Inside Danger (Outside The Ropes Book 2) (29 page)

A light flipped on and my eyes burned against it as I looked around. It was a tiny room with low cabinets and a counter along one wall and three chairs.

One chair had someone in it. Tied up and bloody. But it wasn’t Anthony. The person’s head was slumped forward, like he was asleep, or passed out, or possibly dead. But I recognized the curls, even though they were matted with blood. It was Kiera’s friend.

THE SLAM OF THE DOOR UNSTUCK ME from my spot on the ground. I scrambled to my feet, barely feeling the pain in my knees from hitting the floor.

My eyes were glued to the guy in the chair. I wanted to go to him, check on him, see if I could help him, but Nick was stalking towards me. And my mind started working again, he thought I was involved with this guy.

Backing up, away from Nick and the cop in the chair, I tried to explain, “He was Kiera’s friend, not mine.”

Nick stopped coming towards me, his eyebrow lifted as he pointed to the bleeding man. “He says differently,” his voice was conversational and it made me feel crazy. He walked over to him and gripped his head by his curls, lifting it up. “Agent Mathews, wake up.”

The side of his face was covered in cuts and gashes, like it had been dragged over glass. It had been through something because dark bits stuck in the oozing blood. His mouth and neck were covered in the dark dried blood that had poured from his nose.

The slits of his eyes opened slightly and he groaned. His eyes rolled around in his head before landing on me and then cutting to Nick, he was quickly becoming alert and rigid. “What is she doing here?” his voice rasped.

“I’m putting the story together, seeing what clean up needs to be done. What has Regan told you and who else have you told?” He pulled his head back, making him look up at him.

“It wasn’t business. I didn’t tell anyone.”

Nick released his hair and walked to the counter, taking off his jacket. “What was it then?” He spoke so casual, like he had all the time in the world.

Agent Mathews looked towards me but no emotion could be seen through the bruises and blood. “We were friends.”

The slow burn of anger crept into my frozen veins and I embraced it, encouraged it. It was better than fear. “That’s bullshit. Why are you saying that?” I took a step towards him at the same time Nick waved a manila file from the counter.

“Why would ya have a file on a friend? We found this in your place after we caught ya snooping around the fuckin apartment like a dog in heat.”

Nick tossed the file in the air and papers and pictures scattered over the ground. Air escaped me when I saw the black and white police photos of me when I was three, close ups on my gun shot wounds. Compelled by something beyond thought, I sunk to the ground and collected all the floating pieces of information on me.

My school transcript, police reports and suspension notices from fights at school, reports and pictures from the night I was jumped, but when I turned over the pictures of her, I dropped everything else.

There were two. One of her from afar, like a surveillance picture, she was walking out of a building with a man. And the other picture was of her dead, overdosed, on a grimy, laminate bathroom floor. My mother.

I looked up at the agent strapped to the chair. “Why do you have these? And why are you saying we’re friends?” I stood up from the ground, aware of Nick’s eyes on me and his growing smile. “I only talked to you one night, and I never said anything. I didn’t know you were a cop. Tell him, it was Kiera you were with, not me.”

“He’s FBI.” Nick had one hand lightly gripping the gun holstered at his waist. “What have you told him?”

I snapped my head to Nick. “Nothing. I haven’t told anyone anything.” My fists balled at my side. “I don’t fucking know him. He’s Kiera’s friend, not mine.” I tried to pull in my anger. I was shouting, but I couldn’t think of how to prove what I was saying.

“You’re lying little one.” Nick’s steps were slow as he approached me. “We know you slept at his place the other night.”

I turned to face Nick head on, resisting the urge to step away as he got closer. “Only the one night, I had nowhere to go. And nothing happened. I just slept there. I only knew him because I had seen him with Kiera.”

Nick turned his head to the agent. “Who’s lying?”

Agent Mathews met my eyes again. “I’m sorry. I already told them we had a thing. You can’t put this on your roommate.”

I went up in flames and lunged towards him. I didn’t care how bloody he was, I would kill him. Nick gripped the front of my shirt and flung me to the ground, keeping me from touching the liar in the chair.

My body was numb and I didn’t feel the impact of the ground, but I landed with a smack on my hip.

