Chapter 26 #2
Umm. Agree to disagree. But I know this is neither the time nor place for that argument, so I let Stryker pull me across the dance floor away from where Carson Montgomery is watching us with lips pressed into a thin line, silently seething.
As naturally as breathing, Stryker leads me through a few graceful steps and turns, navigating the bodies around us with ease.
He’s distracted though, gaze continually darting to the man he arrived with, and my stomach twists in guilt.
Stryker’s working, and still, he rescued me from that creep.
His plea from the day we met echoes through my mind. “I’ll lose… everything.”
Like hell it’ll be because of me, though.
I might not have figured out how to help him yet, but I can at least ensure I don’t drag him down any further when he’s already under so much scrutiny.
So, as the song comes to an end, I rise up on my toes and press a gentle, lingering kiss to Stryker’s jaw.
“We’ll catch up after you get off work tonight, okay? Keep your eyes on the prize.”
His heated gaze roams over me. “Trust me, I am.”
Ignoring the way my cheeks warm, I extract myself and return to Killian’s side, determined to avoid Stryker for the rest of the night so I don’t get him in trouble.
I fail horribly.
No matter where I am in the room or who I’m talking to, I can feel his gaze burning into me.
And whenever my brother drags me into his networking conversations, Stryker glares daggers at the men like they personally offended him.
After a solid half hour of this, his client drifts to the far side of the hall to strike up conversations of his own, and Stryker’s forced to follow.
I didn’t realize how much I’d miss the comforting weight of his presence until he was gone. Without him, even in a sea of people, my brother at my side, I’ve never felt more alone.
“Kiara, right?” I glance up at some suave dude that looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t quite place him.
Dark hair that matches an even darker suit, custom tailored and looking like it cost more than my brother’s car.
The heavy silver watch on his wrist compliments his eyes; light grey with a sharp gleam as he studies me intently.
“I don’t believe I introduced myself.”
He offers a disarming smile. “You didn’t need to, your brother’s been singing your praises to everyone within earshot all night.”
With a roll of my eyes, I sigh in defeat. “That’s Kills for you. Great for my self-esteem, terrible for my social battery.”
“First time you’ve attended one of these fundraisers, I take it?”
“How could you guess?”
He chuckles, snatching a couple of glasses of champagne from a passing tray and offers me one.
“You don’t suffer fools well. Between you and me, I’ve been playing a drinking game for the last hour.
Every time one of these assholes approaches you and you silently sigh in annoyance before plastering on a fake as hell smile, I drink. ”
I grimace. “That obvious?”
He snorts. “Worse, I’m afraid. I actually had to admit defeat and call it quits before I wound up missing the auction for an impromptu nap.
” I can’t help but laugh, and he takes it as encouragement to continue.
“A word of advice? That’s like catnip to this crowd.
Rich pricks aren’t used to accepting no as an answer, and they’re far too bored in life since they get everything they want with a snap of their fingers.
When a challenge presents itself? They’ll become relentless for the simple sake of winning if you’re not careful. ”
Eyeing him warily, I drawl, “Let me guess. You’re not like other boys? So you’re swooping in with a different approach because you’re smarter than all of them put together.”
He barks out a genuine laugh. “Now I see why he’s obsessed with you.”
“Who?”
He brushes off my question, grinning. “Doesn’t matter. Looks like the auction is about to start and we’re seated at the same table. I thought I’d take it upon myself to chase off the vultures so you made it back before the lights dimmed.”
“For not at all a self-serving reason, I’m sure.”
He grins. “Oh, 100% selfish reasons, and I hoped you might be willing to help me out in exchange. A little tit for tat, if you will.”
Curious, I raise an eyebrow. “Go on.”
“There’s an item up on the auction block tonight that I desperately want to get my hands on.
Seeing as you’ve caught so many of my competitor’s eyes this evening, if you’re willing to help distract them when the time comes so their attention is split, I can swoop in and claim victory without it costing a fortune. ”
“And what’s in it for me?”
