Chapter 1 #2
Logan didn’t give a shit. He also didn’t need to look.
His eyes were on Morris. His main target.
“You are trying to force one of my employees into your cage.” Real anger simmered in his voice.
Seriously, how annoying. You left town for a few weeks in order to handle some business abroad, and a rival tried to snipe one of your employees.
Not cool. “Jake will not be fighting in your match tomorrow. He will not ever be fighting for you.”
“Jake’s dad owes me ten grand!” Morris huffed. He ignored the bleeding Raymond. “His old man traded Jake to me in exchange for the debt. That means Jake will fight whenever I want.”
Right. That was the way Morris typically acquired his fighters. They ran up a debt—or someone close to them did—and the only way out of that debt was to bleed in Morris’s cage. Only this time, that was not happening. “You picked the wrong player,” Logan informed him. “You picked one of mine.”
Morris grinned at him. “You want him back? You want the debt canceled? Fine. Then you can trade your ass for his.” Mocking laughter.
“You can get in the cage. Because someone has to enter. I’ve got to have my fight.
You can take his place tomorrow night, and if you manage to beat my fighter, then we can talk about Jake and—”
“Nope. I’m done talking. But I am in the mood to fight.
Though I don’t need a cage to do it, and I won’t be waiting until tomorrow.
I’ll take the battle here and now.” With that, Logan lunged forward.
His fist slammed into Morris’s jaw. The man had a glass jaw.
Always had. Always would. Morris went down, hard, his whole body rolling on the floor.
That seemed to be the signal for the other goons to attack. And they did. One rushed at Logan with a knife.
Seeing as how Logan had recently acquired a slash on his right cheek that required seven stitches, he wasn’t particularly in the mood to feel the slice of a blade on his skin again. “Bad mistake,” he snarled at his attacker.
He disarmed the punk in two seconds. Threw the knife, embedded it in a nearby wall. Logan drove a right hook at the man. A hook, then a gut punch. Then a powerful left that sent the man crumbling.
The next fool came at him—tall, lean. But not with a knife. Armed with a gun. Because, sure, when you couldn’t take down your opponent in a hand-to-hand fight, you always went with the gun. “Hardly fair,” Logan grunted. Also, “Charlotte, get down!” Not like he wanted a stray bullet hitting her.
The CIA would roast his ass if that happened.
“Get him!” Morris shouted. Ah, so he was back in the game, was he? “Shoot him!” Morris urged. “Shoot. Him!”
Logan launched at the man with the gun. He tackled him. They hit the floor. “Is this really any way to conduct a business meeting?” Logan asked as he wrenched the gun away. Then he slammed the butt of that gun into the creep’s head. “Night, night.”
“Shoot!” Morris screamed. “Shoot!”
Oh, hell. Logan whipped around. The bloody, missing-nose-ring punk had a gun in his hand now. One aimed at Logan and he was—
Jerking. Shuddering. The punk’s eyes rolled back in his head even as drool poured from his gaping mouth.
Why? What had just caused all the jerking and shuddering?
Charlotte. His new PA stood behind the little bastard. With a taser gripped in her hand. A taser she’d just shoved into the side of his neck.
Still keeping the taser in place, she took the gun from the guy. Then she removed her taser and let him fall forward. His body quivered a few times.
She nudged him with her high heel. Then straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Do you require additional assistance, sir?” she asked Logan in a crisp, cool, professional tone.
Well, well. Logan smiled at her. “I think you are going to be one exceptional PA.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line.
Morris tried to make a run for it. Logan caught him near the cage. He slammed Morris’s face into the side of the cage. “You can’t leave yet.” Logan felt distinctly cheery now. “The meeting isn’t even over.” He flipped Morris around. Pinned him in place.
Morris whimpered.
“Guess who owns this building now?” Logan asked him.
“I-I…do?”
“Nope. Not as of three hours ago. I do. I own the building. I decided to take a more active interest in my neighborhood, mostly because you were bringing down my property value.” He smiled at his prey.
“You made a fatal mistake. You went after someone who belonged to me. Now your cage matches? That stupid shit you would run every single week? Over. This place is mine. This town is mine. And if you want to keep seeing daylight, you’ll have your ass and your whole crew—you will all be gone from Vegas by dawn. Got me?”
“G-got you.”
“See, that wasn’t hard.” He looked over at Charlotte. A Charlotte who gripped the gun that the bleeding thug had dropped. “I’m really great at negotiating.”
Charlotte nodded. “Yes, I can see that you’re fantastic. A real people person.”
