Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

Cain

I knew she was skilled with a knife, but the way she stopped him mid-stride was fucking beautiful. So graceful, it fucking made me hard. Her skill goes way beyond beginner.

I don't waste time. In three firms strides across the room I've got the bartender by the neck.

"Name."

"Jeremy Guard."

"Why the fuck did you try to get rid of me?"

His eyes water and his voice squeaks, like a cornered mouse.

"Because they'll kill me."

"Who will?"

"I don't know names."

"Are they the people that took my sister?"

"I—I think so."

I grip his shirt and shake him.

"Yes!"

"Where are they?"

"I don't know. Said something about heading to Canada, but I can't tell you anything beyond that."

Fucking Canada?

"Why will they kill you?"

"Because they don't want to get caught. Because they'd go to jail for life. Because it would end their little shopping spree." He's crying freely now.

How fucking dare he. I give him another shake, furious he had the nerve to call it a shopping spree.

"That's my sister we're talking about."

Jeremy nods.

"Give me one fucking reason why I shouldn't kill you."

"Because I'm your ticket to finding them."

Wily son of a bitch.

"Yeah? You have no names. You've got no connections. How do I know what you've said is true?"

"Because they come all the time. They'll be back."

"And what's your role in this?"

He closes his eyes and winces. I shake him again, but Violet is so over this. She gives him a swift kick to the calf. "He asked you a question!"

He flinches and cries out. She glares at him, beautiful and feisty but ferocious as hell. Christ, even I'd answer her question. I did the right thing hiring her.

"They paid me! And I need the money."

A deadly calm comes over me. My gun burns on my hip, ready to dance in my grip and make him pay. "Why?"

"I owe a bookie," he sobs. "I didn't want to do it."

"Do what ?"

He doesn't answer but closes his eyes and cries harder, like he knows his honest answer will sign his death warrant.

"You tell me, or I'll hold you down and give her permission to beat you. Is that what you want? To be beaten by a woman?"

He winces. Violet assumes a fighting stance, fucking ready.

Gorgeous.

He shakes his head. "He paid me to… slip them roofies."

Motherfucker . The date rape drug.

The hand holding him in my grip shakes with fury. "Then what?"

"Then he'd… pick them up. Take them home. And I don't know what from there. I try to respect people who?—"

"Oh, fuck off. "

He stares at the gun in my hand.

I don't give him a chance to explain further. He starts to cry. "I never meant to hurt anyone."

I grab him by the hair and shove him to his knees. If I had time, I'd torture the motherfucker. I want to see the same pain in his eyes the women he fed to the goddamn wolves felt. I want to hear him cry harder and beg for his life until he's hoarse.

"You fucking piece of shit." My voice shakes and the room blurs. "If my sister's with a rapist right now… if he hurts her… it's your fucking fault."

I knee him, and when he doubles over, I hammer my fist to his jaw. Bone snaps, blood spurts. Violet watches in approval and cracks her knuckles like she wants to help me.

"You're a worthless, spineless bastard. Any man that helps another take advantage of innocent women deserves punishment worse than death." I grab him by the hair and yank his head back. I want to slit his throat. I want to feel his warm blood spill on my own hands as his life seeps out of him. I want to watch his eyes grow lifeless.

I have to get to Skylar. And Violet's watching.

I hit him again, and again, until he's whimpering and bloodied, his eyes swollen shut.

"Cain," Violet whispers. "We have to go. He deserves this. He deserves to be tortured and raped just like those girls he helped hurt. But we have to get Skylar."

"This asshole slipped roofies to unsuspecting women. He helped a known rapist who now might have my fucking sister."

I don't think about the choices. Out of time, I pull my gun and slide the silencer on. I ignore his pleas, the way he cries like a baby and begs for mercy. I put the gun to his temple.

"You'll never hurt another innocent woman."

"No! God, no, please," he says through blood and spittle. The hand holding my gun shakes.

"You can look away, Miss Price."

"No."

I pull the trigger.

Violet watches with a slight frown as his body hits the floor, blood splashing on the floor beside her. She kneels and takes his pulse.

"You're right. He won't."

I call Joe.

"429 Might Street. Team alpha."

"Five minutes out, sir."

