Chapter One

Current Day

I nhaling deeply on the cigarette pinched between his inked thumb and index finger, Saint looked up at the dark, starless night. He’d once stared up at the same sky from behind the bars of a Russian prison. Sometimes it felt like a lifetime ago. Other times, like just yesterday.

A shiver ran through his big body and he quickly shut down that line of thinking. He needed to focus on bringing down The Agency, not dwelling on his fucked-up past. At this rate, he could spend the rest of his life in therapy and still never find peace.

Because peace wasn’t meant for a man like him. Only death, destruction and, if he was lucky, vengeance.

Exhaling the smoke through his nostrils, he leaned his elbows on the edge of the balcony’s railing and thought over what his team knew so far. He supposed more than they did last week, but it still wasn’t enough. The Agency had turned out to be a more formidable enemy than any of them had anticipated.

And Saint was getting antsy. He liked keeping things swift and simple, whether it was work or relationships. The moment a situation turned into a production, he was the first one to bail. In all honesty, he was a little surprised he was still with Ex Nihilo. Although he was reluctant to admit it, the team had grown on him. Braxton, Ryland, Gray, Zane and Inda had become his little fucked-up crew who always had his back. Until them, no one had ever had his six.

But regrets and what-ifs were a waste of time. So was sitting around chain smoking when he could be hunting down bad guys. He itched to go out there and do something. Shit , he hoped like hell that itchy feeling didn’t have anything to do with testicular parasites.

With a curse, he scratched his balls. Now he was paranoid. But at least he was clean. If the choice between staying in a locked down lab or fleeing through a sewer tunnel ever came up again, he’d stay and shoot his way out of the facility.

Fuck shit, piss and parasites.

Fuck staying here, too, he thought moodily. He needed to get out of there before he went batshit crazy.

Stubbing the glowing end of the cigarette out against the railing, he flicked the butt into the darkness and headed back inside.

The rest of his teammates were stowed away in their private quarters with their significant others, most likely fucking their brains out. Well, all except Braxton—the other “last man standing”—who sat on the couch by himself with River’s cat lying next to him. The TV was on, but muted, and he stared off into space, most likely wondering how he’d wound up in charge of such a dysfunctional group. He must’ve really pissed somebody off.

“I’m going out,” Saint said, shrugging into his black leather jacket. He threw a glance Brax’s way. “And I thought you didn’t like cats.”

“I don’t,” Braxton said. “Not usually, anyway. But this one won’t leave me alone. You going to the bar?”

Saint nodded, hoping Brax wouldn’t want to join him. He wasn’t really in the mood for company. Especially not tonight, and definitely not with their team leader. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate Brax’s company, but he didn’t need his de facto CO knowing he wasn’t actually going to get a beer at the corner bar, either.

He was going hunting.

Brax only nodded back, though. The guy seemed like he was in a funk and, despite wanting to walk straight out the door, Saint hesitated.

“Something wrong?” he asked. “You look like you just saw your wife fucking your best friend.”

“I don’t have a wife,” Brax said, a funny look on his face.

“Yeah, okay, well, see ya later, Pharaoh.” Saint shook his head, swiped up the keys to the second Suburban—the one that wasn’t covered in shit—and headed out. Just as the door closed, he could’ve sworn he heard Brax mumble, “Not anymore.”

Saint had no clue what that comment meant and it wasn’t a rabbit hole he wanted to go down at that moment. Instead, he took the elevator down to the underground garage, got in the SUV and headed toward Chadwick Carlisle’s home on Billionaire’s Row.

They hadn’t spent any amount of time investigating the house in Pacific Heights. And why would they? According to Zane’s research, the man rarely spent any time there, preferring to stay at his penthouse apartment near C.C. Towers when he was in town.

After some of the new info they’d gleaned from their new ally, who was currently in Inda’s bed, Saint wanted to check out Carlisle’s castle. And what better time than the present?

The little slice of real estate heaven that stretched from Lyon Street to Divisadero Street, better known as Billionaire’s Row, sat atop a series of steep hills and offered the best views of San Francisco Bay. Saint had never driven there before but, holy hell, when he pulled up to the curb across from the address of Carlisle’s house—scratch that, mansion —he almost vomited a little in his mouth. It reeked of wealth and waste, and he had the urge to walk over and take a piss on the perfectly-manicured shrubs.

No one should live like this when there are kids who go to bed hungry, he thought angrily. He knew only too well what that felt like. Back when his stomach had growled all night and the acids had eaten away at its lining.

