101 Nights Box Set: Volume Two Page 2

No. But I’m not about to admit it to him.

  “Either you don’t know who’s after you, or you do and won’t say,” he says. “When I use a set up like this, I’m less than two minutes away, so I can respond when the silent alarm is triggered. It would be helpful to know what kind of storm is coming our way.”

  Our way. Not my way. Not like he’s going to move and let the storm take me. My heart is pounding, because I’m starting to realize how much trouble I’m in. Tony, George and … mystery hit men.

  “Could be one of many,” I reply vaguely. “You’re welcome to come back later to see if they leave me alive or not. Actually, why are you here, if you know a shit storm is on its way?”

  “I’ll inform you shortly.” He stands quickly. “Someone else is here.” His whisper is low and quiet.

  For a minute, I think he’s messing with me, wanting to scare me. And then I hear it, too, the creak of the fire escape outside my living room. The sound of someone sliding open a window.

  George enters my room. My first instinct is to run – except I can’t. Safe in my closet, I’m nonetheless trapped as well. I’m not sure who I should run from anyway: George or the strangers who allegedly trashed my place.

  He takes my arm. I yank at it, but he holds me tight.

  “You’ve got a very important decision to make right now,” he whispers. “Whoever is coming through that window isn’t here to offer you a business deal. I am. If you want to take your chances negotiating with them on your own, I’ll dutifully leave you alone to deal with them and let them know where you’re hiding on my way out. Or …” He pauses.

  I wait, not at all interested in the first half of his ultimatum.

  “If any part of you feels your chances of leaving this apartment alive are less than good, you’ll move your ass out of the doorway so I can climb in there with you.”

  I listen to his low, calm voice, knowing someone is creeping through my living room without understanding what they want. Sure, I have a ton of potential enemies. There’s honor among thieves in my line of work, though, so I’m pretty sure as long as I don’t reveal them, most my clients aren’t coming after me.

  Except for Tony and George. Those two are the wild cards. I was with Tony earlier and George is here now. If neither of them is out to whack me, then I have no clue who’s in my house right now.

  “Business deal?” I repeat.

  “I require your assistance.”

  My eyebrows shoot up. George, the man who has become my personal Big Brother the past few weeks, needs my help. If he knew I helped Natalie leave the City, he wouldn’t be requesting my help. Something else has to be up.

  Unless, he’s lying.

  Either way, I kind of like the idea of leaving my apartment alive, and I’m pretty sure he’s just offered to make sure that happens. I can definitely believe someone like him has the skills to muscle me out of here, if that’s what it takes.

  I can lie, too. Make it out of here then run for it.

  “Okay,” I say and tug at his grip on me. “Welcome to my closet.”

  George moves into it with me. I lean into one wall. The closet is small enough without the mess, and he maneuvers his way through shoes and fallen clothing to rest lightly against me, his wide chest and hard body at my back. I usually date overweight computer nerds who smell like Doritos. The combination of his warmth, scent and hardness leave my senses a little overwhelmed. He wraps one thick arm around me and leans into me, bringing his muscular frame in full contact with mine.

  Wow. If I wasn’t standing in a closet hoping I survive the night, I might find this to be the best moment of my entire life. It’s like snuggling with a real live action hero from one of my comic books. I’m not sure what scares me more: that I like being in his arms or that I know now for a fact he’s strong enough to break me in two, if he wants.

  I stealthily move my hand down my side and to the bag at my feet. It’s hard to manipulate it within reach, but I manage, hopefully without drawing his attention. I trap my bag between my thigh and the wall and reach into it, searching for the Taser I took with me tonight. I have this fantasy about Tasering Tony. After five nights in a row of his sick sex, I can’t stop daydreaming about the idea.

  Stealing his laptop isn’t quite as satisfying as seeing him convulse in a puddle at my feet, and it’s probably more foolish. That’s how I roll – stupidly at times.

  George grips my wrist, and I jerk, surprised.

  “Not that I don’t trust you, but dropping the Taser is in your best interest right now,” he murmurs.

