Earth Bound (41 page)

Blaze sighed and made her way back down the stairs to the bar. It was a beautiful bar, all curved mahogany. Gleaming. Dark wood. The long mirrors and bottles and glasses stacked neatly. She was a good bartender. Fast. Efficient. Flashy. She could flip the bottles and do tricks with the best of them, and some nights her customers called for that. Her father would stand back, shaking his head and laughing, but his eyes were always alive with pride in her.

She'd nudge him out of the way with her hip, tell him, “Let me show you how it's done, old man,” and perform a few outrageous tricks, getting the customers fired up. When she did that, they always had a spectacular night. It brought in crowds outside of their neighborhood, so the bar was nearly always full. They didn't lack for money. Still, the mobsters who had murdered her father weren't after the
money. They wanted her home. The property. And they were never going to get it, not even after she was dead.

She caught up the phone and dialed the number on the business card, and then idly tapped the edge of the card on the surface of the bar while she waited as the phone rang. Two rings only.

“Talk to me.” The voice was soft. Male. Scary beautiful. Just plain scary. Definitely
not
the same man who had come by the bar and left his card. This man had an accent she couldn't place. He sounded dangerous, like a man who didn't have to raise his voice to command a room. Like a man you never—
ever
—wanted to cross.

“I'm Blaze McGuire. Someone with this number came by a couple of weeks ago. The Hallahan brothers killed my father and they're coming for me. An envelope containing the deeds to the properties will be sent to you on my death. Tariq Asenguard and Maksim Volkov will inherit. You can deal with what's left of them after tonight.”

There was a small silence and then that voice whispered into her ear. Low. Commanding. “Get. The.
Hell
. Out. Of. There.
Now.
”

She froze, her fingers curling around the phone. She felt every single word resonate right through her body. He was good with that voice. Even through the phone she wanted to obey him, and she wasn't all that good at obeying anyone—not even Sean sometimes.

“Can't do that,” she said softly. “I'm going to die tonight and they're going to pay. If they don't get inside, and I'm gone, be careful. The entire bar is rigged to blow. One wrong step and you're dead. In the envelope you'll receive, there is a way to disarm everything. Where you can safely step and what to avoid. How to get through the maze.”

“Blaze. Get.
Out.
”

He said her name as if he knew her. Intimately. As if he had the right to be worried about her. Protect her. As if she belonged to him. Blaze was a name that, to her, didn't sound feminine. He made it that way, his accent caressing the name, making it something altogether different.

Her tongue touched her upper lip. Her breath caught in her lungs. She had to fight the pull of his voice.

“You don't understand,” she said softly. “And you don't need to. I have to do this. They aren't going to get away with this.”

“No, sweetheart, they are not, but this is not the way to do it. Get out of there and wait for us. We are on the way.”

The way his voice moved over her body, stroking like a caress, rasping like a tongue, yet still commanding, sent a chill down her spine. More than anything she wanted to obey. Not because she was afraid of dying, but because the note of command in his voice was affecting her in ways she didn't understand.

“Not going to happen,” she whispered, her heart pounding. She had the feeling that he was on the move and that he was moving fast. “They killed my father.”

“I know,
draga mea.
” His voice was even softer. More persuasive. Sliding into her mind so she felt warmth where there was darkness and cold. Where there was rage. Where she had to keep a hold of that rage and not allow whatever was in his voice to warm that cold. “We will handle this for you and these men will pay. Get to safety. We are on our way.”

She pressed her hand hard to her heart. It was beating far too fast. Pounding. Her mouth had gone dry. Even her head hurt, as if by defying him her physical body protested. It didn't make sense to her. She'd always been her own person, able to stand up to anyone. She didn't want to talk to him anymore, but she couldn't pry her fingers loose from the phone. She just stood there, one hip to the bar because it was holding her up. Her body trembled when she hadn't been trembling faced with certain death.

“I-I . . .” She found herself stammering. All she had to do was put the phone down, but she couldn't. Her fingers were locked around it.

“You do not want your beautiful bar blown all to hell,” his voice continued to whisper in her ear. “Our way is so much better. You will continue to have your property. Your
home. The neighborhood will be rid of a couple more of the monsters.”

So soft. So intimate. As if they were in bed together. Tangled up. Arms and legs. She could almost feel him moving in her. That intimate. And she couldn't drop the phone. She should. But she couldn't. She was mesmerized by his voice. She stared out the large window that took up nearly one entire wall. On the other side of the window were thick iron bars. She'd cried when they'd had to install them. She'd lived there most of her life in complete freedom and then someone somewhere made the decision to ruin their neighborhood.

