Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

From the cabin's breakfast bar, Emily watched the shirtless hit man prepare an egg sandwich with his back to her—a sign of trust after she'd saved his life.

It hadn't been the easiest decision to murder someone for a man who handed out lies as easily as he handed out death, but nothing over this past six months could be described as simple.

Pure survival. Though, for Emily, living on the edge had been the daily norm since she'd fled her abusive husband.

Now she could add the cartel to the list of people who'd never stop looking for her, wanting their pound of flesh. Anything is better than living with my ex.

A content smile flickered across Emily's lips as she sipped her black coffee, knowing that whatever came next, at least she'd be in control. She wasn't weak or worthless, like Ed—her ex—used to tell her. She'd survived him, she'd survived working for a group of hit men—a temp gig that had landed her here—and now she would survive this next chapter: being hunted by the Heroin King, who was just as likely to sell her to sex traffickers as he was to put a bullet in her head.

As for surviving her intense attraction to the shirtless, six-two hit man with intense gray eyes, unkempt dark hair, and a rugged short beard, that was a jagged story. Charge was dangerous, and not because he killed for a living, but because she couldn't say no to him. Not such a good thing for a woman who should be focused on staying alive instead of getting mixed up in the business of killers.

"How are you feeling today?" She set her mug on the butcher-block breakfast bar. The cabin had one big great room with an attached kitchen and two bedrooms. It came with all the plaid curtains and rustic hunting decorations a person could want. Or not want.

Charge's back muscles worked as he struggled to slice a tomato. "My ribs are better, but my broken fingers still feel like hell."

I bet . But he was lucky to be alive. Charge had been worked over pretty good by the time she'd gotten to him and put a bullet in Mr. Dearheart's head. She often wondered how a man like Dearheart, a man who prided himself on being the best mercenary in the world, felt when he realized his "glorious" life would be ended by a nobody in the parking lot of an old strip mall.

Probably annoyed . She, on the other hand, felt mostly numb. She was no killer, but Charge had saved her life more than once, and she'd owed him.

"Your nose is almost back to normal. Less like a small eggplant, and more like a nose."

He grunted with a nod, being especially nonverbal this morning. He was probably anxious to get back in the saddle. The group of hit men she had helped him lead, who used the code name "suite forty-five," was probably wondering what happened to them, though God only knew how many operators were left on the team. Last she checked, the forty-five were down to thirty-eight.

Now they'd been forced out of El Paso and every other US border town they once protected after the Heroin King hired the Warren Group, a private team of killers who'd contracted Dearheart to dismantle suite forty-five.

But unlike suite forty-five's team, the Warren Group didn't care whom they killed. They answered to the highest bidder, and now that bidder was the Heroin King, which meant the fragile peace in communities like Juarez, Mexico, had disappeared overnight. Dangerous drugs, human traffickers, and anybody with enough money to pay the cartels' tolls were waltzing right in by the millions. It was a fucking mess, and there wasn't a damned thing Charge or she could do about it.

"Have you given more thought to what comes next?" she asked.

Charge grunted again. "Want mayo?"

He was cooking for her? That was sweet. "Sure. Thanks. But sooner or later, you'll have to fill me in. We can't hide out in this cabin forever." They were three hours north of El Paso, in the mountains of New Mexico. It had been the only place to go after Emily rescued him.

Charge ignored her.

"Please turn around and talk to me," she snapped. "We probably won't be safe here much longer, and now that you're able to move around, we should start planning—"

"If you don't feel safe, then leave."

She tilted her head and blinked. Three weeks ago, she'd had one foot out the door. Charge had been saved, she had a plan to disappear, and her involvement with these hit men would become a thing of the past. It was Charge who'd convinced her to stay with four little words: Help me find Ed.

Ed was now on the run after he and his corrupt FBI friends had been exposed for the abusive sex-traffickers that they were, a fact she'd learned later in their marriage.

"I don't know where this is coming from, but," Emily whooshed out a breath, "I feel I've earned transparency."

Suddenly, a paper plate with eggs flew across the kitchen, splattering into the wooden pantry door.

Charge turned and yelled, "Why the fuck to you think you've earned it? Because you saved my life? I never asked you to do it."

Wow. How's that for gratitude? Up until now, Charge had been grateful for her actions. Why the sudden change?

She cleared her throat, remaining calm. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I do think I deserve your trust. You, on the other hand, have repeatedly lied since we met—about who you are, what your team does, and even what you knew about me when you offered me a job." She'd had no idea what she was getting into when she took a gig answering the phone for Charge's "pest control" business all those months ago. He'd also concealed that he knew her real name wasn't Emily and that he was very familiar with her ex because there was a contract out on him. Powerful people were not happy with Ed.

She continued, "Still, I came to save you. Then I stayed to care for you. And I'm still here. Shouldn't that buy me something?" She stared into his intense gray eyes, noting the ticking jaw beneath his thick black stubble. There was a time when those ice-cold eyes terrified her, but not anymore. She knew he'd never hurt her. Lie, yes. Hurt, no.

"I need you to run an errand for me in town," he said.

She took that to mean he wanted a moment to collect himself.

He added, "I'm out of pain meds. The doctor sent in a refill."

"Anything else?"

"No."

She reluctantly pushed back in her chair, knowing it was best to give the man his space. Charge was the sort who didn't react well to being pressured. He was also methodical. Careful. He always had a plan and ten backup plans. The only thing he didn't have was a trusting heart, which was probably the reason he didn't want to tell her what came next.

Well, too bad. I'm in this now .

"When I come back, you and I are sitting down and going over the plan." She pressed her index finger onto the countertop. "And it had better involve finding Ed." Ed had to answer for what he'd done to those poor women. He, his brother, and friends made millions off drugging women so they could be raped ten times a day. Justice had to be served, and it was the only reason she'd stuck around when Charge had asked. At least, it was the only reason she could confess to herself. The other reasons, like helping Charge heal or feeling a sense of illogical calmness around him, weren't reasons to stay.

"Yeah, sure." Charge went for the paper towels to clean up his man-tantrum on the floor.

"Leave the eggs. I'll clean up when I get back." She grabbed her purse and the keys to the old blue pickup. "And Charge, don't ever yell at me again. I'm done taking shit. Even from hit men."