I hang up the phone and look at Violet. She doesn't look upset, as I expected her to. She doesn't even look disturbed. Her lips are a thin line, and something like triumph lights her beautiful, vivid eyes so they sparkle like amethyst.

That should warn me. Sane people don't watch someone being executed and rejoice in their death. But I don't feel anything but a sort of camaraderie.

"I'm sorry you had to see that."

She gives one short shake of her head. "Don't be. I'm sorry his death was so quick." She stands in silent acceptance that I just killed a man. We both know it's only a prelude to what I'll do when I find who he was helping.

We don't talk. We barely look at each other.

There was a time when I could still remember the names and faces of the people I'd killed.

That was a long time ago.

In exactly three minutes, our team has arrived to take care of the details.

I jerk my chin at her. "Let's go."

This time, she walks with me of her own accord and there's no need to threaten her.

"You didn't hesitate."

"Hesitate?"

"To kill him." Her voice is a bit strained, but she looks otherwise normal.

"No. Why would I?"

She shrugs. "You just… you didn't second-guess."

"No."

"You shot him because he deserved it, and you have no regrets."

I don't even think about my answer before I speak. "Yes."

"If I ask you an honest question…"

"You'll get an honest answer."

A beat passes before she tips her head to the side and asks, "Do these pants make me look fat?"

I stifle a snort. "How can you make jokes at a time like this?" I can't help the corners of my lips from turning upward.

"You'll see I'm surprisingly skilled at comic relief during the absolute worst times. It's one of my skills I should've mentioned during our interview."

The door to the room shuts fast behind us, hiding our team and the body they'll dispose of.

Our boots stomp heavily on the concrete toward my truck.

"I'll look forward to it."

She releases a shuddering breath. I look at her sharply. Good God, she's not going to start… crying. Is she?

But no. When she catches me looking at her, her eyes are dry and her lips are in a thin, firm line. "I pulled up everything I could on our little friend."

"The one we left with our other friends?"

"The very same."

"Tell me in the truck. Someone helped him, and I'm not sure who, but we aren't safe here."

She steps up the pace, and I move closer to her. When we reach the truck, I don't wait for her to fight her way up and bang the hell out of her shins again. She thinks I didn't see that. I remember the feel of her against me when I pinned her to the ground, and the feel of her body pressed to mine while we crouched in wait. I want to feel her again.

Before she has a chance to react, I reach for her and lift her up as easily as if she were a child. Her feet scissor and she gives a little squeak, but I don't wait around for the inevitable lecture or eye roll. I plop her down safely and walk to my side.

As soon as I open my door, she starts in.

"Excuse me," she says sternly, before I get the door to the truck closed shut.

"I know, don't touch you, don't help you, let you bruise the shit out of your shins. No." I crank the engine and look through my rearview mirrors, not an easy feat considering they fucked my mirrors up.

"Why? How? Seriously, how do you justify being such a control freak?"

"Me? Control freak?" I laugh quietly to myself, and mutter, "You have no idea." I would enjoy the ever-living hell out of having some modicum of control over her.

Dusk has settled on the city, the bluish haze of late summer making everything look mysterious and ethereal. I drive toward the road that takes me home, glancing in the rearview mirror so many times I'm barely watching where I'm going on the main road.

She's typing away on her phone, muttering to herself, taking notes, when she looks out the window and stares.

"Thinking?"

She doesn't reply for long minutes, just picks at a cuticle on one hand. "What do they do with the body?"

This would be a shitty time for her to start crying about all this.

"Better if you don't know, but it won't be a problem." A beat passes.

"Take me home now, please. I've never needed a shower more in my life."

I don't want to take her home. I want to keep her with me until we find Skylar. But I know we have research to do, and my team is on it. We have to find the person who hit us today and follow up on the contacts on Skylar's phone, along with whoever else at the bar's connected to the disappearances. And I'll be worth shit if I don't get some sleep.

"I'll take you home, and you do all the research you can. Tomorrow, we meet with my team to compare what we've found and hopefully make moves. Remember what I said about packing a bag."

"Right."

Tugging down her top, she moves her bra to the side and pulls out the sprig of delicate white flowers. I swivel my eyes back to the road so I don't confirm how the little sprig of flowers left an imprint on her bare breasts. I shift uncomfortably in the driver's seat, trying to rein in my focus. She has small, perfect breasts that would fit?—

Christ.