As we settle into our chairs, he discreetly reaches into his pocket and slips something under his linen napkin, then slides it in front of me. I take a drink of my water with one hand, using my other thumb to flip up the corner of the napkin.
And promptly choke on my water.
“You can’t be serious.”
He smirks. “As a heart attack.”
I glance down at the bundled stack of 100s, the bank-wrapped paper tag around them showing it’s five thousand dollars.
I’ve never seen that much cash at one time in my life.
“All you have to do is play along once I give the signal. I’ll flirt a bit, make every other bastard here jealous, then you’ll make a dramatic scene worthy of turning heads to get everyone’s full attention.
Dealer’s choice on how you want to accomplish it.
Once the bidding window is nearly over, I’ll swoop in at the last second while everyone else has lost track of time and secure my victory. ”
But something nags at the back of my mind that I can’t let go.
The memory of Stryker casually whipping out counterfeit hundreds at the pet expo, and it makes me wonder; maybe that’s how the rich stay rich.
Screwing people over when they ‘pay’ because I highly doubt a waiter or service worker would have the balls to call out powerful men like them.
“How do I know these aren’t counterfeit bills?”
He stiffens, mouth parting slightly in surprise before he can catch himself.
Slowly, his lips pull into a devilish smile and he takes the stack back, tucking it into his inner jacket pocket.
“Well, well, well. It seems the Angel of Mercy is even more impressive than her reputation makes her out to be.”
My stomach swoops. “So I was right?”
As the other members of our table find their seats, my brother beside me, he silently raises a finger in front of his lips and winks.
It’s then I realize… I never asked his name.
Seeing the placecard in front of me says ‘Mr. Sterling’s Guest, I glance for his, but he’s already tucking the folded piece of cardstock into his breast pocket.
I don’t get a chance to interrogate him for either his name or the supposed signal before the auctioneer starts rattling off items. As he opens bidding for the first item on the docket, the mysterious man beside me slides his chair closer and subtly presses something into my palm.
I automatically wrap my hand around a rectangular piece of plastic.
Leaning close, he whispers. “Pin’s 1769. There’s an ATM in the lobby; it’ll let you pull out five thousand at a time. Then you’ll know for sure that the bills are legit. So, what do you say?”
What else can I say? Five thousand dollars just to make a fool of myself in front of people I’m never going to see again?
“If you try to report me for fraud or stealing your card, I’ll have you know, I have very little to lose and way too much pent up aggression.”
He grins. “Noted. So, do we have a deal?”
“Yes,” I agree softly, feeling the heavy weight of the word as I cave. “What do I have to do?”
Leaning closer, he whispers, “In thirty seconds, get up and head to the lobby. Pull the money out of the machine, then come back to join me. I’ll take care of the rest.”
Counting down the seconds, I take a deep breath and slide my chair back.
“Kia?” Kills asks, shooting me a concerned look.
Pressing a swift kiss to his cheek, I murmur, “Be right back.”
Before he can insist on coming with me, I slip out of the massive ballroom being used as an auction hall back into the foyer of the mansion.
I wind up having to ask one of the security guards standing around for directions, and he points me towards where another guard stands beside a discreet alcove with the sleekest ATM I’ve ever seen.
Palms sweating a bit, I remind myself that I’m not doing anything wrong.
I have express permission from… whatshisname, and his pin number. It’s fine, everything’s fine.
I’m going to jail.
Checking the card now that I’m in the light, I nearly drop it.
Sebastian Thorne.
Stryker’s brother. The snake trying to steal the company out from under my mate.
“Two can play that game,” I mumble, popping the card in the machine with renewed determination.
After pulling out the five K for my services and tucking it into my purse, I repeat the process like rapid fire, pulling out the five dollar minimum each transaction until it gives an ‘Error, contact your financial institution,’ message on the screen.
I’ll give his brother every single one of those five dollar bills back alongside his card and make up some excuse about the machine glitching.
But I won’t say a word about the bank putting a fraud alert freeze on his account.
He can find that out the fun way when he tries to buy whatever he came here for.
