Hard Core (Onyx Group) (18 page)

Or if Gavin Ross would ever stop.

And what would happen to her if he didn’t.

* * * *

Her father’s bloody hand reached out to her, but hard as
she tried, she couldn’t get to him. Alana looked down at her feet to see they
were bare, torn, and bleeding in her efforts to save her father. Around her,
the village burned, everyone she loved slaughtered, massacred. Bodies littered
the ground near her feet, their eyes open and empty, staring at her, asking her
even in death why she didn’t save them.

“I tried,” she cried. She’d made a deal with the devil
that would keep them safe.

“Alana, my darling, come. We have work to do,” Gavin
spoke through the smoke swirling around her.

“No,” she said, a shudder working its way down her spine.
She knew that voice, knew what he wanted her to do.

“The deal has been made. You are a woman of your word.
You will sacrifice yourself to me now. Come, your patient awaits.”

“No!” Alana screamed, looking at the bodies surrounding
her. “I won’t go with you now. You broke our agreement. You killed my father.”

“I own you.”

The smoke covering her shifted and she felt his presence.
Close, almost touching her. Ready to take her away and turn her into a
murderer.

Run.

She tried, but her feet were frozen to the ground.
Straining, feeling his breath on her neck, she tried to run, knowing he was
only a few steps behind.

“Alana.”

“No! I won’t go--”

His hand wrapped around her elbow, slimy like a snake.

“No,” she screamed, fighting him. She would never belong
to him. Never. She would die first...

“Alana. Wake up.”

She woke with a start, hearing someone screaming. Slapping
the hand holding her shoulder, she pressed against the door, realizing the
screaming came from her.

Wide-eyed, she looked around her, trying to acclimate
herself. Sam’s truck. Cristian driving. No, pulled over to the side of the
road. Mercer in the back, staring at her, looking a little spooked.

A nightmare.

Chest heaving, she looked at Cristian, who held his hands up
to show he was no threat to her. She knew that, but it didn’t stop her from
shying away when he reached for her. Too soon to be touched. Not with the
nightmare spinning in her head. Not with her emotions so raw.

“You were screaming.” Cristian backed off and placed his
hands on top of the steering wheel. Lines bracketed his mouth and even he
looked spooked. She’d never thought she’d see the day something shook the
hardened mercenary.

“Geezus,” Mercer said from the back seat. “You about gave me
a coronary screaming like that. Must have been some dream.”

Sobering, Alana tucked her shaking hands in her lap. “It was
nothing.” A little spooked herself, she reached over and turned on the heat,
aiming the vents toward her.

“Didn’t sound like nothing,” Mercer murmured, settling down
in his seat and leaning his head back, eyes closed.

“Can we drop it?” she asked, more forcefully than intended.

Cristian put the truck in gear and maneuvered onto the road.
They rode in silence for a few minutes. “Want to talk about it?”

“No.”

He let it drop and slowly the nightmare faded. When she
finally stopped shivering, she turned to Cristian. “I need a promise from you.”

He went rigid in his seat. “Anything.”

She drew in a deep breath. “Promise me you’ll kill me if
Gavin ever takes me.”

* * * *

Kill her.

Those words echoed through Slade’s soul, making him ache.
The promise was so absurd he almost laughed, but when he looked at Alana he saw
nothing except serious determination.

“Promise me, Slade.” She used his professional name for the
first time, speaking to the mercenary, not the man.

“It won’t come to that.”

“Promise me.”

Clenching his jaw, he said roughly, “You have my word.”

Eyes shining with relief and gratitude, Alana nodded. “Thank
you.”

“Under one condition.”

“You already promised.”

“These are my terms. Take it or leave it.”

She sighed. Cristian was an irritatingly tenacious man and
if he wanted the information, she would have no choice but to give it to him.
As much as she didn’t want to admit what she’d done. “Fine. What’s your
condition?”

“You tell me what agreement you had with Ross.”

Alana shook her head, sinking into her seat. “Don’t make me
do that,” she whispered. They were her secrets, her burdens. She didn’t want to
share them. No one knew besides her and Gavin, and she wanted to keep it that
way. Her father would never know the shame she’d brought on him when she became
Gavin’s personal murderer. But she did, and she didn’t want to share that
failure.

“I won’t for now, but you will tell me.”

Weary, she turned to look out the window. He would make her
tell him, just as she would make him tell her his secrets. She didn’t look
forward to it.

Gavin had changed the rules by kidnapping her and killing
her family. She knew even without Cristian telling her that Gavin massacred
them. It was how he operated. She’d once trusted the lying, cheating, snake.
That trust had gotten her father killed. Her family murdered.

She was a fool.

Leaning her head against the window, she closed her eyes.
Fatigue, deeper than her weary soul, pulled at her.

Rubbing the ache in her chest, Alana wished for something to
take it away. And in the darkness of the truck, someone did. Cristian covered
her hand where it dug into the seat, his fingers lacing through hers, offering
strength where she had none.