“She’s dead,” I shouted at him, my brain finally making the connection of who he was protecting. “Kiera is already dead. Tell the truth.”

His eyes shut, and then he looked towards Nick, who shrugged.

“What’s it matter if she is? You don’t know her.” He had his arms crossed, smiling between the two of us. He was enjoying all of this drama.

The agent shook his head, murmuring low.

“What’s that? I can’t hear ya? You’ve got something to say?” Nick stepped towards him, lifting his head by gripping his hair again.

“Burn in hell,” his sad voice caught fire with anger.

Nick tossed his head down and brought his gun up with his other hand, hitting him across the face with it, whipping his head back with force. He grabbed his hair again, righting his head on his shoulders.

Nick’s voice was back to level. “Look, we know you’re just a paper pusher in the agency. But what we don’t know is why the fuck ya got involved in the first place. Whether ya fucked Kiera or Regan or both, doesn’t matter to me. What matters is why the hell ya had files on her.” He forced his head to look at me. “And who else ya might have told.”

He was wavering in and out of consciousness, head only staying up because of Nick’s grip in his hair. “Kiera wanted to know about her. I did it for her.”

Nick dropped his head, forehead wrinkling. “Fuckin’ serious?” He looked towards me with a laugh, pointing to the agent with his gun, like we were sharing a joke. “Who sent you to Kiera? I know you can’t afford that place on your own.”

His eyes were closed, more than they were open now. “Who killed her?” his voice was low, barely heard, and then he was out.

Nick shook his head. “Wake up. Harrison Mathews, wake up. We’re not done talking yet.”

His eyes pulled open, barely. “Please. Let me go. I’ll work for you. I’ll tell everything.” Tears were coming down his face. “I can help you.”

Nick sighed and took a few steps back, gun still wrapped in his fingers but pointing to the ground. “How can you help? You work in an office, Harrison. We’ve already got our people higher up than you. Who sent you?”

I was holding my breath, watching him. He was crying, shaking his head, eyes squeezed tight.

Then he exploded. And I dropped to the ground, vision wavering, covered in his blood and bits of tissue.

Nick stood behind him, arm still outstretched and gun aimed where his head had been. It was lulled forward now at an odd angle. His hair, the only part I could see, seemed to be fine. Still matted in blood, but fine. I couldn’t figure out what I was covered in. A hot spray had splattered on me when Nick fired the gun. It had to be from his face. My eyes dropped to the concrete, a chunky pool of blood was forming under him.

I stayed slumped on the floor, not wanting to move, not wanting to acknowledge the horrific thing I just saw.

But Nick stepped into my vision, holstering his gun. “He was useless. And when they start crying and begging, ya can’t trust a word they say.” He crouched in front of me, dangerously close. “But you. What have you and Kiera been doing, little one?”

I pulled myself up and tried to block the sticky feel of blood coating me. “It wasn’t me. I didn’t know anything about this, about him.”

He inflated larger and leaned in closer to me, eyes sharp. “I don’t believe ya.”

The door clicked open and Nick broke the heated stare down, turning his gaze to Rusnak as he walked in.

Rusnak glanced around the room, un-fazed, and stepped to where we were. He sunk down to our level, but stayed on his feet, never letting his suit touch the ground. His eyes scanned over me with a frown.

“Let’s get you cleaned up. Come with me.” He gently coaxed me with a light touch to my elbow.

I jumped at the chance to escape and rose to my feet.

Rusnak walked me to the door then turned back to Nick. “Clean this up. Call Boris if you must, but don’t go far. I need to talk with you later.” His soft demand reminded me that Nick may have been the one to shoot, but Rusnak had probably ordered it. I wasn’t better off going with him.

I didn’t want to look back, but I forced myself to as I stepped out of the room. Nick cut at the ropes binding Harrison hands with a knife, and his body slumped forward slowly as they loosened.

Harrison Mathews. I wouldn’t forget his name any more. He was another name added to my growing list of people who died because of me.

My mind was blacking out, shutting down. The events of the evening were just too much. It seemed one second I was leaving the garage and the next I was in a large bathroom in the main house, and Rusnak was locking the door as he followed me in. My limbs were too heavy to move and my brain too clouded and slow to work. So I stood there as he stepped closer.