“Everybody on the ground!” a harsh voice barks a second before he fires off two shots. Like dominos, both security guards thud to the ground, the one nearest me with a hole in his chest.
My hands fly to my mouth to cover my startled yelp before dropping to a crouch. I’m mostly hidden thanks to the recessed alcove, but if I can stretch my fingers just a little further…
A set of black boots stomp into my line of sight, and I crane my head up, heart in my throat.
Gun in hand, I follow the barrel up his tattooed fingers.
They trail all the way up his arm, under the black t-shirt, and end at his neck, where a set of crossed swords behind a red sun shine like a proud beacon.
“Damn, no wonder the boss wants ‘ya. Pretty little thing like you will go for a fortune,” he says, gesturing with his gun for me to get to my feet.
My gaze darts to the fallen guard, and I bite my cheek, weighing my options. “Your boss wants me specifically?” At his narrowed eyes, I rush, “How about you and I make a deal? Give me two minutes to save this guard from bleeding out, and I won’t try to run.”
He scoffs. “You wouldn’t make it two feet anyway.”
“Maybe not, but are you willing to risk how much damage I can do to myself if I make it to that window before you catch me? Damaged goods don’t sell for as high a price, and I’m clumsy enough I might even break my neck.
” Frowning as he considers I might be faster than I look, I pounce on his hesitation to add, “Besides, think about the brownie points you’ll score with the boss if you’re the one to bring me in. ”
Glancing over his shoulder, he curses, but lowers his gun slightly. “One minute, and not a second more. I don’t give a shit if he dies, so make it count.”
Hearing the ring of truth in his words, I slap a hand on the guard and give it everything I’ve got.
It’s the clumsiest, most painful healing job I’ve ever done, but by the time an arm bands around my waist to throw me over his shoulder, I’m confident that he has a solid chance of surviving if someone gets him to a hospital in the next hour.
“Time’s up,” he grunts, striding for the main entrance, but he doesn’t make it ten steps before he convulses like he’s been electrocuted, legs giving out and crumpling to the ground.
Frantically throwing my hands out as the floor rushes up to greet me, I save myself from cracking my face on the marble, but it still hurts like a bitch when the guy falls sideways and crushes my legs beneath him.
The violent spasming only increases, and I’m squirming to get enough leverage to free myself when a familiar set of combat boots appear.
With one brutal kick, Stryker shoves him off of me and sends him skidding across the polished floor.
“What the fuck did you give her?” he demands.
The guy isn’t the only one frowning in confusion until Stryker’s gaze flits between him and me, fury and concern raging in his eyes, and the breath wooshes from my lungs. In this dress? There’s no hiding the black veins streaking up my hands to nearly my elbows.
“Who hired you?” The electricity he subdued the guy with ebbs and he drops his left hand, but keeps a gun trained on him.
With a groan, the guy rolls over, and I see it the same time he does.
The three other men he stormed the place with are all dead, bodies littered around the foyer.
Two with bullet holes in the head, pools of blood spreading around them in a vibrant splash against the white and gold marble, the other with a broken neck.
They never even made it into the ballroom.
Four against one, and still, they didn’t stand a chance against Stryker.
Lip curling in a sneer, he rasps, “Fuck off.”
Stryker fires a warning shot two inches from his head into the floor. “Last chance. I don’t have to make this quick.”
That sneer slowly morphs into a smug smile that has my stomach turning worse than the pain from the backlash racing through my veins like acid. “Do you worst, it won’t matter anyway. You’re too late, Sparky. Checkmate.”
Stryker frowns, studying the guy’s face closely, before he comes to some horrified realization.
With a quick bullet between his eyes, Stryker neutralizes the threat, picks me up, and races back to the ballroom.
We only make it past the threshold when the screams start, everyone scrambling to get out of the way as Sebastian tackles a man to the ground, knocking him out cold with a fist to the temple and tying the man’s bloodstained hands behind his back with zip ties to secure him.
But there’s no saving Stryker’s client, his throat torn out and lying on the floor with glassy, unseeing eyes.
Voice ragged, Stryker tightens his hold on me and breathes, “Fuck.”