No more, though. He’d left that life back in Russia a long time ago. He wasn’t the same scared little street rat he used to be. He’d been through more in thirty-four years than most people probably experienced in a lifetime, and it had turned him into the mean, sarcastic SOB his teammates all knew and loved.

“This is stupid,” he grumbled under his breath. He was sitting there in the foggy night, scoping out a dark house that looked empty, and fuming because the man who owned the place couldn’t care less. With his luck, a cop would appear and think he was casing the joint for a burglary.

Deciding to abandon the stakeout, he planned to head back to his much more affordable side of town, go to the corner bar, toss back some vodka and maybe find a willing woman to let off some steam with. Seemed like everyone else was fucking, so why shouldn’t he? If he left now, he still had plenty of time for a quickie.

Saint had three rules he lived by: fuck ‘em fast, fuck ‘em hard and leave ‘em even faster. It applied to both his job as an assassin and women.

The truth was the kind of women he associated with knew exactly what they were getting into with a man like him. The endless black ink, the scars, the worn leather jacket and his gruff appearance promised nothing more than a hard, fast fuck. And he never pretended to be anything other than who and what he was—a soulless, black-hearted grim reaper who killed people for a living. In other words, Saint didn’t do relationships, he certainly didn’t allow women to sleep in his bed, and God forbid any female attempt to cuddle after sex. That was definitely a no-go. He slapped their ass and sent them on their way.

Putting the car in gear, he was about to switch on the headlights when the garage door built into the side of the hill beneath Carlisle’s palace began to roll up. Huh. Looks like somebody had been home after all. Curious, he waited, wondering if it could be Carlisle. Most likely, it was someone on his staff. A housekeeper or chef or some other needless employee a rich asshole would hire and promptly forget existed until he needed something from them.

Squinting, he caught a glimpse of long blonde hair and a flash of red. A minute later, a shiny black Mercedes rolled down the driveway. Through the windshield, he saw the blonde’s face and his heart raced. She looked familiar, but why?

Then it hit him. He yanked his phone out of his jacket pocket and pulled up the photo River took when she and Zane had broken into Benedict Salinger’s NYC high rise. Four elegantly-dressed people smiled at the camera. Benedict and Elizabeth Salinger and Chadwick Carlisle and the young woman now driving away from his mansion.

Mia fucking Carlisle, his daughter.

A reckless plan began to take shape in his head as Saint pulled the SUV away from the curb and decided to follow Goldilocks. He was going to get some answers one way or another tonight, even if it meant mustering up what little charm he had.

God help him.

◆◆◆

“You can do this,” Mia whispered to her reflection. She let out a shaky sigh and checked her appearance in the visor’s mirror again. She’d been sitting in the parking lot for ten minutes, gathering her courage to walk into the bar. It was ladies’ night and they were hosting a speed dating event called Sip & Spark. Normally, she wouldn’t have gone, but her friend Olivia was a bartender there and had somehow convinced her anti-social homebody friend to leave the security of her walled fortress for a little frivolous fun.

Well, it wasn’t really a fortress, but sometimes the house in Pacific Heights felt like it. It was far too big and too rich for her blood, but her father was never there and it would be a shame to just let it sit there, empty and cold. Besides, it was the perfect place to hole up while Mia was trying to figure out what to do with her life.

At twenty-four, she could admit that she didn’t have all the answers. Not even close. In fact, she was more confused than ever about life, love and her future. Having an absentee father who was an eccentric billionaire didn’t help matters, and she barely remembered her mother who’d died when Mia was only four.

Snapping up the visor, she grabbed her purse, opened the car door and stepped out. Smoothing her clammy hands down the front of her fitted red dress, she waited for a Suburban to pass by then began walking across the parking lot. Time to be brave, step out of my comfort zone and meet some men. Real men who are alive and breathing. Not the hotties she was becoming obsessed with during her binge watch of Games of Thrones.

Mia stepped into the crowded bar and scanned the space for Olivia. She spotted her pouring drinks on the other side of the room and headed over. Liv was her complete opposite—outgoing, confident and loud. Not one to hold back an opinion, she encouraged Mia to take chances and stand up for herself. Because Olivia knew Mia could be a pushover. By nature, she was a people-pleaser, and it wasn’t always easy for her to speak her mind. But she was working on it.

“Mia! I’m so glad you came!” Liv exclaimed. She tossed a garnish into a drink, slid it to the customer and turned her attention to her friend. “What do you want to drink? The usual?”

“Sounds good, thanks.” Mia sidled up to the side of the bar and watched Liv make a vodka sour, topping it off with a maraschino cherry.

“Liquid courage,” she said and slid it over.

