101 Nights Box Set: Volume Two Read online

  “Get a hold of yourself, Alisha. None of that shit matters.” I just can’t purge the memories the way I want to. Not wanting him to get suspicious, I wash my hands and straighten my hair before leaving the bathroom.

  Two glasses of wine sit on the coffee table. He’s on his cell near the window, as if not wanting me to overhear. I ease out of the bathroom and take my seat on the chair once more. Dropping the pills into his wine, I claim my glass and sit back to wait.

  George pockets the cell and returns to the couch. I can’t get over how much he’s changed in two weeks. I doubt he’ll thank me for drugging him, but he’ll definitely be better off for it.

  And I’ll get a shot at his laptop. Everyone wins.

  “Cheers,” I say and lift my glass of wine.

  “Cheers,” he echoes quietly. “I’m sorry for scaring you tonight, Alisha. I hope you know I’d never hurt you.”

  Where the fuck did that come from? The nice side of him, the one I catch only glimpses of, is here visiting like the maid who cleans my room. I’m pretty damn sure it won’t stay long.

  “You do scare me,” I admit. “You’re big enough to kill me with your nose.”

  “True, but I wouldn’t dare send a high-powered sneeze your way.” He leans back on the couch, wiping a hand across his face.

  “Remember that the next time you decide to beat the shit out of some stranger in an alley,” I say carefully. I don’t want him to know how much he scared me.

  His grey eyes settle on mine.

  “You wanna tell me why you’ve been ignoring me, aside from using me as bait?” Anger creeps through me again.

  “To keep you out of danger. Hasan’s men knew who I was the minute I set foot in Nijala. They’ve figured out who you are.”

  “Oh. Why couldn’t you tell me that?”

  “They’re monitoring everything. Our rooms are bugged. I sweep mine three times a day to keep him from planting anything. The equipment you bought at the market is bugged, too. Didn’t you wonder how you picked up an iPhone for five pounds?”

  “I figured it was the third world country discount.”

  “It wasn’t. Everything you bought on the electronics side was rigged to track or listen in on you.”

  I study him, not wanting to believe he had noble reasons for cutting me out of the loop. “So that’s it? You were trying to keep me a secret? There’s no other reason you were avoiding me?”

  “What other reason would there be?” he asks politely, though his gaze is amused.

  Drink up, smartass. My cheeks are warm again. It’s clear the time we spent together meant nothing to him. Knowing who and what he is, why do I still hurt?

  “You know, my offer’s always open.” He rests his head on the back of the couch. He’s halfway through his wine and starting to visibly relax. “I could definitely use a stress reliever, and prostitution is illegal here.”

  Fuck you, George. He doesn’t have to remind me which offer. There’s only one that makes the tension between us so taut, I can hardly look at him without squirming.

  “I brought a whip,” he adds. His eyes are drifting closed.

  “No way in hell I’ll let you hit me.”

  “Not for you. For me. You said you were … interested.”

  Now that I find intriguing. I don’t think I’d do it because of the sex option but because he annoys the hell out of me. I don’t know if he realizes how much I’d like to beat him with a whip or if he knows and really doesn’t care. “Tell you what. You let me in on what you’re doing, and I’ll whip you good in exchange.” I laugh.

  “Only if there’s … sex … in… volved.”

  “Fine. Whatever, Romeo. Get your ass to sleep.”

  He doesn’t respond. I shift forward to grab the wine glass before it hits the cream couch and white rug covering the white marble floor. George sags.

  Within seconds, he’s snoring softly, out cold.

  I set both wine glasses on the coffee table with no small amount of triumphant giddiness at the thought of outsmarting him and going online once again. Darting off my recliner, I run into his room and search it, finding his laptop on the desk near his bed.

  There are three others with it: mine, the one I stole from Tony and a third one I’m not expecting to see.

  Natalie’s! She puts stickers on all her laptops, which always makes me cringe. Touching something that belonged to her and having some sort of connection after two restless weeks of fear and worry … my eyes water. I snatch it up.

