Chapter 4
FOUR
ava
I don’t want to put the gun down. I want to shoot him in the fucking face. But if I do that, then I won’t be able to get to Seamus because the Murphy family will close ranks and hunt me down.
As much as I’m appalled that I never put together who this man was when he tackled me to the ground… because the familial resemblance is so damn strong… this isn’t the Murphy I want dead.
Killing him would be like an honorable mention. But I want the gold medal.
Besides, he might be better with a gun than me, and the longer we stand here, the more of a chance there is that someone might come in.
I hesitate.
“Put the fucking gun down or I swear to all that’s holy, I’ll kill you. My intrigue is waning and sure, while you’re pretty enough to hold some kind of interest for me, it isn’t enough to keep you breathing.”
“Oh, so you prefer corpses?”
“I just don’t like diminishing returns and boredom, and you’re quickly becoming both. Put the gun down.”
A burning lump forms in my throat but I struggle to swallow it down. He’s the worst, a thorn in my side. How the hell did he find me anyway?
Did Romanov—?
But before I can finish the thought, I calm down. Romanov, if he wanted to drag me in front of his own personal version of judge and jury, would send his own second. Not some Irish bastard.
Slowly I set the gun down. He nods at my fistful of jewels and cash. “And the money.”
“But—”
“You’re clearly of the life, sweet thing, so you’re not na?ve. You get it. There are costs to things, and you’re paying, not me. Besides, you never completed your deal—”
“He was going to double-cross me.”
“It’s life,” he says, “it’s all a fucking double-cross. Now put the money down. Not yours, not mine. It’ll pay for cleaning this room up, and it’ll stop a price from being slapped on your head.”
I lift my chin, gripping the money tight. There’s probably two hundred thousand here, not at all what we settled on, but it’s a start. I’m not letting it go. I need it to pay Ruslan. “He was going to shaft me.”
There’s a flicker of something on his face that’s predatory, and my body flares in response, but he just says, “Chad’s the kind of guy you don’t do business with. Put the money down and we’ll get out of here.”
We.
The word reverberates through me.
I take a breath, trying to settle my racing pulse.
We.
He’s not looking at me. Instead, he’s taking in the room, the doors. He looks past the one marked exit and his gaze locks on the unmarked door.
“Put the fucking money down. Then stand by the wall where I can see you.” His gaze flicks back to me as he motions with his gun.
I’m not an idiot. I know this Chad was a bad bet, but I only make bad bets if I want to stay out of the sticky strands of Romanov.
I let out my breath, say goodbye to the money, and put it down before moving to the wall. He gives me a flinty look that’s hotter than it should ever be as he tries the doorknob and then pulls a lockpick tool out of his pocket.
He makes fast work of it, almost as fast as I could, and I hate myself for acknowledging it.
“Where are the rest of my jewels?” I don’t mention the crest because a strange little hope springs up. If he lifted the jewels from me, then it stands to reason he lifted the crest. Why else come after me?
What the hell else could he want?
“Oh, you mean Romanov’s trinkets?” A half smile forms as he opens the door. “Ladies first.”
And he pushes me into the dark passageway.
He shuts the door. The space is pitch-black and he’s right behind me, his heat enveloping me as I move down the hall. His scent grasps me and seduces my senses, twining through my blood, such dark perfection.
He touches me then, a slow slide of metal trailing down along my spine, and I shiver, clutching the bag where I shoved the jewels into before moving toward the wall as he ordered.
My God, he’s running the barrel of his gun down my spine, and it’s so fucking erotic. And then his fingers are on my arm, sliding upward, over the wound he left earlier and the hammering pulse just next to it.
A gasp breaks free. I despise him. I do. I hate his entire family and all they cost me. But most of all, I hate Seamus Murphy.
So why am I so attracted to this one? It’s like my body hasn’t gotten the memo that no Murphy is a good Murphy.
But still I shiver and ache, and when he turns me so my back’s against the wall and his body is against mine, I melt into him like he’s the flame I crave.
“What are you doing?” I whisper as he nudges my face up.
“Experimenting.”
And his lips brush against mine in a soft kiss. One that implodes inside me, sending shards of desire everywhere.
I can’t help it. I kiss him back, a hunger rumbling through me even as he keeps the kiss soft and light. It’s still completely devastating.
I drag his lower lip through my teeth, capturing it and running my tongue over the soft surface, and I wonder what it’d be like to kiss my way down his tall, muscular body, to take him in my mouth, my pussy, my ass.
Sex has been a useful tool when I’ve needed it, but for the first time I want it for the sake of exploration.
I want to lose myself in him and experience the kind of pure pleasure I know he could give me.
His gun hits the wall as he takes hold of my head, his other hand threading through my hair.
This time when he kisses me, there’s nothing soft about it. Lust and blood and bone-scraping need. It’s sex on drugs, and I can’t get enough as our mouths crash together, tongues in a dueling dance.
It’s white-hot. My clit throbs. He’s hard, grinding against me. This isn’t smooth and seductive anymore. It’s the devastation of a natural disaster at its peak, rolling through me, riling, smashing, and turning things inside out.
He has me shaking and shuddering with need. I want to climb him and ride him until my mind blacks out.
He finally breaks the kiss, leaving us both gasping. I’m so disgusted with myself, even as I ache for more from him.
I… I don’t know what to do.
There’s a knife in my bag. I grabbed it in case I got in trouble.
What is this if not trouble?
I could get it and gut him and…
Shit. I want to fuck him, though.
A Murphy. Christ… What’s wrong with me?