“I need it.” Mia took a big gulp of the sweet drink.

“Okay, c’mon, I want to get you situated before you chicken out. They’re going to start soon.” Liv began walking toward the roped off section of the bar where ten tables were set up with two chairs across from each other. On each tabletop was a notepad and pen to take notes in between rounds and a clock that would buzz every four minutes.

The other women were already sitting, ready to get started, and Mia sat down in the only empty chair against the wall. The men would be the ones to get up and move every four minutes.

“Good luck,” Liv said. “I have a feeling you’re going to meet the man of your dreams tonight.”

“Ha! I seriously doubt that.”

“Just have fun. And if you need another drink, text me. I’ll get one sent over.” Liv tossed her a wink then hurried off to tend bar.

Mia let her eyes wander the room while she sucked down more of her vodka sour. The alcohol helped calm her nerves, and before she knew it, the hostess of the event was introducing herself and pointing to a group of men waiting to chat up the women.

Here we go, Mia thought, hope filling her. She had rotten luck when it came to men, but maybe Liv was right. Maybe tonight she would finally meet someone special.

Exactly sixteen minutes and four men later, Mia looked down at her notes and sighed. She hadn’t felt a connection with any of them. Not the model/social influencer who claimed he had two million followers and was only there to promote his brand. Definitely not the mortician who only talked about death and dying. Certainly not the guy who was “between jobs” and liked to shoot the rats in the alley behind his apartment with a BB gun. That left the long-haul trucker. He’d told her he wasn’t around that much, so maybe that was a good thing. At least he wouldn’t be too clingy or demanding.

As Mia was placing a question mark next to the trucker’s name, the chair across from her scraped backward. She hit the timer and looked up at Mr. Tall, Dark and Oh-So-Sinful. As the bear of a man sat down, his black eyes locked in on her like a missile.

All the air seemed to rush out of her lungs and it took her a moment to find her voice. Holy crap, he was intimidating. And hot as fuck.

“Hi,” she said, her voice breathless, her attention moving to the black tattoos on his neck that disappeared down past the neckline of his black T-shirt. The material pulled against his muscled pecs and he wore a leather jacket better than any bad boy she’d ever seen. His hands, which he laid flat on the table, were covered with ink. Something inside her fluttered and she couldn’t help but wonder if his whole body was tattooed. When she looked back up, meeting his stony face, she gave him a tentative smile. “I’m Mia.”

“Nice to meet you, Mia. I’m Nik.”

Something about that deep, graveled voice of his piqued her interest. She detected a very faint accent but couldn’t place it. Actually, everything about him intrigued her. She’d always had a secret thing for dangerous-looking men, but she’d never had the nerve to do anything about it. And Nik definitely had an edge that appealed to her. She was surprised to see him participating in Sip & Spark, figuring a man like him would have his pick of women. An image flashed through her mind of women swooning at his feet the moment he snapped his fingers.

She cleared the visual with a quick sip of her drink and looked down at her notepad. “So, ah, I have a list of questions here.” Her voice wavered a bit, caught in the energy emanating from the man on the other side of the table. God, just when she’d begun to relax, Khal Drogo appeared and sat down across from her. Even though her heart thumped madly, she didn’t think she’d mind being his Khaleesi. Nope, not one little bit. “What do you do for work?”

“What do you do for work?” he asked right back.

“I’m in school. I mean, I was in school.” He arched a scarred brow. “I decided to change careers, so I, ah, dropped out recently.”

Why did she feel the need to tell him the truth? With everyone else, she’d merely said she was a student and moved on. But the way Nik was looking at her, as though he could see straight into her soul, gave her no choice but to be truthful.

He nodded, but didn’t comment, and he continued studying her so intently she shifted in her seat.

“And you?” she asked again.

Those extremely dark eyes of his, blacker than a moonless night, held hers captive. “I do whatever is needed. Today, for example, my job involved…plumbing.”

“Oh, you’re a city worker?” she asked, and his mouth edged up.

“Sure,” he answered slowly, drawing the word out. “Any other questions?”

“Um…” She dropped her attention back down to the notepad. There was a whole list they’d provided, but he didn’t look like the kind of guy who wanted to talk about the latest Netflix show he binged or the last book he read. He seemed more like a man of action. Fast-paced, ever-changing, always-chasing-the-next-rush.

The perfect man to have a one-night stand with.

The thought hit her out of nowhere and she felt her face heat up. That wasn’t the only part of her getting warmer. But she wouldn’t dare.

Would she?

