Authors: Cathy Pegau
Her mouth dried. “You too.”
She’d only said it to flatter him, but damn the void, the words came out in a rough whisper, making it sounded like she was in heat. The effect on Guy was immediate, if unintended.
His smile widened and he kneaded her shoulders. “I’ll see you tomorrow night. Marco,” he said a little louder, addressing one of the men at the billiards table. “Show Sasha out.”
The dark-haired man who’d taken Guy’s cue stick from him strolled over from the pool table. Obviously one of the entourage, the swarthy man wore a suit similar to Jake’s.
Marco. The name pinged recognition in her fuzzy memory.
Guy leaned down and touched her cheek with his warm lips, claiming her attention. The heat of him lingered on her skin like a brand. She clasped her hands together rather than scrub at the spot on her cheek. “Until tomorrow.”
He returned to the game, and as sensation of Guy’s touch receded, Sasha’s knees wobbled with relief. She’d done it. She’d secured a meeting with the drug dealer, just as Sterling wanted.
Was there anything in his mannerisms that indicated he’d been suspicious of her or her motives? No, Guy seemed to believe her. He wouldn’t have extended the invitation to the house otherwise.
She had no idea what Sterling had planned for that meeting—he hadn’t let her in on it because her part
should
have been over the second Guy agreed. Whatever it was, she hoped his escape plan would encompass
three
now instead of two.
“You ready?” Marco asked.
Sasha nodded and turned toward the door. She pushed aside the dread of seeing Guy again in less than twenty-six hours and felt lighter with each step as she walked back through the paneled hall with Marco on her heels. She’d done it. She’d actually done it. Her chip would be deactivated, and she could disappear.
When she reached the bar area, she smiled at Jake when he raised his head from the comm he was tapping. Jake smiled back then frowned when he saw who followed her.
“Here, let me get that,” Marco said to her. He reached past to lift her coat from the barstool. He held it up and, as she slipped her arms into the sleeves, she felt his breath against her right ear. “How ya doin’, Sasha?”
He knew her, and somewhere in the depths of her memory the name “Marco” made her tremble. His low, gravelly voice struck some primal nerve in her brain. The one that told her to run. Run far, and run fast.
“Fine. You?” Her mouth had dried, preventing anything else from coming out.
“Much better. Now.” He wrapped his hand around her bicep and urged her toward the door. “Let me show you to your car.”
From his barstool, Jake’s eyes narrowed and he started to rise. “I can help her—”
“Sit down,” Marco told him with authority. “Guy’ll get torqued if you leave without his permission.”
Jake sat, a pained, apologetic look on his face.
Hand still gripping her arm, Marco opened the front door. The cold Nevarro wind swirled up her bare legs. They stepped onto the deserted walkway.
Sasha swallowed several times and licked her lips. “I can find my way.”
Get away, get away, get away.
“It’s not a problem,” he replied.
The door of The Morrissey closed, reducing the light on the empty street to muted puddles. Where had the sense of cheeriness from the street lights gone?
Sasha moved to their left, searching for Sterling’s car in the dark. Even if he couldn’t hear her, he had to have seen them emerge from the club. “I’m over here.”
Marco pulled her to the right, away from Sterling. She slid on the icy walk and instinctively went with him rather than fall.
“Never thought I’d see
you
again. You’re lookin’ fuckin’ hot too.”
Every muscle stiffened and every nerve seemed to fire at once.
“What?”
Even in the dim light she could read the terrible grin on his face. Ten times worse than the look Guy had given her, it made her want to scrub herself raw until the outer layers of her skin could no longer feel his gaze. “You walked into the suite and I was like, ‘Damn, I miss that.’ Let’s make up for some lost time, baby girl.”
A sudden, nauseating memory flashed through her brain: she and Marco in the maintenance shed on Guy’s estate, crushing amber between two rocks, licking it off each other’s fingers and lips. Kissing. Pawing.
She uttered a strangled, “No,” as bile raced up her throat. She hadn’t done
that,
had she?
“No,” she said again, yanking away from him. But she couldn’t break free. Marco’s hand slid along her arm and clamped on to her wrist.
His leer became a snarl and he jerked her toward him. One hand still wrapped around her wrist, he secured the other arm around her waist. Chest to chest, he ground his hips against her, the hardness of his erection pressing into her stomach. Gorge rising, she tried to push him away.
“What? Now that you’re clean you can’t stand the thought of being with me?” His voice was low and rough. Dangerous. “I was a fucking prince when Guy cut you off and I gave you amber. You couldn’t get enough of me then.”