"We need to keep this in mind. Whoever's taking them leaves flowers for them before he goes. One of those signature moves? There were flowers on the walkway to your sister's house, and your sister was looking for the meaning of them. I found it in the search history of her phone."

Shit .

"We don't really have the luxury of assuming anything's a coincidence right now."

We don't.

She's quiet, looking out the window. Holding something back from me.

"What is it?"

"It's just… well, there were flowers at work. I teach kickboxing classes to little kids, and before I left the other night, I saw some. It's probably not related, though."

"Is your studio near a florist or a delivery shop or a supermarket that might sell flowers?"

"No."

"Fuck going home," I tell her, as I turn to take the entrance to the highway. "You'll come back to my place." To my home, the goddamn fortress, where I've got my own army of trained soldiers who aren't afraid of combat.

She draws in a breath then releases it slowly, but she doesn't respond at first.

"I'm not giving you a choice in this. I'm?—"

"Giving me a choice or I walk." I feel my brows snap together, but before I can respond, she continues. "I appreciate your concern. But I'm fully capable of taking care of myself."

"I thought we already had this discussion this morning, and that conversation ended with me on top of you."

Her hands clench into fists, but I don't fucking care. My sister's with God-knows-who, I've got no leads whatsoever on whatever the fuck is going on, I just put a bullet through a man's skull, and now she thinks she has a choice in this.

"You may have noticed, Miss Price, that my entire staff resides at my house."

"I have." She frowns in a way that looks almost like a pout. "It's odd and borderline cultish."

I won't let her get a rise out of me.

"I have my reasons. Scattering my employees and the contractors that work for me would be a terrible decision, as my necessary resources would be dispersed and weakened. I provide ample accommodations and security."

"Right. But what you may not have noticed is that the only female in your residence is an elderly, likely married woman."

"And the doctor."

"Oh wow. You hired a female doctor? How modern of you."

There's a low rumble in the truck I don't realize is my own damn growl at first.

"I'm not offering for you to live with me, Miss Price." I huff out a humorless laugh. "Don't flatter yourself."

She mutters something under her breath.

"What's that?"

She doesn't respond.

Her stomach growls, loud and clear. Now that I understand. "You're hungry. At least come and get something to eat before you go home."

"I'm good, thanks. I've got plenty of food at my house."

"Are you hungry or not?"

"Starving, but legitimate hunger's good for the soul. I'll somehow make it this time."

Stubborn. So goddamn stubborn. I don't miss the way she sits as far away from me as she can, as if somehow forming a physical distance will keep her safe.

I try another tactic. "I prefer the people that work for me to be safe. You don't have reliable transportation or a way to get anywhere if I need you right away. You were the one that picked up on details today we need to pursue, and I want you to report to my team directly so we can pool our resources. If anyone or anything hurts you, our entire operation is at risk."

She nods, slowly. "I see. But still, no."

Maddening woman! I clench my teeth and force myself to speak calmly. "And what will you do if someone attacks you?"

She's quiet for a minute, then finally shrugs. "You're not the only one with weapons, Mr. Master."

This woman's full of surprises.

"Fine. I'll take you home. Pack a bag so you're ready for the next time we work together. I'll send one of the company cars to your house for your use."

"Thank you." Finally, something she doesn't argue with.

She gives me her address, and we drive the rest of the way to her home in silence.

"You're brooding."

"I'm not brooding." Jesus, I haven't met anyone in years who's so goddamn free with me. Does she have zero sense of self-preservation? We don't speak again for long minutes, as the houses and cars pass by our windows, dimly lit in the moonlight. Streetlamps cast shadows on the street and sidewalks.

When we're a block away, she turns to me.

"I'm sorry about your sister. Tonight, I'm going to look up anything and everything I can. I'll make a list of notes and leads, and come over tomorrow to help you continue the investigation. And if anything happens while I'm gone, please let me know."

"I will. Look up everything you can about the flowers and the cases they suspect are linked."

"I will."

"You should get some sleep, though."

"So should you."

We both know neither one of us will sleep tonight.

I hate that my sister's out there. I hate that we have so little to go on.

It's easier to handle cases that don't involve the people you love.

And I hate that Violet's going home.