Benefield gives me a once over, taking me in from head to toe. He claps his hands and I can’t help but flinch. Wasn’t expecting that.
The sounds of the men fighting behind me stops. Benefield bows at the waist and makes a sweeping gesture.
“As you wish, my love.”
I smile and pray it comes off as genuine.
He raises his voice and addresses his men. “Let her pass.”
I glance at the blood on the floor, truly afraid of slipping in it. No way do I want to walk through it. “Can you carry me?”
I lift my hand and wait for him to take it. If he does, I might survive the night. If he doesn’t, I’m already dead.
To my horrified delight, Benefield takes my hand. I give the slightest slant of my head and look at him—directly at him.
“Thank you—Tomas.” To my knowledge, I’m the only person on the planet to use his first name.
Tomas Benefield sweeps me into his arms and carries me across the room. He stops at the threshold and gently places me on the ground. He glances at his men gathered in the room behind us, then turns to me.
“You are playing a very dangerous game, Miss Deverough. I hope you don’t think you can play me.”
“Please, call me Evie.”
I hate that name. I despise it greatly. The only person who calls me Evie is my father, and I hate him.
Eight
Max
Present Day
When I think of rich men, I think of those I know.
Forest: easy, approachable, a bit rough around the edges, fiercely intelligent, he and his sister command billions. It’s a sum I can’t imagine.
Griff has money too, nothing the scope of what Forest commands, and Griff hides it well under his gruff exterior. The thing is, for both Griff and Forest, you’d never know they were rich. They’re just ordinary guys.
For me, when I think rich, I don’t think of men in polished suits waging war from the comfort of their boardroom battlefields.
Money craves the unscrupulous. Sooner or later, it finds cracks in a person’s moral code, tenacious and hungry to corrupt those with the noblest intentions.
That’s how I think about money.
It’s a vice for far too many.
It mirrors my experience; what it did to me, or rather what it made me do to poor Scott Connor, is reprehensible.
Money and power are indifferent of the virtues upon which they feed. They sink in their claws, weaken the strong, and allow sin to creep in. Impure thoughts take root until powerful men believe the lies they tell themselves. Vice and temptation, sins they once resisted, are openly embraced as mercy and compassion move aside.
But not all men.
Forest, the creator of the Guardians, is one example of how goodness can shine through. Griff, overly modest about his wealth, is tough as nails and not afraid of hard work. The man is a Navy SEAL, toughest of the tough, and I’m proud to call him brother.
I imagine Deverough is a pretentious, pin-headed, pen-wielding, boardroom warrior. He would like to think he’s squeaky clean, but I bet my last dollar he’s hiding some kind of filth. Perhaps Mitzy will uncover it. Perhaps she won’t. Either way, I stand by my gut. It never steers me wrong.
What motivates a man like that to take risks with the lives of his family? I’m having a hard time rationalizing his actions.
I want to know more about his wife’s suicide. Something in that man’s past stinks, and I’ll ferret it out eventually.
The company jet touches down and taxies to its gate on the private side of the airport in New Orleans. Knox and I spent most of the past few hours reading background information on our client. I’ve been staring at the photos sent by Eve’s kidnappers.
“You okay?” Knox taps the heel of my boot.
“Yeah, why?”
“You look constipated.” His flippant words get under my skin. I’m not that easy to upset, but my reaction betrays my mental state.
“What the fuck?” I lob his comment right back at him, like a child. “You look constipated.”
What’s bugging me?
What’s bugging me is there’s nothing in these photos that gives one bit of information about where Eve was when they were taken. One had a window, but the quality of the photo is grainy and poor, purposefully altered. Maybe Mitzy can strip whatever filter was used to do that?
“Bug crawl up your butt?” Knox is not letting this go.
The thing is, I’m thinking hard about Evelyn Deverough. I love the way her name rolls across my tongue, but I love it better when I breathe out a simple Eve.
It’s like a whisper of desire flowing through me.
Not Evelyn Deverough, but rather my Eve.
This kind of possessiveness is new and sucks all the more because she’s going to hate me on sight.
I’m going to be right smack in the middle of her worst nightmare, posing as one of the monsters determined to ruin her life. That’s what my Eve is going to see the first time she sees me. It twists my gut, but there’s nothing I can do about it.
Her safety is our priority. My priority. I’m a Guardian—part of a brotherhood of men dedicated to bringing those who’ve been taken home.
Her rescue is my mission. Doesn’t matter what she thinks of me. As long as she’s safe in the end, it’s a job well done.
But damn if I don’t want a different option.
Bug up my butt, or not, I bristle with the mission to come.
“Dude, whatever it is, you’re thinking too hard. I can practically see the steam coming out of your ears.” Knox gives me a hard look.
“Fuck you.”
“Whatever.” Knox unbuckles his seatbelt and grabs his things while I mull over his words.
He’s right.
I’m thinking way too hard and judging myself even harder. Still, I want to figure Carson Deverough out. If I had a kid, nothing in the world could keep me from getting them back.
Nothing.
I’d move heaven and earth, bathe myself in the blood of my enemies, and I would bring my kid home. Just like I’ll bring Eve home.
I join Knox in the aisle, grabbing my stuff, and file out of the jet behind him with my thoughts a muddled mess.
The moment we exit the plane, New Orleans’ stifling heat and humidity slams into us. Sweat pops up on my brow as I tug in a thick breath of the sweltering air.
“Any word on the team?” Knox holds the door to the town car while I slide inside the plush interior and welcome the bracing cold of the air conditioning. We didn’t have this kind of comfort in the Navy, and we definitely didn’t have this with the SEALs.
In many ways, I miss my Navy days. People think we fight for our country, defending life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. What they don’t know is that when the bullets fly, we fight for our brothers; the man standing to the right, the one kneeling on our left, the one in front of us, and the one to the rear. In combat, you fight for your brothers.
There is nothing else.
I check my phone and arch a brow at the texts filling my screen. “Looks like they’ll be joining us.” I grin at Griff’s short text. “Mission accomplished.”
“Really?”
“Yup.” I turn my screen so Knox can see the text Griff left on my phone. It says Bingo.