She held on tight, squeezing his hand, as a tear slipped
down her cheek. For that moment, she didn’t feel so alone.

Alana groaned at the crick in her neck. Rubbing it, she sat
up and looked around at the shabby, paint-chipped building they were parked in
front of. A gas station. Cristian was nowhere in sight, but Mercer leaned
against the hood, staring into the night. Pensive.

She set her seat upright and watched Cristian stride out of the
station, a paper sack in hand. He walked with long, sensual strides. The
contained violence simmering just beneath his surface made her belly tighten.
That darkly sexual part of Cristian drew her to him. Who was she fooling? More
than that drew her to him. Like the fact he’d held her hand. Somehow he’d known
what she needed. And that she couldn’t ask for it.

Disturbed he could read her so easily, Alana rubbed her
forehead. What a mess. Her feelings for Cristian were growing at an alarming
rate. Could be Stockholm Syndrome
.
Even though she wasn’t a prisoner, it
felt like it. A ridiculous notion anyway. She had been attracted to Cristian
since the first day she’d met him, bruised and battered, in need of her help,
although too stubborn to admit it. The man was frustratingly obstinate, but the
trait didn’t put her off like it should.

With a headache chipping away at her temples, she watched
Cristian stop and speak to Mercer, who looked at the road behind them and
nodded before pushing off the truck.

“Is something wrong?” Alana asked when Cristian slid behind
the wheel and set the bag on the floor between them.

Mercer climbed in the backseat and closed the door.

Cristian started the engine and maneuvered onto the road
before he answered. “No.”

“Then why do you keep checking the rearview mirror?”

“There’s water and snacks in the bag if you want them.”

“Nice evasion.” She reached into the bag for a bottle of
water.

“I’ll have those donuts if no one wants them.”

Alana glanced at Cristian, who shook his head, before
reaching into the bag and pulling out a package of powdered donuts. There was
also a bag of chips and peanut M andM’s.

“Is junk food all you got?” she chided, handing the donuts
over the seat to Mercer.

“All they had.”

“Nothing wrong with a little junk food, Doc.” Mercer tore
open the package.

“Just tons of sugar and carbs.” She twisted the cap off her
water bottle and took a drink.

Mercer handed a donut over the seat. “Come on, Doc, have
one.”

A moment later, she accepted and took a bite. After years in
the jungle living on mostly what they could grow, the sweet treat tasted like
heaven. The sugar went immediately to her system and made her light-headed.

“See? It’s good,” Mercer said, polishing off the rest.

Alana licked sugar off her fingers and lips, feeling
euphoric and nostalgic. Glancing at Cristian, she froze midway to her mouth.
The way he watched her made her very aware of her actions. Her body responded.
What she wouldn’t give to be alone with him right now.

Swallowing hard, she tucked her hands into her lap,
searching for a distraction. “Are we driving through the night?”

“Yes,” Cristian said, jaw tight.

She stole a glance at his rigid jaw, getting a piece of
satisfaction in knowing he wanted her as much as she did him. He was like a
drug she couldn’t get enough of. She hoped they were getting a hotel room.
Intensity rolled off him in waves and she wanted to direct it toward her. All
night long.

“Can I use your cellphone?”

“Why?”

“I want to call Sam and check on Caleb.”

“It’s midnight. They’re in bed.”

In bed. She wanted to be in bed. With him. The gruff way he
said it told her he was thinking the same thing.

This addiction had to stop. When this was over, where would
she be? Cristian wouldn’t stick around. He owed her nothing. They had great
sex. He could get that anywhere. And he would. Cristian wasn’t the commitment
type. He would leave her, and she would be left with no one. Nothing.

But would she be able to let him go? Not if she didn’t stop
the feelings building inside her, the scariest part of all.

Mercer and Cristian took turns driving until they reached
Chicago. It had been so long since she’d seen a city, she could only stare out
the window and remember living in Boston. Instead of being a comfort, it made
her feel even more alone and alienated. Like a stranger in a world she once
belonged to.

The setting sun cast a soft glow over the city. Familiar,
yet it made her feel incredibly vulnerable. Especially for a woman used to
being in control.

Cristian took an exit ramp toward the lake and Alana rolled
her window down to feel the warm breeze on her face. The fresh, clean scent of
the lake filled her senses. Not salty like the ocean, but refreshing all the
same. They drove along the lakeside past upscale houses and condos. They turned
into a private parking lot of a tall, sleek apartment building.

“This is it?” she asked, needing to stretch her legs and
anxious to be out of the truck.

“This is it,” Cristian confirmed, pulling into a parking
space.

She climbed out, closed her door and stared up at the tall
building. It looked stark and foreboding, kind of like the man.

“Alana, come on.”

Cristian and Mercer waited for her, bags slung over their
shoulders. She had no bags. Saddened, she followed them inside. The man behind
the desk greeted them with a tiny, impersonal smile.

