I stiffen with surprised excitement mixed in with a hell of a lot of well-earned nervousness when he rubs me there, circling around my sensitive hood and causing a tingle to spread throughout my body.
But he doesn’t stop there. Oh. My. God. He’s moving lower, arching his finger so the tip pushes into my entrance . . . penetrating me a fraction of an inch.
“I don’t know anything about you,” I whisper, “and you wrote to call in case of an emergency. I have no one else to turn to . . .”
He freezes, suddenly tense. Then he shakes his head. Abruptly, his hand is gone, leaving me cold where a second ago I was warm. Wickedly, wildly warm. With a swift kick, he knocks my duffle bag out of his way and stalks into the bathroom.
I hear water running, and bite my lip.
Nothing is clear. Everything is twisted . . . even my allowing him to touch me like that. What’s come over me?
Minutes pass before he reenters the bedroom. His hair is wet yet again. But his manner is different. Frigid. Ice cold, as he stands beside the bed, scowling down at me.
“What’s going to happen next is your own fault.”
I blink, fighting against the glare from the lamp that’s reflecting off the cool metal object he’s holding in his hand.
Shit. Oh. Shit.
He’s picked up the knife.
8
Declan
The leather handle fits perfectly in my hand. It should, I had the knife custom-made. My other requirement had been a strong steel blade that needs infrequent sharpening. A reliable knife that efficiently gets the job done. Hell, it held up during my last assignment. Death by stabbing isn’t a pretty way to go. Fuck, I’ll take a gunshot to the gut any day.
No, knives are meant to send a message. Like the one Hayden issued when he ordered the termination of those three hired pissants. Wrong woman to mistakenly cut up, someone who I’ll bet my prized knife on means something to my boss.
Leaning forward, I place the flat side of the knife on my thigh, running my thumb across the smooth blade. Blood—another bitch of a mess to have to deal with.
“No going back now,” I mutter more for my own benefit than hers.
“What do you mean?” she whispers.
I shake my head. “There’s no changing time. And fuck knows, there’s no controlling what’s to come.” No changing the clusterfuck of trouble her sister’s caused and the consequences of her actions.
I glance up at Madelyn. Her gaze is locked on the knife, on me stroking it. And I finally see what should have been written all over her face the moment she recognized me—fear.
You better fucking be afraid, Madelyn. That sister of yours screwed you over.
Opportunity’s knocked, and I goddamn answered.
Unlike Kylie, there’s no one in my life who’ll pay the price for my disloyalty, my treachery. I glare down at the woman on the bed.
And as far as terminating Kylie goes, this isn’t just taking care of business for me. It’s personal.
Madelyn shifts slightly, her breasts bouncing. Enough to draw my attention away from her biting her lower lip. Anxious anticipation of what I’ll do next. She’s filled out since Shelby. Nice firm rack. Round in all the right places, toned and fit. Healthy, unlike the gaunt kid she’d been.
I lift my finger to my nose and inhale her scent.
Bad move.
I struggle for control, struggled not to give into my baser needs.
I rake my gaze over her skimpy outfit. Sexy but not meant to be . . . pure. Like she’s waiting on the right man to shade her world in red.
Passion red rather than the bloodred I’m here to offer her.
That little prick in Cabo hadn’t known what he had. Or he’d have been all over her. It should have been my cock her hand was wrapped around. Me waking up that sweetness of hers with my fingers, my mouth. Me, giving her the fuck of a lifetime. A slice of my kind of heaven before the hell I’m going to put her through.
Motherfucker. I grab a new bottle of Jack and pour the liquid down my throat. The burn has long since passed. I wait until my buzz kicks in deeper to help me deal. Guilt is an ugly, unfamiliar word. Worse than murder, which in my line of business has always been black or white. Do or die. Never vague like you’re working within the fine lines of grayness separating the two. Do I drink the guilt away? Fuck it away? Both? I study Madelyn on the bed, so trusting, so ready to believe the bullshit I’m about to lay on her. Kylie’s sister, who unknowingly invited a heartless bastard back into her life.
I helped her. Took pity on her and made goddamn sure she escaped Shelby unharmed. Got fucking personal—as personal as a man like me gets. Now it’s all about business. A matter of days before I call in as scheduled and receive Hayden’s new orders, already anticipating what they’ll be. I know very little about my boss, but what I do know is this: You screw him over or put our organization, TORC, at risk, you better fucking run. Hell, just ask the three pissants I buried back in Cabo. No, Hayden might have thought sending in amateurs to flush out Kylie might catch her off guard, but I’ll bet my prized knife he’s now pissed off and impatient enough to send in all his best men to take that traitor down. What Kylie’s done is personal for me, and it’s personal for all her former TORC colleagues.
“Who saw you in Shelby?” I demand, needing to understand the extent of trouble she’s in. I like to be prepared for every possibility, every lowlife who might suddenly appear and fuck with my plans.
“A clerk who both my sister and I are acquainted with. She tends to know everything that goes on in Shelby. Except for where Kylie has disappeared to . . . and why. I was careful. Other than Sylvia, there was the hotel clerk at the Palace. No one else.” Her gaze settles on my face and holds, steady.
Courageous. Unsuspecting.
“What did Kylie do?”
Beautiful. Smart. Naive. A goddamn shame the position I’m about to put Madelyn in. I scowl, and slice an imaginary blade across my fucked-up feelings of guilt. Cut its throat and lay it to rest, where I hope it remains, forgotten.
“This is about that mobster, DiCapitano. You asked me if my sister and I knew him the first time we met.”
“Yes.”
“That’s not much of an answer.”
“Better hope DiCapitano has forgotten about you.” Fuck, it’s bad enough I’ll be competing with the mobster in a race over who can find Kylie first. That fucknut of a mobster has a raging hard-on for her sister after he’d learned Kylie’d been spying on him. Did Madelyn’s visit put her back on Franco DiCapitano’s hit list? Someone to be manipulated or killed? Used.
I stand and settle myself on the mattress next to her. The knife wobbles along with the sway of her breasts. She’s too young, too naive to be caught in the middle of her sister’s bullshit. She doesn’t have a chance in hell of surviving.
Kylie’s soft spot. Her Achilles heel.
Collateral damage.
Damn it.
Fuck. I warned her, which she’d chosen to ignore. I provided her, someone who is everything I am not, with a chance. I gave her my number for an emergency. But my reasons for answering her call are driven by a less pure kind of need. I’m preparing to bring a traitor in. There’s no helping Madelyn now.