“You have no idea. Wait until you see me engage in contract negotiations.” His attention shifted back to a very watchful Morris. “Contract killer negotiations,” Logan clarified.
“OhmyGod,” Morris breathed.
“Ready to hitch that ride out of town?” Logan asked.
“You’ll never see me again.” A fast promise.
“I hope not.” Mild tone but dark words as Logan added, “Because if I do, Morris, you’re a dead man.”
“You should have taken me in with you, boss.” A deep rumble from the limo driver. He waited near the long, sleek, black ride, his arms crossed over his chest and his shoulders hunched.
“No worries, Barney.” Logan slapped him on the shoulder and motioned toward Charlotte. “I had my new PA with me. Charlotte totally kicks ass and takes names. Or maybe she tases ass and doesn’t ask for names. Effective, either way.”
Logan Sterling thought he was funny. Clearly.
He was not funny. Clearly. Based on her observations, he was dangerous, potentially unhinged, and he had a taste for violence.
The limo driver—Charlotte knew his name was actually Barnabas Bailey—tossed her a suspicious glance before he hauled open the vehicle’s back door. “She doesn’t look particularly dangerous.”
Logan laughed. A rich, warm sound. “Appearances are deceptive with her. I’m telling you, she’s gonna earn herself a raise within a week.” He motioned for her to enter the limo first.
Her high heels clicked over the broken pavement. After murmuring a quick thanks to the driver, Charlotte climbed inside.
Driver. Bodyguard. Hired gun. She was pretty sure that Barnabas was all three of those things. When the CIA had peered into his past, they’d actually found links to him being a former mercenary. Like that was reassuring.
Logan pulled the door shut after he entered, not waiting for Barnabas, then Logan sprawled—rather broadly and a bit too close—next to Charlotte.
The back of the limo glowed with a soft, warm light.
A fully stocked bar waited to the right, and when Barnabas began to drive a few moments later, soothing music filled the air.
Her eyebrows rose at the music. Not like she’d expected Logan to go for Mozart.
She’d pictured him as more of a hard rocker.
“Barney,” he groused. “Playing his shit again.”
She didn’t think that Mozart was actually, uh, shit. Quite the opposite.
Her gaze darted to the front of the vehicle. The tinted privacy screen was fully in place. So Barnabas was the one who liked the classical music?
“Don’t worry, sweetness. He can’t see us or hear us. So you can spill all sorts of juicy spy secrets, and I’m the only one who would know.” His knee brushed against her leg.
With one finger, she poked at his offending knee, then deliberately moved it away from her person.
“Don’t like being touched?” A careful question from Logan.
“I’m merely keeping things professional.” That had sounded prissy. Too prim. She nearly winced at her own words. But it wasn’t like she wanted to tell the man…
When you touch me, I feel this heat rush through my blood. A heat. A…yearning. It seems to surge through me and my heart races, and my breath comes a little faster, and I want to get a bit closer to you.
Nope. Not going to say those words. She had a job to do. A mission to accomplish. She could not afford to be sidetracked.
It was all Logan’s fault, of course. The man was entirely, ridiculously too sexy.
All that thick, tousled, dark hair. Those intense brown eyes.
That hard jaw, lined with stubble. That strong nose—a nose that appeared to have been broken at least twice.
And even the still red scar on his right cheek made Logan appear dangerously attractive.
A scar shouldn’t have made him more gorgeous. And yet, somehow, it did.
“Professional.” Logan seemed to taste the word. His lips twisted. Sensual, sculpted lips.
Stop noticing his lips!
“That’s an interesting term. Kinda…boring, don’t you think?”
She could feel the heat from his body reaching out to surround her. His crisp scent teased her nose, and her gaze had just dropped to his hands. His hands pressed flat against his thighs. His broad, muscled, jean-clad thighs.
He wore jeans, battered boots, and a black t-shirt. And he was so sexy that all of the moisture was drying from her mouth.
Get it together! She’d been on dozens of dangerous, international missions. She’d stopped assassins. She’d infiltrated a drug ring. She had stopped a major weapons deal in Russia just four months ago.
Why, why was she so weak in the knees for this man?
“I didn’t expect a boring secret agent when I was blackmailed into this circus.” His head cocked to the right. “Figured you’d be an adrenaline junkie who lived for the thrill of the mission.”
“So sorry to disappoint you.”
“Nothing about you has disappointed me.”
Now that caught her off guard. Her gaze whipped up to catch him studying her far too intently.
Boom. Boom. Boom. Her heartbeat was so loud that she suspected he could hear it.
“What’s up with the glasses?” he murmured.
“Uh, they let people see better.”