Mia was a good girl who always followed the rules. Dropping out of law school, much to her father’s supreme disappointment, had been the first real thing she’d done for herself. She’d tried studying law for two years but had been absolutely miserable. Dating and relationships had always been something she planned to focus on later. And now she was a twenty-four-year-old virgin heiress with no career direction, sitting across from a gorgeous stranger who radiated more heat than a volcanic eruption.

Hmm. Maybe opportunity had just knocked on her door in the form of Mr. Dangerous. She took another sip of her drink and asked, “What’s your spirit animal?”

He frowned at the question, probably because it was so silly. Then he seemed to think it over before sending her a wicked grin. “A dragon. Yours?”

Goosebumps rose on her arms. Yep, she could definitely see that. “I’d say…a cat.”

He chuckled. “You got claws, Goldilocks?”

She nodded. “They’re currently sheathed, but I will use them if provoked.”

A deep laugh burst from his throat and then the alarm buzzed. He didn’t get up, though, and she didn’t mind. However, when the next guy walked over, he seemed to mind quite a bit.

“Get up, bro. It’s my turn.”

“Keep moving,” Nik growled, tossing a glare at the frat boy with his hat on backward.

“No way. I want a chance to talk to her, too. She’s the hottest one here.” When Nik didn’t move to stand up, the other guy turned downright whiny. “You can’t hog her all to yourself. The alarm went off.”

Mia tensed. Was he insane? Challenging a dangerous-looking man like Nik?

“What alarm?” Nik asked innocently.

“The one on the table. Are you blind?”

Mia looked from Khal Drogo to Frat Boy, holding her breath as the tension in the air increased. Very casually, Nik picked up the little plastic alarm clock then crushed it in his fist. Frat Boy’s jaw dropped and Mia’s lips twitched. Maybe she should be disturbed instead of amused, but she’d always had a warped sense of humor.

“Sorry, bro , but ours broke. Guess I lost track of time.” Nik shoved his chair back and stood up. He turned his full attention on Mia and held out a very large, inked hand. “You ready?”

Her heart thundered and warning lights went off in her head. The rational part of her brain screamed “violent stranger” and “no way in hell!” while the more curious part wanted to take his hand, walk out that door and hop on the back of his motorcycle. Because this guy definitely had to own a bike. It came with the surly expression, leather jacket and sarcastic attitude, right?

But this wasn’t a book or movie, and even though he was brutally attractive in a very dark and rough sort of way, Mia didn’t want her lifeless body to end up in a dumpster. Yeah, real life could be a bit of a buzzkill, but better to be safe than the victim of a serial killer. Alarm-unaliver had red flags written all over his tragically beautiful face.

Too bad.

“I don’t think so,” Mia said carefully.

“Suit yourself.” He shrugged, then turned and walked away.

Disappointment flooded through Mia when Frat Boy sat down and Mr. Dangerous disappeared out the front door.

“What an asshole,” Frat Boy said. “And what was up with all the tats? Talk about overkill, right?”

Shit. The seconds began ticking by and Mia bit her lower lip, wondering if she’d just made a mistake. The first man who’d caught her attention in a very long time just walked away after expressing interest in her. All because she was scared to take a chance.

Before she could think too hard about it, Mia downed the rest of her drink and stood up. “I have to go. Sorry.”

Hustling through the crowd, she told herself she was just going to go out and take a quick look around. Afterall, Nik was probably already gone. A man like that didn’t wait around and probably had a bottomless pool of willing women just waiting for him.

Throwing the front door open, she stepped out into the cool night and scanned the packed parking lot. Figures, she thought, her hopes deflating. Nik was gone and—

A shadow stepped out of the darkness, and before she realized what was happening, Mia was lifted up and tossed over a very broad shoulder. She cried out in surprise, her fingers grabbing onto a leather jacket, feet getting ready to kick some very uncomfortable places, when she realized it was Nik.

“Hey!” she squeaked, her surprise turning into shock. “Put me down!”

“I tried doing this the easy and polite way. You shut me down. So now we’re doing this my way.”

The initial thought he was only playing around quickly morphed into a cold trickle of fear. Maybe she shouldn’t have gone looking for him. Maybe he was exactly like he looked—trouble to his very dark core. “I’m going to scream!”

“I’m not going to hurt you. But, if you wanna scream, go right ahead. Scream your bloody head off.”

As she bounced up and down against his back, she tried to twist around so she could see him better. He paused beside an SUV, opened the door and tossed her onto the back seat. Her fear skyrocketed . Scrambling up, she turned and cried, “What are you doing? ”

“What’s it look like, Mia? I’m kidnapping you.”

Then he slammed the door shut in her face and the locks clicked ominously.

Oh, shit.