  “It’s to use on the bad guys, not you,” I lie smoothly. “Seems smart to have it ready, doesn’t it?”

  “No.” He pulls the bag from between my body and the wall and drops it somewhere behind him. “And no going for the gun under your mattress.”

  My mouth opens and then closes. “How many times have you been in my apartment?” I’m envisioning him standing over me while I sleep, debating whether or not he should kill me.

  “Once before tonight. A wise man always finds the weapons first, escape routes second.”

  “Are you armed?” I ask curiously.

  “Don’t need to be. Killing with a weapon does a man a disservice. You Yanks like to make it easy to take a life. There’s no respect in killing from a distance, where you can’t fully experience the consequences of your actions.”

  “Deep thoughts on murdering from a real live action figure,” I mutter. “Some of us don’t have the benefit of being beefy.”

  “You’ve got something better: intelligence. You’re smart enough to know you need someone like me tonight, which leads me to believe you know how much danger you’re in,” he replies. “Care to share a list of potential enemies, before I put myself between you and whoever is here?”

  His words make me swallow my retort. I’m not exactly sure what happened here. I went from running from him, to hoping he doesn’t come between me and a bullet, because it doesn’t seem right for him to lose his life over my messes. “You would do that?” I ask suspiciously.

  “I need your assistance. If that means keeping you alive, then consider me your temporary, ill-tempered, reluctant bodyguard, until I have what I need.”

  I knew he wanted something. I didn’t expect he’d go to this extent to ensure he got it. It’s kind of gratifying yet freaky, because it means whatever he needs, it’s worth his life.

  I don’t know enough about him to know what that might be. In all honesty, I didn’t think him capable of anything of the sort. He definitely strikes me as having sociopathic traits with the level of robotic devotion he’s shown to his boss.

  “Well …” I pause to think. “Should I start with the local mafias, international criminals or politicians?”

  “You really don’t know.”

  “Not at the moment, no. Give me a few minutes with them and I might.”

  “Nice.” He almost sounds amused. “Quiet.”

  I suck in a breath and listen for the sound of footfalls or others whispering. Anything to tell me how many people are in my apartment or where they are. Whatever George hears, I don’t, just the sounds of our breathing. His heartbeat at my back is slow and steady. His warm breath skates across one ear as he bends his head to whisper. “Do not move or speak. Understood?”

  I nod with a shiver. His breath smells minty, and I wonder how many hit men remember to use mouthwash before tracking down their prey.

  George releases me and moves away, his slow step silent as he ventures into the cluttered room. I wait until he’s out of the closet before reaching for my bag. Groping in the darkness, I feel the strap beneath my fingertips and give a tug. Whatever it is, it’s not the bag I want. The yank sends something that sounds like one of my snow globes thumping onto the floor. It rolls and hits the bedpost, and I gasp.

  The thud-and-roll shatters the silence of my room. As soon as it’s quiet, I hear the footfalls of more than one person racing down the hallway.

  “Alisha …”
George does not sound happy.

  “It was an accident!” I grip the bag I’m looking for and sling it across my chest, not caring at this point how much noise I make.

  Two shadows then three clog my doorway and dart into the room. The sound of a fist meeting flesh makes me flinch empathetically, and I stumble back towards the window. I’m not finding my Taser in the depths of the bag and nearly topple to the ground when someone shoves into me. Catching myself against the far wall, I try not to imagine what’s going on and focus on getting the hell out of here.

  Staggering through the mess and around the fighting men, I make it to the doorway and into the hallway. The window air conditioning unit in my living room drowns out any sounds, so I take a chance and run. Sprinting down the hall, I can see the outline of the front door and am starting to think I’ll make it, when someone clotheslines me.

  I drop like a rock in water and lie on the ground, stunned and coughing. I’m seeing stars, and I blink rapidly to clear them, aware of someone’s body heat as he squats by my head.

  “Tony says thanks for tonight,” a man whispers.