He released her waist, but his hold on her wrist increased. He drew her toward the mouth of the alley between The Morrissey and the neighboring building. The slick soles of her shoes offered no purchase on the ice. She considered dropping to the ground, but if she fell now he’d be all over her. Her pulse thundered in her ears.
Yell! Do
something,
cried the voice in her head.
Sterling!
But her throat had closed and only the faintest whimper escaped. She strained against his hold, slipping on a patch of ice.
Their arms stretched between them, Sasha managed a strangled, “Please.”
“Fuck. I’ll show you who you need to fucking please.”
Marco jerked her arm. She slid closer. Fear and desperation slammed inside her chest. Digging one heel into the walk, Sasha lashed out with her other foot. The six-centi spike connected with his shin.
Howling, he let go and Sasha fell backward. She hit the frozen ground hard, the impact rattling up her spine.
“You fucking bitch.”
Breathing heavily through flared nostrils, he started toward her, murder—or worse—in his eyes. Before he could take more than a step, a dark-clad arm whipped around Marco’s throat and jerked him backward.
Chapter Five
Legs braced, Sterling tightened his arm around the taller man’s throat and swung his fist into his face. Once. Twice. The smack of flesh on flesh echoed against the alley walls. White-hot rage flared in Sterling’s head, fueling a third, harder punch, numbing the damage his hand took from the impact.
The man jerked against him, gurgling for breath, futilely grabbing for Sterling’s head. Being a couple decis shorter than the bastard had its advantages. So did years of physical training. Sterling squeezed harder and swung a fourth time, taking great satisfaction in the crunch of bone and cartilage.
The man went limp in his arms. Sterling let him fall to the cold walkway, not caring if his skull cracked on impact. Blood from the man’s ruined nose stained the ice beneath his head.
“Rat bastard.” Sterling wiped his bloody knuckles on his coat. His heart rate eased toward normal and the rage ebbed like an ocean tide, leaving clarity and concern in its wake.
Sasha
. Sterling spun around. She sat a meter away, pale and staring at the downed man. He hurried to help her to her feet. “You okay?”
She didn’t say anything as she rubbed her wrist. He touched her shoulder, drawing her attention. Her eyes were wide and shiny in the light of the street lamp across the road, her face deathly pale rather than its usual fairness.
“Sasha?”
Other than her wrist, she didn’t appear to be hurt.
Had the slime done something else to her? Something Sterling hadn’t caught? He’d been headed in to get her when the two had emerged from The Morrissey. He’d ducked behind a vehicle to avoid being spotted, but seeing the dark-haired man get physical with Sasha had spurred a wave of fury. When he’d grabbed the bastard by the throat, it had required a level of self-control Sterling hadn’t needed in a long time to refrain from snapping his neck.
“I’m fine,” she said as she moved past him to head toward the parked car.
Her feet slid on the icy walk, and her legs gave way. Sterling caught her up in his arms before she could join the slag mucker on the ground. He hugged her slender, trembling body, pulling her closer when he felt her shaking. What did she mass, forty-five, fifty kilos? And the shaking. That had nothing to do with slipping on the ice.
“Easy,” he said into her hair. It smelled like rain and flowers. Without a second thought, he drew in a slow breath and rested his cheek on her head. “You’re safe.”
She buried her face against his chest, gripping the sides of his coat. Her breath permeated his shirt, warmed his skin. She felt small and fragile in his arms. “I’m okay.”
Her voice was muffled but steady. As she took more of her own weight, he reluctantly eased his arms away from her, ready to catch her again if necessary.
“What the hell did he do to you?” Sterling glared down at the drug dealer’s dog, more than willing to shoot the man with the pulser holstered at the small of his back.
“Nothing.” She rubbed her hands over her face. Then she froze, fingers covering her mouth, and looked up at him, her gray eyes wide. “What did you hear?”
He wanted to pummel the guy again for the fear in her eyes. His jaw twitched with renewed anger. “Nothing. The scanner fried the transmitter. I heard the first bit of your conversation with Christiansen. Then it died completely. I was about to go in when you came out with this—” He kicked the man’s side. Hard. The bastard would wake up with a bruise the size of a boot sole to go with his busted nose. “—guy.”
She pulled her coat tight around her body, hunched her shoulders and headed toward the vehicle. “Let’s go.”
Her foot slid again. Sterling caught up to take her arm. “Careful.”
Sasha glanced at him, her cheeks still too pale. “Thanks.”