“People are dying.”

“I know,
draga mea.
We will stop them, but giving them your life is giving them another victory.”

“They killed my
father.
” The words broke from her. She hadn't cried. She'd refused to cry, not even when she'd told Emeline. Not until after. Not until the men who killed him were dead. “They broke him into pieces and then they killed him.”

“I know,
inima mea
,” he whispered.

She had no idea what language he spoke, only that he spoke it with the most intimate accent possible. She didn't dare look away from the window or she would have closed her eyes to hold his voice to her. Wishing she had known him before she was a stone inside. Before her smoldering fire had grown into a wildfire burning out of control, for vengeance.

“Let us handle this. It is what we do.”

“After.” She tilted her chin. Straightened her shoulders. “You handle them after.” She forced her fingers to loosen their death grip on the phone. His voice was so mesmerizing, so hypnotic, she could almost believe he was a dark sorcerer, bent on controlling her through his voice alone. But she wasn't given to flights of fancy. She had been raised to deal with any issue, and the murder of her father was personal. “After,” she whispered again. “You deal with them after.”

“Wait, Blaze. Wait for me.”

His voice. That voice. It seemed to be inside her. Inside her head. Stroking her from the inside out. She had always relied on herself or her father. Sean had taught her that. Given her that confidence. But his voice and the way it seemed to be inside her head made her feel as if without him, she wasn't Blaze anymore. She was adrift.

“At least do that for me. Go up into the apartment. I'm about four minutes out. We can deal with them together. You go upstairs. I will come to you from the roof after we get rid of them and we will make a plan. Together.”

Blaze closed her eyes and forced her numb fingers to work. She hung up. The moment she did, she felt sick. More, her head hurt. Not a little bit, but pounding, as if by hanging up, something inside her got left behind and set off little jackhammers in her skull. She pressed a hand to her knotted belly and picked up one of the guns lying on the bar. Her hand shook and that shocked her.

She had absolute resolve when it came to bringing justice to her father's murderers. Of course she was afraid. No one wanted to die. But she was confident. And utterly committed to her cause. Still, her hand shook when it never had before. That was how much his voice had shaken her.

A slow heat curled in the pit of her stomach and a small shiver went down her spine. She would have liked to have met the owner of that voice. Yet again, maybe not. She talked with men all the time, the bar separating them. She could laugh and flirt and know there was that boundary no one crossed. His voice had crossed it.

She slammed the magazine into her weapon and turned her attention toward the bar-covered window. She saw the flash of headlights as the car raced down the street toward her property, and she knew instantly it was them—the Hallahans. They had come. Her stomach settled. Adrenaline began to pump. She took a few deep breaths as the big SUV slammed onto the sidewalk and screeched to a halt. All four doors popped open and the men spilled out.

She could see them all clearly, even in the waning light,
because she'd changed the lightbulbs outside the bar to illuminate the sidewalk. She'd used a high-wattage bulb, uncaring of what the electricity would cost. She wasn't going to be around to pay it. She studied them, these men—no, monsters—who had beaten her father to death. They'd broken his bones on purpose to torture him. They could have called her, but they hadn't. They enjoyed hurting him.

She didn't take her eyes from the window, watching them come up the sidewalk, moving with confidence, their big, beefy frames rolling from side to side as they moved together to approach the bar.

Everything went silent. Time tunneled, as it often did when a fight was close. Her attention focused on the door. She became aware of her heart beating. Each separate beat. Each pulse. The ebb and flow of her blood as it rushed through her veins. Everything around her went still. Utterly still. She didn't hear insects. She didn't hear traffic. There were no solid footsteps as the men with their steel-toed boots came closer. There was only Blaze and the gun in her hand.

Her hand was rock steady now and she took a slow breath, watching the window, keeping an eye on the door handle of the bar. If they touched that, if they opened the door, it would set off the charge.

Without warning, the Hallahans backed up, moving toward their car, all four of them. Blaze took a step forward, her body hitting the bar. She shook her head. They couldn't leave. She moved quickly around the bar and stopped dead, looking at the web of wiring. The entire room was a trap. She would have to spend an hour dismantling everything. What had tipped them off? They hadn't even gotten close to the entrance. Damn. Damn.
Damn
.

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