Chapter 1 #2
“Nice little experiment in distraction. But,” I say, pulling my hand away, “you’re wearing a Lycra body suit.
Perfect for scaling down from a second-floor window in the dark.
” I lean in a little closer, my lips brushing her ear, and she shivers, a soft little moan that licks my dick.
“Which makes me think Iosif won’t like to hear about that. ”
Her eyes glitter and she moves under me, undulating, rubbing against my cock. I don’t know her game, but that’s what it is. Now, don’t get me wrong. I like certain games, but this one? I want to be the one holding the cards at the end.
I move my hand away from her thigh and into the pocket of my pants. The shirt I’m wearing transfers her heat, like there’s nothing between us but flesh, and I pull out some restraints, snapping them onto her wrists.
Her eyes widen. I smile.
“Maybe Iosif Romanov likes it,” she says with a snarl. “Maybe it’s a game we play.”
“You like them older, huh?” As the air thickens, I run my hands over her, and in the pocket of her dress is something small, round, and bumpy. I lift it and pocket it for later.
A snap of a twig and the crush of leaves jolts me.
“You see them?” a voice says.
Fuck.
I don’t know the voice. It’s American. I slam my hand on her mouth as she sucks in a breath. I roll us into the canopy of low-hanging tree leaves because these might be her people.
Then the voice says, “If Hank—”
“Oh shit. Terry’s dead.” A second guy.
Panicked footsteps start running and the pretty, sweet thing fucking bites me. Hard. The pain lances through me, tangling with a throb of need. I lock eyes with her. I’m still on top of her, but as her knee starts to move, I pull a knife and hold it to her throat.
I plant my knee between those slender thighs and remove my sore hand from her mouth.
Her eyes spit pure hateful fire.
I move in close so our mouths almost touch. A beat of need pulsates in the air. Her eyes still spark with anger but there’s something else, too.
Desire.
I run my tongue along her bottom lip. Her entire body jerks. I adjust the knife, so I don’t slit her throat.
But I will if she does something stupid like screaming.
“Alert them,” I whisper, “and you’ll bleed out in seconds.”
Defiance flares and she hooks those bound hands around my head and pulls me down. The knife slips, but I draw it back, right as her lips crush mine.
She kisses me, a violent fuck of a kiss, tongue invading and seducing. I kiss her back just as hard and desperate. I don’t care about anything but the fact she tastes like hate and sex and poison with a sugary edge.
For a moment the world wavers and questions of Hank and the other men fade.
I’m rocking against her, a dry hump that she grinds on. And then warm wetness hits my fingers holding the knife.
Dammit.
I’ve cut her.
“Fuck,” the first one says. “We need to get out of here.”
I lift my head.
“Help,” she screams, withering defiance in her face. I pull free, then push down on her hips as I flip her over so she’s face down. They’ve turned and are now running this way, and I shoot at them. A bullet hits the tree next to me.
Then both men fall to the ground. My brother Declan appears with a shit-eating grin on his face. “Just saved yer life there,” he says. “You…”
His voice trails off as he looks past me. I turn, too. Because I see the same thing he does, a light that flares.
It’s a cobbled-together flash bomb that does nothing but catch attention, which is its purpose. If there’s one, there might be another, as the flash bomb usually comes along with something more serious. “Get out. There’s a witch here. Get her, move our men back, and clear the perimeter.”
“But—”
“Do it, Declan,” I snap.
I race to the bomb, skidding down as I search the area. There. Another rigged, fucked-up little flash bomb. It’s meant to cause noise, and it’s meant to cause confusion. Irish-style, down to its little green wires.
I make short work of disarming it.
But back in the day, one trick people like Paddy O’Sullivan had, and fuck it, like I had, was to distract so we could do what we needed, and then the real bomb would go off.
The double flash bomb is a blast from the past, a Paddy special, so yeah, I’m betting there’s another.
The Semtex bomb seems to be the work of someone else, someone with skill, someone with real intent. Could it be this fucking Hank they mentioned? Or the girl?
I look, scrambling for the wires when I spy the gate to the manicured back courtyard. The garage sits behind that, then there are supply rooms and guest rooms. We did a run-through of the property before the event began.
The gate is the perfect cover for a second device since a car is parked right on the other side.
I spot a long-ass rag running from the open gas tank of the car all the way to this side of the gate. The stench of gas punches the air. I rip the rag out, throwing it far away, and then I waste seconds digging around for the bomb.
Fuck. Under the ivy. I look at the red numbers and grit my teeth. The timer’s almost counted down to zero. I don’t have time to disarm it. Fuck. Fuck. I pull a wire, and it doesn’t stop the timer. It doesn’t blow me up, but…
I run, right as it explodes, the force hurling me into the air before throwing me to the ground.
My ears ring and a shout rises in the distance from our men. I roll to my back, staring at the stars before staggering to my feet, very disoriented.
The woman has something to do with this. I know it. Feel it. Her blood’s on my knife. I bring the blade to my lips and lick the salty, metallic wetness before snapping the knife shut and putting it in my pocket where it clinks against whatever I stole from her.
I run back to where I left her. But I only find Dec holding the restraints.
I pull out the thing in my pocket.
It’s a gold crest. A wolf.
I look around for a sign of her.
“No one was here when I got here,” Declan says. “You’re… a bit crispy.”
I ignore him and dart into the darkness, scouring the area.
But I come up empty.
She’s fucking gone.