  “Come to Mama, poor little thing!” I hug it and kiss the case. “Let’s see how badly that asshole’s been violating you!”

  I build a nest of pillows and laptops on George’s bed, turn on all the lights and get to work.

  Chapter Two: George

  It’s rare when I sleep through the night without dreaming or tossing and turning. I have a mild headache when I awaken, a sign I might’ve overslept. Morning light streams in through the open drapes of my bedchamber, and I roll onto my back. As always, I evaluate my surroundings and physical condition with my senses, a practice born from years spent in hot spots around the world sleeping in enemy territory.

  The night trickles back to me: Alisha and beating the shit out of one of the guys chasing her. From there, it’s blurry. I remember bathing, a glass of wine and … that’s it. I feel better today, rested mentally and physically for once.

  And then it hits me. I slept. With a wild woman like Alisha loose in my room. Throwing off the covers, I realize I’m fully dressed in the same clothes I wore last night after my shower. I never wear clothing to bed.

  Worse, it’s too quiet in my flat for her to be present.

  “Alisha,” I growl under my breath, realizing she somehow managed to drug me. I’d never sleep that deeply with someone I don’t trust in my room, unless she was in bed with me.

  Ripping open the door separating my bedroom from the rest of the flat, I freeze in the doorway. Alisha is nowhere to be seen – but there’s a dead man in the middle of my living room. Blood has created a huge pool around him, the rusty wine color and gumminess of it making me think I slept for much longer than a few hours. He’s impaled on the metal arm of the glass top coffee table with shards of glass scattered around the room, glittering different colors in the sunlight like Mardi Gras confetti.

  I crouch near him, outside the ring of glass. His eyes are closed and mouth open in a silent scream, his skin tinged with blue. He’s dressed like the secret police, and there’s a shattered laptop with a knife through the keyboard in the blood near one extended arm. It’s Natalie’s; I recognize the dog stickers.

  I stand. It takes me another five seconds to figure out what happened. The front door is locked from the inside with a chair braced against it.

  “Alisha?” I call softly, scanning the flat again. “I know you’re here.”

  No answer. Concern twists my stomach. I don’t want to be worried about her, but I haven’t been able to shake the dread weighing me down since we landed in Nijala. She’s oblivious to the danger lurking beneath the exterior of every smile and around every corner. As luxurious as this place is, we’re in enemy territory, and she’s a lamb to the slaughter.

  “I’m not angry, love. I need to know you’re okay.”

  I wait again.

  “I’m okay,” comes the tiny, stricken voice from the kitchen.

  Hurrying across the living room into the kitchen, I see her seated in a corner with her back to the cabinets, a paring knife clenched in one hand and blood on her canary yellow shirt. Her eyes are red rimmed, her features pale beneath the gorgeous caramel skin. She appears small, scared.

  I go to her, not liking the resurgence of a familiar instinct – the need to protect her. Unlike my ex, Tracy, Alisha can’t handle herself in a threatening environment. I met Tracy on a mission, a beautiful yet trained killer, one who knew who I was and still found a way to love me for it. I didn’t worry about her as much as I do Alisha, because Tracy knew how to defend he
rself well.

  Not that it helped her survive.

  Now is not the time. I don’t want to recall the last days with Tracy. I can’t really help looking at Alisha and wishing she knew half what Tracy did about self-defense or staying off the radar in a foreign country. If someone as skilled as Tracy went down, Alisha doesn’t stand a chance. The doom in my gullet is heavy, a reminder that Alisha managed to crawl beneath my skin before I realized there was any possibility of being attracted to her.

  Kneeling beside her, I keep one eye on the knife in her hand and the other on her features. “Are you hurt?” I ask.

  “Bruises. I’m used to those.”

  My heart tears a little around the edges at her admission. She’s trying to be brave. I saw the bruises on her body when we met and know where – rather, who – they came from. Men who hurt those weaker than them are the foulest of creatures in the world. The thought of anyone hurting my sweet, lively Punky Brewster infuriates me.

