Chapter Fourteen

T he woman was killing him. As if staring at Livia all night hadn't turned him on enough, he knew she was purposely dragging out his torment by swishing her cute ass in front of that camera.

Usually she performed the most necessary tasks and left the rest of the cleanup until morning, but she chose now to scrub down the surface of the bar and take inventory of the alcohol.

He leaned against the wall, alternating between watching her and watching his phone screen. The woman was bending over to test his control.

Funny thing was, when it came to Livia, he didn't have any.

She glanced up, a smile ready on her lips. "Would you check the stockroom to see if we have any triple sec?"

"Can't it wait until tomorrow?"

She settled a hand on her hip. "I need to place the order first thing in the morning if I want the delivery tomorrow."

He pushed away from the wall and sauntered across the room. Her gaze trailed over him, and when he turned his back to her, he felt her stare rake down his spine. At the door of the stockroom, he tossed a glance over his shoulder to make sure she was watching.

Pain exploded through his skull.

His training kicked in. A bellow of fury on his lips, he compartmentalized the pain. Shoved it deep in a dark corner of his mind.

Fuck, Livia was right outside that door. He had to get them both out of this alive.

He whipped around to face six men.

Big, ugly bastards prepared for a fight.

The first question that came to mind was how the fuck they got in. It had to be through the back door. How, though? It was kept locked during business hours to prevent drunks from drifting in and out of places they didn't belong.

One of the employees must have opened it, and he'd been so distracted by Livia, so busy thinking of what he was going to do to her once they got home, that he hadn't finished his rounds securing the place.

Rookie move. Now he was going to pay for it.

Two men jumped him. Their combined weight drove him to one knee. Using his shoulder, he deflected a brutal kick. The steel toe connected with his muscle. Pain crashed through him, building his fury.

He hooked one around his knee and ripped his leg out from under him, making sure to shove it in at an angle that would snap the tendons. He bellowed.

Great—Livia would definitely come running now.

"Livia! Lock yourself in your office and call 911!"

"Carver!"

"Do it!"

He knew the rest of the bar was clear. As long as he had them all trapped in here, no one could get to her.

The five men shifted into a semicircle around him, thighs braced and fists curled. One lay writhing on the floor, holding his ruined leg.

Carver waggled his fingers, egging them on. "Let's do this."

Livia's voice calling his name projected from just outside the stockroom. Fuck—she wasn't going to listen to him.

He whipped out a fist, the blow connecting with the jaw of the man closest to him. His head rocked. Blood sprayed from his mouth and spattered the floor.

"You're going to pay for that." The man spat a fat glob of blood and saliva on the polished cement.

Carver hooked another guy around the neck and pressed his thumbs into the base of his throat. Breaking a man's neck this way was violent and the most personal way to kill, but he wanted to see the light in the eyes of his enemy fade.

Two men jumped him again, forcing him to release the man before he gained the satisfaction. One pummeled his head. He felt his eardrum burst and go silent. Blood trickled from a cut on his brow.

"Hold him."

Someone grabbed his arms and attempted to pin them behind his back while another stepped up with his steel-toe boots and began delivering kicks that would have ended his chances of having kids if he hadn't managed to twist his body at the last second.

With a roar, he fought hard, dislodging them, bashing them with lethal punches and getting one in a chokehold that knocked him out cold.

Two down—four to go.

"Carver!" The high-pitched scream from the doorway distracted him, and he took a fist to the eye. His head rocked. Stars burst behind his vision, but he shook his head.

Livia. He had to get to her.

As he whirled to block her from entering the room, he met her stare—just as an arm locked around her from behind and dragged her off.

Guess there were seven.

* * * * *

Livia took short, shallow breaths through her nostrils. Battling for air always made her panic. Once in third grade, a boy had cornered her on the playground and pinned her down on the ground, hurling accusations about her father messing around with his mom.

She had no idea what any of that meant, and didn't find out till much later. But the thing she recalled most about the incident was her panic at not being able to breathe.

The rough hand locked over her mouth sent adrenaline spiking through her system. Her heart hammered her chest. Her stomach clenched with terror.

This was all her fault. If she hadn't sent Carver into the stockroom to check on the supply, those men never would have jumped him. When she heard the commotion, she shot toward the room to check what happened—then he yelled for her to lock herself up and call the cops.

When she spotted him in the center of a full-on brawl, and saw it was six to one, her stomach hit the floor.

Carver was amazing, holding his own the best he could…but it wasn't even close to a fair fight.

The look on his face when she was grabbed from behind and dragged off would haunt her forever. He looked…broken.

No. She had to fight her way out of this and prove to him she was tough and a survivor, just like he was.

Together, they would fight their way out of this situation and back to each other.

Her captor ripped her off her feet and plunked her down hard in a chair. When her head stopped spinning, she took in her surroundings.

Her office. The man shut the door, closing off the grunts of pain coming from the stockroom.

Carver.

A man approached the chair. He wore a suit, which was odd for these parts. The only time a man around here pulled a suit out of his closet was for a funeral or a wedding. She got the feeling he wasn't doing either.

She tipped her jaw up and met his stare. "Who the hell are you?"