What had happened in the club? He hadn’t anticipated someone trying to hurt her in there. The oversight sent a ripple of guilt through him. Maybe using Sasha to reach Christiansen and Kylie wasn’t such a brilliant idea after all. But what choice did he have?
At the car, he reached past her to open the passenger-side door. She got in and tugged her coat close, like a woolen shield. She stared straight ahead through the windscreen. Sterling shut the door and checked the man on the ground as he walked around the front of the car. One dark shoe stuck out of the shadows, but otherwise he wasn’t too obvious. Chances were, unless someone passed right by or came looking for him, the guy would be there for a while. He might freeze to death if he didn’t wake up soon. Too bad.
Sterling got in and started the engine. He tapped the controls to get the heater going. A weak stream of air trickled out. “It’ll warm up in a minute.”
“Let’s just go.” Sasha shivered beside him, her arms crossed over her chest. He frowned against the urge to reach out to her again, to wrap her in his arms.
He let a ground taxi pass then pulled away from the curb. Snow pelted the windscreen, partially melted as the heater came up to temp, and the wipers whisked away water and flakes. Street lights and ground and air car headlight beams passed through the vehicle, illuminating Sasha’s face in random flashes of blue and white.
“Who was that?” he asked.
“Marco, one of Guy’s top men. I—” Her voice broke and she cleared her throat. “I knew him from before.”
Before she’d left Christiansen. Before she’d been remanded and went through rehab. But there was more. His gut knotted. “Sasha?”
She shook her head, not ready—not willing—to tell him.
Frustration curled inside him like a snake. He wanted to help her, but she was closed from him. Could he blame her?
The hum of the heater and the hiss of passing ground cars filled the space between them as Sterling let her regroup. Marco’s assault had shaken her, but there was something else she wasn’t telling him. He could sense it.
When she didn’t expand on the situation with Marco, he couldn’t help but wonder what had gone on at The Morrissey. What had she seen?
Who
had she seen?
He swallowed hard and asked the question he wasn’t sure he wanted answered, knowing what Christiansen’s gatherings entailed. “Was Kylie there?”
Sasha kept staring forward. “No,” she said quietly.
He nodded, grateful his sister wasn’t part of the scenario tonight but wishing he had some kind of recent visual on her. “Did it go badly with Christiansen? Was this Marco his muscle, telling you to stay away?” If that was the case, the plan to get Kylie was in jeopardy. If it was something else, well, good old Marco deserved the beating and the frostbite he was going to wake up to.
“It went fine with Guy. He wants us to come to the house tomorrow night.”
Sterling blew out a breath. He should be relieved; so why did he only feel worse?
Relief yielded to muscle-freezing anxiety. She’d said “us.” Christiansen wanted Sasha to attend the meeting too. Damn the void. The drug dealer’s request changed everything. Sterling couldn’t let Sasha be finished now, even though she’d fulfilled her part of the deal to get him an audience with Christiansen.
They both knew this was going to be a rough ride. He hadn’t softened any of it when he’d asked Sasha for help, but had things gone too far for her already?
“Tell me what Christiansen said.”
She rubbed her eyes with her fingertips. “Can’t we go over it tomorrow? I’m beat.”
Sterling held the control yoke with one hand and stabbed the heater icon to bring the temp up a notch with the other. The system rattled, but didn’t deliver warmer air. He knew he was pushing her, but damn it, he had to. With this change in the game, the only way to keep her safe was to get this over with as soon as possible. “Better to do it while things are fresh, in case he said something I need to prepare for. What did he say about targeting the mines? How did he react to you?”
She still stared straight ahead, elbow on the door and head leaning on her open hand. “He acted all cool and unruffled, like always. Thought I meant the plan was to get amber into correctional or rehab units—which, by the way, he says he has covered.”
“Yeah. Corrections is working on it. What else?”
“Said I should have come up to the house right off, that he held no grudge.”
“Did he?”
“Hold a grudge? Sure. So do I.”
Sterling glanced at her. “You have a good reason.”
Sasha straightened and turned toward him. “He threw me out, and I never tried to come back to him. In his mind, that’s the same as me leaving. He may still have feelings for me, but he’d be happy to teach me a lesson in loyalty. If he can make money
and
teach me a lesson, so much the better.”
When she finished, she crossed her arms over her chest and faced the side window. He could practically see her pulse jumping in her neck.
“It won’t get that far.” Sterling was surprised how rough his voice sounded in his ears, how hard his hand gripped the yoke as the other throbbed in time with his increased heart rate. He was sending her into the lion’s den, but he’d do his damnedest to fulfill his promise.