“Tcht,” he clicked his tongue as his eyes slid down my shirt. “Let’s get you out of these disgusting clothes and into the shower.” His finger touched the edge of the thin material at the collar. “Nick must have ripped it.” He raised his hooded eyes to mine, his smooth voice only added to the belief that I had to be stuck in a dream, or nightmare.

The sound of fabric ripping, as he used both hands to tear open the front of my shirt, sliced through my trance. Numb shock was quickly replaced with a surge of cold panic, and I wrapped my arms around my waist, keeping the sticky shirt pressed to me.

“Please,” the word spilled out of me. I didn’t even know what I was asking for, but I needed help.

He paused with a small moan, hands just above mine, gripping either side of my torn shirt. His eyes lit up as he raised them to mine. “Please?” One of his hands moved to my cheek, thumb moving over my skin, smearing whatever was there. “Let’s get you cleaned up first. Okay?” He nodded and grabbed my hands, pulling them off of my shirt. “Then we can talk.” He gripped my shirt again, tugging me to him as he ripped the bottom. Then his fingers ran over the skin of my chest and shoulders as he peeled the shirt away, off of me. His lips followed the path, softly sucking on the skin at my collarbone as his fingers moved to the back of my bra.

I pulled away, I would drown if I didn’t, and he stiffened, eyes turned sharp.

He stepped away and opened the glass door to the shower, turning on the water before facing me again. His eyes dropped to the edge of my scars. “Take it off and get in the shower.” He leaned back on the counter, watching me.

I dropped my eyes from his and undid the buttons on my jeans, quickly stepping out of them. I wasn’t trying to put on a show or drag this out.

Keeping my bra and panties on, I stepped into the hot spray of the shower, heart racing. But I was glad to wash off Harrison’s blood. I turned up the heat and stayed under the scalding stream until the water ran clear. Then I used shampoo and soap, scrubbing my skin and scalp raw. If he gave me scissors I would have cut off my hair.

Rusnak was the one to turn off the water, ending my shower. He wrapped a towel around my shoulders and pulled me to him. My wet bra and underwear soaked his clothes.

“Feeling better?” He asked, still using that hypnotic, low voice.

I couldn’t answer. I didn’t know what I was feeling. I didn’t feel like me. I had no past, no present. There was only this moment and I didn’t like it.

He moved his hands over the towel, drying me. Then he lifted it to the ends of my hair, soaking up the dripping water before tossing my cover to the ground, leaving me exposed.

He slid his jacket off and folded it methodically on the counter next to us. He licked his lips, eyes moving over me as he slipped the gun holster from each shoulder and laid it on top of his jacket.

His fingers slid under the bra straps on my shoulders, sliding them down. His tongue heated the top of my breast, leaving a chilled trail as he pressed me back against the counter. I forced my brain anywhere else, but only saw Harrison when I closed my eyes, and that was worse.

The pop of my bra clasp brought me back to the moment. His hands were cupping the weight of my breast, kneading them with his palms. I fought off the urge to push him away as he dropped his hands, lifting me by my thighs to sit me on the counter.

I moved my hands over his as he reached to pull my bra off, but his hazel eyes captured mine.

“Say please again.” He was slowly sliding my bra away, sliding it down my arms.

I took a few steadying breaths, feeling unhinged at being so exposed to him. “Please,” I whispered, not daring to look away or blink.

He smiled, eyes hooded as his fingers trailed over my stomach, making a slow path to the scars that spotted my right side.

“Please what?” His fingers froze at the bottom of my ribs.

And I choked on a cry, shaking my head as tears escaped. I couldn’t think. My mind was shredded, barely comprehending after everything that had happened.

My head snapped to the side with a loud crack, white blinding my vision before I felt the sting of his hand on my face.

“Why do you have to be all the worst parts of her?” He had been quick in picking up his gun. “I should have let her kill you.”

My world froze. Whatever I had thought was happening, wasn’t. The look in his eyes now was one of disgust, not lust.

I shook my head, still not able to formulate words.

He caged me in with hands on either side of me.

“Nothing to say now?” He was smirking. “Come on. I can usually count on you for a good fight.” He pushed himself against me and his lips dipped to my neck, sucking painfully. I stayed limp and he pushed away from me. “Always a disappointment. You’re pathetic.”