  “You’re not mad at me?” She rests her head back against the cupboard and gazes up at me, her warm brown eyes ensnaring me the way they always do. I have the urge to wrap my arms around her and comfort her but sit back on my heels instead. I can’t risk getting too close. Someone like this …

  Well, let’s just say she’s not the kind likely to leave a war zone intact. I don’t know what to do if things go bad.

  “Not as such.” I am upset with her, but it’s not the time to admit it. She’s clearly in shock. “You don’t need this.” I pry the knife free from her hand and place it on top of the counter. “You’ve got me now, right?”

  She nods, a little uncertainly. “Is … is he okay? He fell hard.”

  I study her. The response at the tip of my tongue, that the man lying in a pool of blood is about as far from okay as he can get, sticks in my throat. Her look is hopeful, tortured and for once, trusting.

  Recalling how she reacted when I saved her life in her apartment, I realize there’s no way she can handle the truth. Death terrifies her. Killing someone? She’ll never get over it.

  “He will be when he gets to the hospital,” I lie for the second time in under a minute.

  “You should call someone then. It’s been like fourteen hours.”

  “How long was I sleeping?”

  She shrugs. “Day and a half.”

  I hiss rather than snap at her.

  She flushes and looks down. “You needed the sleep.”

  And this shit happened. She’s in shock already. Rather than address what she did, I stand. “Let me call someone now to come get him. Stay here.”

  My cell is where I left it on the entertainment center. I snatch it and go onto the balcony. Only when I close the door behind me do I utter the curses building up. I had shit to do yesterday, and my cell phone is flooded with voicemails and texts.

  There’s nothing I can do about the missing time now aside from reassure my contacts that I’m meeting them on schedule to pick up the package being smuggled into the country. I do so quickly then call my intelligence contact at the British Embassy and arrange for someone to pick up the body with utmost discretion.

  It takes a couple of minutes after hanging up for me to suppress the anger and irritation at what Alisha did.

  You needed the sleep.

  I did. I just can’t afford it right now. If she had any idea why, she’d have plugged me up to an intravenous source of Red Bull.

  Centered enough to deal with her, I return inside. I unblock the door for the cleanup crew coming to take care of the mess in the living area before returning to the kitchen. She hasn’t moved, and my anger melts into warm sympathy. Her chin rests on her knees. She’s watching me, eyes glazed.

  She’s out of her element in so many ways. It’s not the first time I’ve thought that bringing her here was a mistake. But I had little choice. Whether Tony issues another hit or Hasan captures her, she’s in danger no matter where she is. I had hoped she kept under the radar here where I could protect her more easily.

  Dismissing what I can’t change now, I settle onto the floor beside her and pry one of her small, cool hands free of the death grip she has around her knees. Interlacing our fingers, I speak much more calmly than I feel. “Tell me what happened.”

  She’s gazing at our hands, her confusion clear. “You’re gonna be pissed.”

  “I give you my word, I won’t be.”

  She starts to smile. I’m not always certain what she finds amusing when I speak, aside from the accent.

  “Well … after you fell asleep” she clears her throat, blushing “I found Natalie’s laptop and started playing around with it.”

  She explains what she was doing. She not only messed with Natalie’s, but hers and mine as well. Midway through her story, there’s a knock on the door, and she freezes.

  “Should be the … medics,” I say. Standing, I go to the door to let in the two Englishmen dressed as palace servants carrying various pieces of gear and a large carpet. I say nothing; they know why they’re there. Returning to the kitchen, I take up my seat and her hand once more. “They’ll take it from here.”

  She searches my face, as if not sure she believes me. I squeeze her hand, and she starts to relax.

  “I figured out what you were monitoring, by the way.” The words bring a spark of life back to her eyes. “I checked Hasan’s network yesterday to make sure he doesn’t know you hacked him.”

  “Good.” My jaw clenches. I really despise people piercing the thick wall around my privacy. She’s been in my life since we met, rooting for secrets and collecting them. I don’t know her end game, if she’s even thought far enough ahead to have one, and it makes me uneasy knowing how much she knows about me and how I operate.