“Why did you steal the jewels? Why did you climb out a window and then sneak back in when you claim you know Iosif Romanov?” He comes back in, kisses my throat, his tongue running over the nick on my neck, and I swear a tiny spasm like pleasure pummels me. “What does he have over you?”
“None of your business.”
But he pulls me right into him once more and with lips moving against my ear, he says, “You made it my business when you ran. When you bit me. When you called for help like you knew those men. You made everything my business. And I saved you back there, so yeah, my fucking business.”
I wobble and shove him away. “I didn’t know those guys. I just wanted you gone. And I still do.”
“You’re stuck with me. You and I are going to talk. Consider the experiment over.”
He clamps his hand, the one without the gun, on my wrist and he pulls me forward until we hit a metal door. This one has a bolt that he throws open, and we step outside into an alley.
He drags me to the edge of the alley. “Talk.”
But he’s not too smart because now we’re close to where people are walking by and he has to put away his gun.
And the second he’s distracted, I run.
Again.
It’s not much of a head start, so I run hard, lungs burning, bumping into people who yell obscenities at me. I pause long enough to glance over my shoulder as I dart across the road, coming way too close to getting hit by a passing car.
He’s walking at a brisk pace. Headed for me. Cars hit the brakes for him, and I turn a corner and press myself into a wall, but he doesn’t appear. Adrenaline floods my veins and heat radiates off me as my side cramps from all the running.
He didn’t even have to pick up the pace while I ran like a madwoman because the people yelling at me and the car horns blaring were all calling cards for my location. So I wait, but he doesn’t appear.
Is he waiting? I don’t fucking know.
Blood pounds in my ears.
I need to get to the park to meet Ruslan. It’s a small community one, meant to be shut but it’s never locked after dark. The gates are always open a bit. So I finally step out and look around. I don’t see Murphy.
He could be anywhere. I make my way past a tiny little bar, then cut across another road and in through the gates that squeak as I pull them open, then shut them.
This way, if he comes, I’ll know by the creak. I reach into my bag and take out my switchblade to have it close in case I need to use it.
Danger flashes in my brain but I ignore it. I’m not an idiot, but this definitely isn’t my brightest move. I don’t have cash on me now, but I hope Ruslan will take diamonds that are worth more than the five thousand I owe him.
I go to the shadowy bench, under the broken light, where trees sway in the wind. A shudder makes my shoulders quake. The city life around me gives a sense of isolation instead of some kind of safety net.
Ruslan knew Stanislav and Paddy. They were all friends. He said he’d help me when I reached out to him after my uncle died. I need to move fast, get as much information as I can on how close this search is to finding that distant cousin.
My knee bounces and I bite down on my lower lip. He’s late. Why is he late?
Ruslan buys and sells information. Scraps he gathers when moving between organizations as a gun for hire, someone who’ll go and do boring work for secrets. He hears things and—
“You’re prettier than Ruslan told me you were,” a slimy voice says, sending a shiver of revulsion through me. “Much prettier…”
I swallow hard. “Where is he?”
“Busy.” A man slides next to me on the bench, and he smells like a dank corner of a brewery as he leans close, one meaty arm snaking around my shoulders. “But Olaf is here now. What do you say we forget this boring business for a bit and have some fun?”
He puts his other hand on my thigh and I grab his finger, bending it right back. “Touch me again and I’ll gut you like a fish,” I say to him in Russian.
Olaf laughs, then grabs me by the throat. “You’re nothing, a little princess who wants to play.”
“Take your hand off me or I’ll let Iosif Romanov know you touched family merchandise.”
I hate myself for that, I really do, uttering his name as if he’s my defender, as if I’m part of the Romanov family. Which I’m not. But this man is big. And scary.
Christ, I barely know Ruslan, so what if he sold me out to this thug for even more money?
But I’ve faced down scary things before, and I’ll do it again.
“Now,” I bite out.
He takes his time releasing me and then says, “I’ll be teaching you a lesson, little bird, and I don’t give a fuck about Romanov.”
He definitely does. It’s why he let me go. “Did Ruslan give you the information?”
“The price has gone up.”
That isn’t an answer, but it’s all I have. I could walk away, but then Ruslan might decide I’m not worth dealing with at all. Not that he’s here, but…
It’s with regret I start to pull out the jewels from my bag, but with a gasp, I realize they’re gone. I frantically feel around and open a zipper where I stuffed a bracelet of faux stones that broke. I pull it out. “Diamonds. Worth a lot more than the agreed-on price of five thousand.”
He eyes me, his thick mustache twitching as he mutters something under his breath.
I hear a sound nearby, my eyes flicking in that direction. That’s when I see it.
My stomach plunges into my sneakers.
I whip the bracelet across his face and take off.
Oh. God. Feet. They were feet sticking out from behind the tree. And legs. Horizontal, spread, a pool of black growing underneath them.
Olaf runs after me and grabs my hair. I turn, wincing in pain, my knife in hand. I slash at him.
“Bitch.” This time he grabs my arm, and I plunge the blade into his chest.
He staggers and lifts his arm to hit me when Murphy shows up out of the shadows and drags me away. With one hand, he grabs my knife from Olaf’s chest and slashes his throat.
“For fuck’s sake, come on,” he growls.
My mind is frozen as he sweeps me up from the ground and hauls me to the gate, rips it open, and carries me through.
We run once he puts me down. I stumble into him and then back him up against the brick wall of an apartment building and kiss him, everything in me flaring bright.
Fuck my life, this man is the dark light I crave.
He kisses me back and flips me around so I’m against the wall. His fingers slide under my dress and into my panties as his fingers push up into my wetness and assault my clit. I spasm hard, my muscles clamping on his fingers, my mission morphing into white noise.
And then he whispers, “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”