“You didn’t see him looking at me, like he knew I’d be back some day.” Her breath fogged the plasti-glass. “You don’t know what he’s capable of, not really.”
Was she talking about getting people killed? Hell, he’d shown
her
evidence of Christiansen’s influence on women.
Sterling double-parked in front of Sasha’s new apartment building with the engine running, but when she moved to open the door, he engaged the all-lock.
She jerked on the ineffective lever then turned on him. “Let me out.”
“We’re not done yet,” he said, his voice soft and steady. He couldn’t let her leave upset like this, for both their sakes. “Tell me what happened at The Morrissey,” he continued, “so you can go to bed and get some sleep.”
Her lips curled into a sneer. “Your concern over my sleeping habits is commendable.” She gave the handle another useless yank. “Open the fucking door.”
They held each other’s gazes as his heart thumped in his ears. Her jaw muscles bunched as if she was chewing carbon steel, and her eyes narrowed in anger. She wasn’t going to be intimidated by him.
Ground cars sounded their horns at them for blocking the street. Snow fell, melted on the windscreen, got swept away with rhythmic thuds of the wipers.
“Open the door,” she repeated. Quieter. Back in control.
He set his jaw. He knew what she was doing. Keeping her distance. Not letting him see any weakness or vulnerability; anger made better armor than fear. Hell, he couldn’t blame her, but he wouldn’t let it jeopardize his plans. If she left furious with him now, shaken, she might back out.
He tried to tell himself that was the only reason he cared.
In an equally calm and quiet tone, he said, “Get it off your chest and let me worry about tomorrow. Tell me about the conversation you had with Christiansen.”
She stared at him for another few seconds then closed her eyes and sighed. “He’s intrigued by the idea of the mines. Wants us at his place at nineteen hundred tomorrow night.”
Sterling nodded approval. “Good. That means he believes you want to work with him.” He shifted on the seat to face her. “What else happened, Sasha? What did he do?”
Her eyes opened. “Nothing,” she said, her voice thick. “It was just hard to be in there with him, with...his people, like I said it would be.”
“And this Marco?”
In the dim light of the car, she paled again. “An ass. That’s all.”
She was lying. Not that it surprised him. Not about Marco being an ass, but about something. How was he supposed to protect her from Christiansen if she lied to him?
“Sasha.”
Her expression was blank except for the hint of dread in her eyes. “That’s it. Can I go to bed now?”
He stared at her in the dark. Her anger was gone. She looked tired now. Worn. He felt like an ass himself then, for pushing her. He wasn’t getting any further tonight, and she needed some rest.
Another few heartbeats and he released the locks. “I’ll pick you up at seventeen hundred. We’ll go over everything before heading out. Get some rest.”
“Right.” Sasha got out, letting an icy wind into the car. She slammed the door and darted between two parked cars to her building. She pressed her hand to the admit panel and went inside without looking back at him.
Sterling took his comm from his coat pocket. He called up the app Mickelson at the Corrections Department had slipped to him, ignoring the guilt that crept over him as he tapped in the equally unauthorized pass code to access the parole files. He entered Sasha’s name and Corrections ID. On the three-centi-square screen, her chip ID blinked green. She was where she belonged.
He set the app to alert him should she travel farther than one hundred meters from her current location. The comm okayed his request, and he returned it to his pocket.
Would she run because of whatever had happened at The Morrissey? She’d seemed scared enough. He’d do whatever necessary to rescue Kylie, and that meant keeping Sasha close. He couldn’t take the chance of losing her. And he couldn’t shake the feeling of unease whenever he thought of her walking away. From him.
Sterling drove the snowy streets leading to his room in the Quarter, his hands gripping the control yoke until his fingers ached. He had to accept the fact Sasha
would
walk away once her chip was deactivated. After all was said and done, Christiansen might be torqued enough to seek revenge, and she would be safer as far away from Nevarro as she could get.
But that was later. For now, until Sterling deemed it safe for her and for Kylie, until he could be sure Christiansen would work with him without Sasha, she stayed. He’d see to that.
* * *
Sasha forced herself not to look at Sterling as he watched her from the car and carefully closed the front door behind her. If a man opened doors for you and held your arm on slick walkways, beat another man to a bloody pulp, he was the type to make sure a girl got safely inside.
But how could that same guy who opened doors and promised to keep you safe—who looked at you with such sadness and gratitude that you wanted to tell him you’d do everything you could to help—how could that guy try to make you talk about shit you didn’t want to?