitch, but he fights it. “That sounds like a very bad idea.”
I bat my lashes with obvious feigned innocence. “You haven’t even heard the idea.”
“The only good idea is my direct order.”
“I don’t believe that for a second.” Humming, I scan all five men, who are most certainly invested now. “I’ve heard about all the fun that employees have at the Underground.”
“This is not the Underground,” he points out.
“I suppose it isn’t. But that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy ourselves.
If I fight all five of you—no weapons, of course—and win, then I get to go wherever the hell I please on a run.
” I pull the gun out of my yoga pants, the knife out of my sports bra, and my other knife out of my sock and place them all on the ground.
“If I lose, I’ll buy you all some drinks in the Underground tonight.
And we’ll see how much fun we have then.
” I sweeten that deal with a flirty wink.
“Fuck,” one of them hisses under his breath.
He’s a bulky guy, probably only five-eleven, but built like a linebacker, and his gaze is glued to the swell of my breasts.
“I can’t take my weapons off because it’s against protocol, but you have my word that I won’t touch them. Let me see what you got, sweetheart.”
A few others mutter some protests and curses under their breath, but I ignore them, concentrating fully on prey number one.
Twirling my hair, I cast a coy grin his way. “All I’ve got?”
He nods with a deep chuckle, which makes his bushy beard vibrate. “Oh, yeah. I’ll take everything.”
“And this is all in fun?” I confirm. “Since we’re employees. I know members aren’t supposed to engage in anything—”
“This is different,” he assures me. “We do a lot of shit in the Underground. Our secret.”
So fucking easy. I’m nearly bored.
I release a girlish giggle. “All right, boys. You heard the man. You’d better step back.”
The others erupt in amusement, shuffling backward and trash-talking their coworker.
It’s a great distraction for me to lunge for him.
I grip the nape of his neck, slam my forehead into his nose, and knee him in the groin.
He doubles over, flopping to the ground as his nose sprays blood all over his suit. He’s in pain, but he’ll be all right.
His groans harmonize with the exasperations of his comrades.
“Jesus,” one guy roars, which is piggybacked by another’s, “Fucking hell.”
They both laugh, much to the dismay of the bearded guy with the broken nose. Another stares at him, shocked. They are all probably expertly trained, but they underestimated me. As if having nice cleavage means you can’t be a force. And I haven’t even broken a sweat.
The original jackass immediately tries to shut this down, swiping something on his phone and spouting about how I proved my point, but I’d have to take it up with someone in a higher position.
A guy to his left has too much pride to bow out though. It glints in his eyes. He’s tall, easily six-two. He holds himself like a boxer, which reveals the type of combat I’m facing.
He cups his hands in a come-here gesture.
Gladly.
When I lurch toward him, he throws a punch, which I block.
My father taught me a lot of fighting tactics.
Most aren’t very pretty. They might seem like street moves, but the thing is, due to size and upper-body-strength differences, most women can’t meet a guy strike for strike and come out ahead.
So, I lean into some dirty moves and find ways to get my opponent in a position where I can dominate.
With my hand on his forearm, he battles against my hold, forcing my elbow to tuck into my body, while he manages to get a hit under my ribs with his other fist. I ram my knuckle into his eye—not nearly as violent as I’m capable of since I don’t want the guy to be blind—and I side-swipe his knees, which takes him to the ground.
There, I heel him in the crotch. Enough that a twinge of my abilities will ring through his bones for the rest of the day, but not enough to maim his little swimmers.
Another darts toward me from the side, hoping to catch me off guard. But I clock him in my peripheral vision, slamming my fist into his throat. He halts, his hands clawing at his neck as he chokes. He’ll be fine. In an hour or two.
“Who’s next?” I ask calmly.
The door swings open, and Maddox Noire swaggers out with the answer. “Me.”
While I haven’t been officially introduced, I read about him in the files Tripp gave me. And he’s unmistakable. Six-five. Tatted. Onyx hair, swept up in a man bun. Pure mischief.
He extends me a round of applause, a blend of respect and mocking humor. “That was fucking impressive, but don’t waste those skills on these dipshits.”
Then he turns to his men with a disappointed glower.
“We don’t engage in backyard brawls. You wanna fight, you do it in the Underground.
And we’ve got the No More Competition tonight.
” He side-eyes the bastard sputtering and clawing his throat and swats the space above the two guards who’ve been grounded.
“You three are obviously out. I had high hopes for you, Blackbeard.”
Blackbeard? The broken nose and two bruising eyes make that nickname even more fitting. I stifle a chuckle even though my veins are still boiling with rage. This place is so fucking weird. I’m not sure if I want to know what the No More Competition is.