  That son of a bitch! Forcing me to sleep with him – and ordering a hit anyway! He couldn’t have known I’d grow balls and take his laptop. I bet he’s so hurting in the morning …

  Not that it matters, because I’ll be dead.

  The stranger presses the cool metal of a gun to my temple, and my whole world seems to stop. I think about Natalie and her baby, about how careless I’ve been with my hacking gift, about how – if I had it to do over – I’d never cave to Tony blackmailing me. I think about George getting gunned down and feel sorry for him as well as a little guilty.

  I guess we’ll meet again in hell. I close my eyes, furious at myself for some really shitty life choices. They didn’t seem so bad when I made them, but in hindsight, I look like an idiot. The gun leaves my temple, and I wait for the sound of my death.

  It doesn’t come. Either that, or people aren’t exaggerating about the world slowing down in the last minute before a near-death experience. Because this minute is really, really dragging.

  Opening my eyes, I’m surprised that the man is gone. I catch a flash of movement in the living room and clamber to my feet, trying to make out what’s happening. It’s too hard to tell in the dark, and I can’t hear much over the roar of the AC unit.

  Slapping my hand against one wall, I grope around until I find the light switch and flip it on. Light blinds me briefly, and I hold up one hand to block it as I take in the scene before me.

  Tall, muscular George has some man bent over backwards in a headlock. As I watch, he jerks upward. The man goes still.

  Dropping him, George straightens and levels a look on me. His biceps are straining in the pristine, white suit shirt, and his belt is gone from his slacks. I’ve never seen him in anything but a full suit, and it strikes me as odd to see him rumpled. His black hair is disheveled, his face flushed from effort, and his searing grey gaze on me. I knew he was strong, and I knew he was big.

  But he seems so much more of both than I noticed before. Muscular thighs are outlined in his slacks, and I can see the leanness of his torso without the suit jacket.

  Step aside Thor. You got nothing on George. I silently tell my favorite comic book character. George looks incredible, in a very lethal, panther-like way.

  Right now I’m hoping he didn’t notice that I made an attempt to run out on him.

  He’s got two bodies at his feet and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a kerchief to dab at the blood leaking from his nose.

  Because polite murderers always carry handkerchiefs. For some reason, the image in my mind is funny, and I laugh uneasily then end with an embarrassing hiccup. Panic is bubbling within me, and I don’t know if I should laugh or cry at my horrible night.

  “Judging by his accent, I’d say the Russian mob,” he guesses. “No one sends five hit men unless they want to be certain the target is dead.”

  I roll my eyes. Tony is a captain in the Russian mob, a fact I didn’t know when I accidentally crossed him. George doesn’t need to know that, though.

  “You okay?” George asks.

  “Me?” I respond, surprised he’s asked. “Best night of my life. You?”

  “I have reason to question your standards. And your judgment.” He nudges the body nearest him.

  An eerie thought crosses my mind, one that makes me shift. My stomach drops out from beneath me and the panic inside me becomes more frenzied.

  “Are they … um, knocked out?” I ask.

  “You could say that.”

  “What do you mean? You don’t mean they’re … permanently knocked out, do you?” I hiccup again, ready to run or scream or maybe return to the closet and hope this is all a bad dream.

  George raises an eyebrow in polite offense, as if I’ve asked him where his belt is instead of whether or not he killed five men.

  “Because if you killed them to save me … if this is my fault … I’m going to have an issue with that,” I add.

  “They sent their message. I sent one in turn. You’re mine, until this is over.”

  I shake my head. “Okay but … no. They’re not dead, and I’m not going with you,” I say. I back into the wall, my hands trembling. I took psychedelic drugs once, and my world is starting to resemble what it did then. Confusing, surreal, dream-like.

  George smooths out his shirt, gaze still on mine. Five dead guys working for the Russian mafia and an English hit man? There’s no way this is real. It’s … just … not.

  Except it almost seems like it is.

  “I’m feeling a little sick,” I whisper.

  “You’ve never seen anyone die.” His gaze softens. “It bothers you?”

