Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

Cain

She's here. I've waited for this. I've planned this. And everything I've orchestrated led her here, but she can't ever know that.

I'll kill Armand for the way he did this. Fucking hit her car to get her attention, planted bits and pieces of information for her to find us. But it was too damn risky, the son of a bitch.

I look at the way she sits, her back ramrod straight in one of the pool chairs, my tee melting against her curves like a seductive tease.

It's a mistake to hire her.

I don't hire impulsive, headstrong people for my team.

Ever.

But that's not why I wanted her here.

She can't know why I'll hire her. Not now. Not ever.

I want Violet Price so close to me I could touch her. I know every goddamn thing about her. If she knew who I am and why she's really here, she'd run. Maybe even change her name again.

I've been obsessed with her for six months.

Who was the woman with the mesmerizing eyes? The first time I saw her, I wanted her. I had to have her. And I haven't gotten her out of my mind since.

I saw her in one of our surveillance videos. We were monitoring a local shopping mall, and her studio was doing a demonstration. Then there she was. Violet eyes staring at our camera as if she knew who we were, that we were watching her. We were trailing one of the parents in her youngest class, not her, and later found him guilty of cheating on his wife. The man was dumb enough to bring his girlfriend to a jewelry store at the mall. We pocketed half a million for that one.

We got what we needed the first two minutes into the surveillance footage. It was crystal clear. Yet I played that video over, and over, and over again until I could recite every line she said, make every move she made.

And I was obsessed.

I spent the next week learning everything I could about her, and finally had Armand put up video surveillance where she worked out. We stayed out of her home until last night.

I noted the way she held herself. When she wasn't throwing punches or kicks, she assumed a fighter's stance, light on her feet, knees slightly bent. The only move she made with more effort than the rest was blocking. No one hit her. Ever. She was a master at self-protection.

It wasn't until after my initial… obsession… that I unearthed her skillset.

Small and lithe, she's a fighter to the core. She can hold her own when she needs to, and she fucking will. Skilled in multiple languages, indefatigable, her only real flaw is disrespect for authority. It only draws me to her more, because I'll teach her that skill. On my terms.

With the exceptions of our doctor and on-site chef, every member of my team is ex-military. Dishonorably discharged. I like it that way, and I have my reasons. I, of all people, should know what it's like to have to defend your honor and fight for respect. I give my team that chance, and because I have, they're loyal to me.

Violet isn't.

How would I keep her loyal to me? She tells me she is, and I believe her. But talk is cheap. She'll have to show me with her actions that she means what she says.

I've never hired anyone like her, someone ruled by emotions instead of intellect.

But I'll make an exception for Violet.

It's her fire that fuels her, and that's what she'll learn to harness. To use. To finely tune into a weapon.

I planned it this way, her coming to me for help. I need what she has to offer, but on my terms and my terms only.

I push myself to standing from the chair, and I don't miss the way her eyes go a bit wider with fear, a sort of desperation surfacing that I know too well. She knows I'm about to dismiss her. That our meeting is over.

I have to. It's the only way to get her buy-in, to make sure she's as committed to our team as everyone else. If her place here is hard-won, I've got one more chance at ensuring her loyalty.

"Go home, Miss Price. Send a formal resumé to the address I'll give you. I have your contact information because of the accident. Now if you'll excuse me?—"

The T-shirt of mine she's wearing billows in a gentle breeze from the water. She's a woman cut from marble and tough as nails, somehow made vulnerable in borrowed clothing. A gust of wind whips her hair around her face, the windswept look nearly shaking my resolve to dismiss her.

I don't want her to leave. She belongs here.

She shakes her head at me.

I blink in surprise.

"No?"

I don't realize I'm clenching my fists until I see her eyes quickly dart to where my hands curl by my sides.

"No, sir."

I'm so surprised I don't respond at first.

No ?

I fully expected her to push back, to fight for what she wants. Hell, it's exactly why I'm giving her shit. But I didn't expect flat-out defiance. My voice sharpens.

"I don't hire people for my team who don't know how to respect authority, Miss Price."

I take a step toward her, and to her credit, she stands her ground.

"I know how to respect authority."

The waves behind her whip in a frenzy, whitecaps rising and crashing against rocks. Clouds roll in, the sky quickly darkening. A storm's brewing.

I don't have the time or patience for this.

"Bullshit. Words are cheap, Miss Price. You don't know the meaning of the word respect."

Her lips thin, as a wispy piece of hair crosses her vision. She pushes it impatiently out of the way. "I respect the authority of the people who earn it, Mr. Master."

Ah, so we're playing that game.

"If you think this is how a job interview is conducted, I'd suggest you go back to school."