  “It was like, sunset yesterday when the guy knocked on the door.” She frowns, the look of distress returning. “He forced his way in. I’m not even sure exactly what happened…” She drifts off and then shakes her head. “Anyway, he grabbed me and I sort of panicked and wacked him with the laptop. He put a knife right through it. I tried to run and then suddenly, he fell and didn’t move. I came in here to hide in case he tried to get me again.”

  “Did he say what he was after?”

  “He said I had to come with him.”

  I don’t quite know why Hasan wants Alisha suddenly. They were following her for a week without any indication they wanted more than to keep an eye on her. Something changed in the dangerous game we’re playing, which makes me really uncomfortable.

  My phone buzzes, and I check it.

  Lead story on the news. It’s from Elijah, my boss and friend. I click the link and sit back, watching in surprised quiet. Turning up the newscast, I show Alisha. Her eyes widen at the headline ticker scrolling across the bottom.

  Assumed dead for ten years, Princess Layla of Nijala confirmed alive, returned to her father.

  “What about Natalie?” Alisha snatches my phone, staring at the news. “How did they find her and not Natalie?”

  “They didn’t find her. I imagine Hasan turned Layla over to the king.”

  “And what happened then?”

  “If I knew, I’d be in a place to help Natalie,” I reply in frustration. “I’m in Hasan’s network. I have tails on him, his cronies and even the king. Malika knows nothing. I know nothing. Wherever they had Layla, and wherever they have Natalie, it’s completely locked down.”

  “Layla would know,” Alisha says. She watches the same clip over and over. Layla appears confused and unsure at a press conference between her father and Malika. I pity her, too, an innocent girl caught in the crossfire of a political game and dropped into a world she has no memory of.

  My chest grows tight the more I think about Layla. I’ve been her guardian for five years. She might as well be my little sister, the way Elijah has always been like my little brother.

  Emotions are simmering too close to the surface. If I let myself think too much about her, I’ll lose my edge.

  “Malika can get us acce
ss to her,” I say.

  “We have to talk to her!”

  Two weeks with Elijah’s aunt have given me an appreciation for her shrewd political mind and the urge to never speak to her again. She’s not playing Elijah’s game; he’s playing hers, and the determined woman isn’t going to blink at ridding the field of pawns like Alisha and me, if she needs to save face or further her agenda. It’s a minefield dealing with her. Right now, I’m useful to her, and I plan on keeping it that way.

  “George, we have to go now!” Alisha starts to stand.

  I pull her back down. The sounds from the living room are still present. “Malika is a different kind of beast, Alisha.” I warn her.

  She’s anxious and tugs at my hand, trying to drag me up.

  I wrap my arms around her in response and pull her against me. She stills, her breath catching, and I hold her shapely frame tight. “Listen, love,” I say against her ear. Her hair smells like my shampoo, a citrus-woodsy combination, while her skin smells purely of her feminine musk. “We must be careful. One slip up, and our bodies wash up on the beach. Do you understand?”

  There’s a brief hesitation before she nods. Her eyes find mine then travel to my lips. The other, non-work reason I’ve avoided her the past two weeks: the attraction between us is paralyzing. The moment I touch her, all I can think about is peeling off her clothes and burying my face then my dick in her sweet pussy. She’s got a wild, passionate side beneath her fear, one I want to provoke while also understanding how dangerous it is to me if I do.

  My goal is never to feel again, never to have another relationship. Being around her, my guard goes down before I realize it’s at risk of falling. She’s in my arms yet not close enough, not until our bare skin is pressed together. Her beauty and scent light my blood on fire. Her unguarded expressions remind me of what life was like before I knew how ugly it really is.

  I don’t want her to understand that darkness. It’s another reason I need to protect her, not only from the mess we’re in, but from me.

  Realizing I’m gazing at her long enough for her to see how much I want her, I release my grip. She doesn’t move, and the tension between us quickly grows unbearable without me touching her.