  “No, because every day I have Russian mafia breaking into my apartment and watch them get murdered!”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “What?”

  “Let me get my jacket, and we’ll go.” He breezes by me, completely unaffected by what just happened.

  I stare at the bodies. They came to kill me and ended up being killed themselves. Does this qualify as a paradox or horrible irony? How do I process this? The sound of my bag tapping the wall behind me fills my ears, and I realize I’m shaking hard enough that the laptops inside it are clapping together as well.

  “Alisha.” George reappears and rests his hands on my shoulders. His suit jacket is back on, albeit unbuttoned.

  I gaze up at him, taken aback by his size once again and the fact that he smells and seems so real when I want very badly to pretend this is a dream. His grey eyes have flecks of blue and green in them, as complicated as the man himself.

  “Sometimes bad things happen for good reasons.” His tone is soft, his full lips forming the words inches from my face. He’s got heavy but refined features, as if the sculptor that carved him from honey colored stone wasn’t certain if he should resemble the slender faces of the royals of England, like his father, or the thicker Hessian features of Germany, where his real mother was born. “I will look after you the way I do EJ, at least until this is over.”

  I blink. “And then what?”

  “We’ll see.”

  This isn’t reassuring at all. Does he mean it to be? And why am I more interested in the warmth of his solid body than the fact he killed two people in my living room? There’s something about his combination of sexiness and danger that makes me shiver for a different reason, that touches the primal woman inside me that kind of gets off at the idea of the ultimate thrill ride. I’m an adrenaline desk junkie. Part of the reason I hack is because I love the challenge and the reward.

  But I have a feeling hacking will pale in comparison to being stuck with a man like his.

  “You okay?” he asks again, this time running his warm thumb along my jawline.

  I can’t look away from him and don’t want to move, even if every instinct in my body is still telling me to run. Something about this man has mesmerized me since the first time we
met. I don’t think we’ve ever had a conversation that ended well, and yet my body hums with warmth, the kind I never feel for Tony, no matter how nice he pretends to be to me.

  Adrenaline and desire. It doesn’t take a genius to know that George is addicting.

  “Not really,” I reply.

  “Good.” He offers a quick, small smile then turns away, striding towards the door.

  “Good?” I echo. “How is that good?”

  “It means you’ll be fine.”

  I don’t get him. At all.

  “We need to leave before more come,” he says over his shoulder, pausing in the doorway.

  That jars me out of place, and I hurry towards him. No matter what I think about him, I don’t want to be here long enough for someone else to try to kill me. Besides, when I’m outside, I can make a run for it and leave all this insanity behind me.

  Chapter Two: George

  Without another word, I walk into the hallway, senses alert for any sign there are more people waiting to attack.

  A glance over my shoulder confirms Alisha’s trailing, her eyes darkened from mascara and tears. She’s got a look on her face that tells me she’ll probably make a run for it when we hit the alley behind the Tenley tenement building.

  As usual, I absently take a few seconds to decipher what the hell she’s wearing. Striped, knee-high stockings that extend over hunter green, cropped leggings, fuchsia shoes, poplin shirt beneath a jean jacket with the arms clearly cut off by someone unfamiliar with using scissors. Her manner of dress is as uncivilized as her candidness and behavior.

  I was raised in a noble English household, and Alisha is the opposite of every polished, fashionable, stylish, reserved woman I grew up around.

  It’s one of the reasons I liked her on day one. Her constant disarray charmed me the moment I saw her wearing a bright blue painter’s jumper with a suit shirt and bowtie. She’s unique, different, a breath of fresh air and sunlight in the grey world where I operate.

  She’s gorgeous despite the visual chaos. She’s got the caramel skin of her Puerto Rican heritage, large, soft brown eyes, a button nose in a heart-shaped face and dark hair in braided pigtails. Every time I see her, I experience the same sense I did when we first met: that this cannot be the woman who outsmarts me at every turn. Not only does she give off the air of being the quirky girl next door, but she’s young, around twenty three, and well, sweet. Not a hardened criminal at all.