Flashing a conspiratorial smirk my way, Maddox offers me his hand. “It’s about time I got an introduction. You’ve been scarce since you started your employment, Zara.”
I can tell he’s someone that I’d like. He’s probably funny.
He certainly seems to be the kind of guy who leaves mayhem in his wake, and I’ve admittedly not had enough of that in my twenty-nine years.
Mercy told me some wonderful things about his wife, Tessa, but I’ve yet to meet her.
Unfortunately, I’m not in the mood for niceties.
“Well, I wish I could say it’s a pleasure.” I shake his hand, firm and brief, before I throw my arms out to showcase the interrupters of my morning. “But as you can see, it hasn’t been the warmest welcome. I was just trying to go for a morning run.”
He hitches one shoulder. “Beating the shit out of these guys was probably a lot more exhilarating, but don’t worry; I’m gonna get you a damn good workout. Come with me.”
All my muscles tighten. I appreciate his levity, but being held captive at his establishment is not something I’m going to laugh off.
Scanning his professional attire, I shake my head in resignation. “You aren’t really dressed for it, I wasn’t looking for a running partner today, and I agreed to lay out the other two guards before I left, but fine.”
The first guard—who I will now be referring to as the snitch because I’m guessing he summoned Maddox—scoffs. The last and smartest guy keeps his mouth shut.
A sound that would certainly qualify as a guffaw bellows from Maddox. “Shit. You’re gonna be fun. I certainly won’t be running off property today. I’ve got a morning date with my wife.” He waggles his eyebrows, like we’re old friends. “But I’ll take you to someone who can sort this out.”
“There is nothing to sort out.” I pluck my weapons off the ground, tucking them back in their designated spots, as I contemplate bolting. “This is another fucked-up power play from your brother.”
“Oh, that much I guessed.” He lights up with a grin that is downright demented. “And like I said, I’m taking you to someone who can sort this out. Your morning workout was disrupted. What do you say we crash Papa Axe’s?”
Now that could be entertaining.
With a brisk perusal of the poor guards who doubted my abilities, I flick my focus back to Maddox and let my lips quirk with a morsel of mirth. “Do I get to throat-punch him?”
“Christ, I’d fucking enjoy that.” He bites back another guffaw and flings a demand at the snitch. “Get these princesses patched up.”
Once I agree to follow, he guides me into an elevator and then through some passageways in the walls, and the 1920s Prohibition vibe comes alive.
The mostly brick corridors are lit only by sconces, and maybe it’s my imagination, but I swear there’s a faint scent of smuggled booze from a century ago.
The entire jaunt, Maddox flicks a butterfly knife around with admirable skill. He navigates the path with ease, barely paying attention to where he’s headed. It all looks the same to me, but I do my best to back-pocket subtle variances as we go.
“So, what’d you do?” he finally asks.
“Apparently, I dared to leave.”
He arches a menacing brow, never losing his balisong rhythm. “You know that’s not what I’m asking. And you also know we don’t trap most of our employees, members, guests—or whatever the fuck you are this week—at the resort. So, I’ll ask again. What did you do to warrant the special treatment?”
“In all honesty, I haven’t done anything …” I let that hang there for a laden pause before adding, “Yet.”
He stops at a screen, scans his retina, and nudges a hidden door on the opposite wall open. But there, he freezes. “I like you, Zara. I don’t fucking trust you, but … I think you’ll be good for him.”
Since I’m being treated like an assassin with a sinister plan against them, I don’t pretend to be anything else. “I’m not here to be good for anyone.”
“Noted.” He stuffs his knife in his pocket and ushers me inside to a tight spiral staircase.
This is by far the oddest place I’ve ever been—the people, the behavior, the myriad of clandestine routes. I have no clue where I am, which is unquestionably part of their plan. I’d have a hell of a time escaping anyone here.
We end up at another scan, in front of another hidden entrance. This time, when he pushes the wall open, we emerge in a massive gym that has countless machines, acrobatic stations, and a less covert door near a wall of windows.
But there is only one rat.
Axel Noire—the formidable, sharp-witted, glasses-wearing suit who is king of the underworld and the author of my torment—is clad in a tight navy T-shirt that clings to every ridge of his physique and running pants that hide absolutely nothing.
There’s a shimmery sheen of sweat coating his biceps, forearms, and neck.
And while I don’t have a straight-on view, when he pulls the bar down to work his lats, it’s clear that his back is chiseled.
For a split second, I forget to breathe. I forget that I’m enraged.
But then, without ever glancing in this direction, he reminds me. “You assaulted three of my guards. Did you come to finish the job, Miss West?”
“That definitely warrants a throat punch,” Maddox murmurs beside me, his arms and ankles crossed as he braces himself against the threshold, ready for a show.
He’s about to get one.