His mouth curled in a vile sneer. "You wouldn't know my name, but it's about time you do. Your father knew me well."

A cold tingle slithered through her body, leaving her chilled to her fingertips.

He leaned over her, bringing the sharp scent of cologne. The idea that he'd taken so much care to dress for this occasion—terrorizing her and beating up her boyfriend—sent disgust through her.

"I go by a lot of names, but the one your father knew me by is on the contract he signed with me. Jered Smythe."

She stared at him blankly. The name didn't trip any alarms. She shook her head. "I've never heard of you."

"All you need to know is that I gave your father a loan. And he still owed me when he died."

Oh god. Panic swept Livia, stealing her ability to breathe even though nobody was cutting off her air supply now. Of all things her father had done—cheating, lying, neglecting her and her little sister—she could see him adding this to his list.

Her stomach bottomed out, and her bowels cramped.

Jered Smythe's eyes glimmered with a hint of menace and another part madness that frightened her almost as much as the silence coming from the stockroom.

"Were my scare tactics too subtle?" Smythe's remark jerked her brain back to reality.

The break-in. The rattlesnake. Carver had been right—they weren't coincidences.

Smythe stepped back, folding his arms over his chest. It was evident he earned his muscles in a gym, and the greasy slick of his hair was nothing like the sexy way Carver's hair looked after his shower.

"Let's talk, Livia."

She recoiled at his use of her name. "Say what you need to say and leave us alone."

"You owe me. In fact, you owe me a lot."

Oh god. Dad, what the hell did you do?

"I was trying to be a nice guy. I let the debt die with your father. I don't believe the offspring should suffer for the sins of their fathers. But then you stepped on my toes. And well…now it can't be overlooked anymore."

She blinked. "What did I do?"

He unfolded his arms and held up a finger. "There are fees associated with what you did. A you-Tased-my-guy fee. A you-shot-my-guy fee. A you-looked-at-my-guy-wrong fee."

Her brain clouded with all he was saying. Colton, Hunter and Carver were right—she hadn't just helped Ivy that day when the men returned for her truck. She'd stepped in quicksand of her own, and pissed off a man who probably didn't require much reason to attack her.

Worse, the back of her mind worried over the lack of fight sounds coming from the stockroom. What had they done to Carver?

"I have money. Let me go to the cash register."

He shook his head and twitched up the cuff of his jacket to stare at a gleaming gold Rolex. "You'll need way more money than that."

How did she get out of this? If only she'd listened to Carver and called 911, but she had been out of her mind with worry when she heard those men beating him up.

She needed a panic button. Wasn't there one on the app that Carver installed on her phone?

"I need to get to the safe." She masked her expression, hoping he didn't see her desperation and the fib.

"Now we're talking. Where is the safe?"

She wet her dry lips and slowly inclined her head toward the desk behind him. Where her father had worked on the books and alcohol orders and made bad deals with loan sharks.

"Behind that poster of Dogs Playing Poker ." The knockoff of the famous painting was her father's favorite. It wasn't exactly Livia's style, but she hadn't gotten around to making the office hers when she had so many more important things to sink money into.

He stared at her for a long moment. Then he nodded at his thug who stood over her, assuring that she wasn't going anywhere without their consent.

He grabbed her by the arm, thick fingers biting into her flesh. She tore it free and sent him a glare. "I can get up alone."

But could Carver? What was going on? Her heart ached from not knowing if her lover was even alive.

He was strong and capable, but he was outnumbered.

So was she.

But she was not outwitted.

She pushed to her feet and took three steps to the desk, purposely coming within inches of Smythe. He didn't back away, but she didn't expect him to. She only wanted to prove she wasn't afraid of him.

Her shaky insides said otherwise, though she refused to let him see that.

Her phone was tucked in her back pocket. How could she get it out and press that panic button on the security app without them noticing?

What kind of fee would Smythe tack on for shooting him?

She moved behind the desk, pushing the chair aside to reach the poster. She attempted to twist, reaching for her back pocket.

"You don't need your phone to open the safe, Livia."

Her gut clenched. Dammit, Smythe had seen what she was doing.

She cast him a long look. "Actually, I do. I have the combination stored in my phone."

His brows drew together as he sized her up. "Fine. But don't try anything. Your boyfriend's life depends on it."

The thug sniggered as if he knew something that she didn't.

Nausea rose in her throat as she took out her phone and swung to face the poster. Using her body to shield her activity on her phone, she pulled up the security app and pressed the yellow panic button in the top corner.

Nothing happened.

No sirens wailed. No SWAT team broke down Badlands' door.

With shaky hands, she pocketed her phone and pulled the poster off the wall, revealing the small safe. She knew the combination by heart. She also knew there wasn't much inside besides a few hundred bucks and some documents.

She had to buy some time. Surely that panic button did something . Right?

"Are you stalling, Livia?" Smythe's low purr sent her into panic mode.

Her hands shook more. "You're making me nervous."

"Or you know that I'm not going to be happy once you open that safe. Is that right?"

She stared at the cold steel dial until her eyes blurred with tears. His frigid voice iced over her heart with terror as Smythe turned to the thug and nodded in the direction of the stockroom.

"You know what to do."