"Job interview?" She shakes her head and actually laughs. "That was never in question. I'm no one's employee, Mr. Master. I'm suggesting I work for you as a paid contractor. Barter and trade, the very building blocks of modern-day free enterprise."

Well played.

She wears her defiance well, and it makes me goddamned hard.

What I wouldn't give to strip that all away from her, one stroke at a time.

I will.

"No."

She shakes her head from side to side. "No, what? No, bartering isn't a cornerstone of free enterprise? No, you won't work with me?"

When I was her age, I'd kill a man for less than this. I was paid to. I built my business on the back of those early days.

"Come here, Miss Price."

I don't forget the way it felt with her wrists trapped between my fingers, her pulse racing. I loved the feel of her beneath me, pinned under my weight and heaving for breath. She thought she'd best me, and she did catch me off guard, but not for long.

The first time I saw her, I knew that she was the one we're after—no, the one we need. I need. It was written in the way she held herself, in the rigidity of her spine, the tightness in her jaw.

I watched her fight.

Her hair caught back in a tight, merciless bun, she wore little to no makeup. It didn't matter. I knew I was looking at a goddamn masterpiece.

There's a slight scar across her left eyebrow, the only imperfection on her otherwise flawless face, the type of scar one gets from a street fight. There's a story behind that scar. I mean to find it out.

Violet Price is five foot even and one hundred ten solid pounds of muscle. Petite, but powerful, like tightly packed dynamite.

My T-shirt blows about her slight frame. The cool breeze from the ocean warns us a storm is coming, and fast, but she ignores her hair whipping around her with wild abandon. Her stunning eyes, a deep, mesmerizing hue, are like nothing I've ever seen before, so much more brilliant when I see her up close.

I want her closer.

Violet .

Amethyst caught in light. The color of magic.

It's both her name and her most distinguishing characteristic.

One of the few colors labeled by Newton when cataloging the spectrum of visible light, violet's the rarest of any eye color, so rare many believe violet eyes to be mythological. But no. Her violet eyes, those singular gems of beauty, are no myth, and they're staring straight at me. "Yes?"

It's on the tip of my tongue to offer half my kingdom for one night with her. One blessed, glorious night, and she'd be mine. All mine.

"You have a look on your face I'd pay good money to decipher," she says in a voice so low it's as if she's talking to herself.

Words spoken before a storm like this feel stealthy and classified, like the first brisk wind will sweep them away.

"Not sure you'd want to hear what I'm thinking right now."

"I definitely do, Mr. Master." She takes a step closer to me, her voice low. "Try me, sir."

"I'm thinking of the terms of our contract, the types of terms that professionals would never consider."

A beat passes. I watch as her tongue darts out and runs across her chapped lips. "Perhaps professionalism is overrated."

A whistle blows three times in succession. The spell is broken. My breathing stills. Even the breeze over the water seems to cease. I whip my head around to look at the house.

"It's an alarm," she says. "Isn't it?"

I don't respond.

The heavy sound of feet running toward the house comes from the training area. I listen, braced for the second alarm as I do a mental tally of all staff on hand. My men in training. Joe, Claude, Henri.

Violet.

The back door's yanked open, and Joe stands, barely visible under the shadow of the awning.

"What is it? Who sounded the alarm?"

"I did. When you didn't answer your phone, sir. It's Skylar."

Skylar? I can't be hearing him right. Skylar?

I know the answer to my question before I ask it. I'm not sure why I do. "Is it urgent?"

He winces, as if recoiling from an invisible blow. "She's missing, sir."

Storm clouds break open, and a torrent of rain sweeps down. I run for cover and barely catch myself from grabbing Violet's hand to tug her along with me. She doesn't need my help, but it's tempting. The only woman in my life who means something to me is in danger, and the frantic need to control something consumes me.

Violet isn't mine.

We're soaked before we get to the door.

I turn to Violet and note the desperation in her eyes. She wants this so badly, she's trembling.

I grab a fistful of dish towels from the kitchen drawer and toss them at her. Not missing a beat, she wipes her eyes and pushes wet hair out of her face. The straps of her heels are slung around one finger, and as we walk through the kitchen, she shoves her torn dress in the trash bin.

Change of fucking plans. If my sister's at risk, I need Violet's help, and I need it now. I wanted to recruit her for a purpose just like this, because I needed a woman on my team who could get shit done, and her list of qualifications outnumbers everything else.

"When can you start?"

She blinks. Her reaction will be telling. I note a flash of alarm that quickly fades to eager excitement. "Immediately."

"We negotiate terms of your contract with me today."

She nods eagerly. "Yes, sir."

"You start now, Miss Price."