“Mr. Kipling,” the receptionist greeted Cristian. “Haven’t
seen you in a while.”

Kipling. Another alias. Cristian spoke quietly to the man
before leading them to a private elevator.

Alana stood between both men as the car lifted smoothly to
the top floor. Not sure what to expect when the doors opened, she felt elation
and anxiety. She was about to see Cristian’s home. Well, one of them.

When the doors slid open, Alana walked into the most
sensual, exotic apartment she’d ever been in. Dark and sleek, with muted grays
and blacks everywhere she looked. A seductive cloud surrounded her, the scent
of sandalwood filling her senses.

Swallowing hard, she walked farther into the room, her
borrowed boots making little sound on the glossy marble floor. What had she
expected? Certainly not this. Maybe something more utilitarian, like the man.
Not this luxurious penthouse with marble and granite and mystifying paintings
hanging on the walls.

Someone had gone to great lengths to decorate, handpicking
each piece of furniture, every painting and artisan table. That person had
arcane tastes. An eye for the unusual. And she absolutely loved it. Wanted to
lose herself in the mysterious paintings and sprawl on the slate colored chaise
lounge sitting in front of the tiled fireplace.

Looking down at her borrowed clothes, she felt very out of
place in jeans and button-up shirt. A long, flowing gown from the Cleopatra era
would be more fitting.

Once upon a time, she had owned a closet full of beautiful
gowns. But she wasn’t that woman any longer.

Cristian punched a code into the state-of-the-art security
system. “The kitchen should be fully stocked, the sheets fresh. Mercer, you’re
in the east corner bedroom. Alana, you can have the master suite.”

Mercer slung his bag over a broad shoulder. “Nice pad. You
gonna update Gallagher?”

“I’ll make the call.”

Mercer nodded. “My room have a television?”

“Yes. And its own bathroom.”

“You know where to find me.” He strode toward the bedroom to
the right.

“Where will you sleep?” she asked once Mercer disappeared
into his room.

“On the sofa.”

She glanced at the slate sofa with its modern design.
“You’ll never fit.”

He shrugged. “I’ve slept on worse.”

Hurt that he wouldn’t be sleeping with her, but unwilling to
show it, she lifted her chin. “Where is your room?”

“It’s the entire west side of the house.”

She swallowed hard. It sounded big and lonely. Exactly what
she didn’t want. “There?” she asked, pointing to the door on the left.

“Yes.”

“I think I’ll shower and turn in too. I’m tired from the
trip.”

Cristian nodded and studied her.

Swallowing her pride, she said, “I have nothing to wear.”
She hated relying on him for everything.

“You can wear one of my shirts until we get you some
clothes.”

Just what she needed. To be surrounded by his scent all
night, but not him. “Fine. Goodnight, Cristian.”

“Goodnight, Doc.”

So that’s how he wanted to play this? Fine, so would she.
She could be aloof and distant too. No matter how much of a lie it was.

Giving him one last, haughty look, she walked away, closing
the door to his room and putting distance between them.

She leaned against the door and looked around the gigantic
room, her breath catching. “Dear Lord,” she murmured. “Is the man trying to
kill me?”

Atop a gold and black Tibetan area rug stood a king-size,
four-post bed draped with sheer white curtains tied back to reveal an onyx
trimmed duvet and more pillows than she’d ever seen on a bed. Glancing at the
ceiling, she half expected to see a mirror over the bed, but it was vacant.

Walking slowly past the bed to the walk-in closet, she
stepped inside, curious to see if Cristian wore fatigues all the time. Running
her hand down the rows of tailored suits and crisp shirts, she tried to imagine
him in clothes this elegant, but failed. She didn’t expect Cristian to be the
kind of man to wear a suit. So why did he have them? Disguises?

Continuing on her way, she walked into the bathroom. A
walk-in shower with octagonal glass doors and three jets atop dark marble
flooring beckoned her. Low, seductive lighting added to the aura of the entire
penthouse. Glossy surfaces, chrome fixtures, even a couple candles had her
stripping out of her clothes and reaching for the door handle of the shower.

She stepped inside, turned on all three jets and let out a
groan of pure delight as warm water massaged her skin. Never had a shower felt
so rejuvenating. Almost as good as the waterfall on the island.

Sobering, Alana’s head snapped down. Somehow that thought
slipped in, dropkicking her back to reality. Not the time to grieve over the
past. She needed to get her head on straight and figure out what to do about
Gavin. She couldn’t continue to be a victim.

Time to stop letting Gavin Ross control the situation. Time
to take her life back.

* * * *

Slade dialed Gallagher’s number, his leg sticky with blood.
Surprisingly, Alana hadn’t noticed. She had a nose for the wounded. A shower
was out of the question, unless he wanted to disturb her. Just thinking about
her naked in his shower made him damned uncomfortable. There were more
important things to do right now and getting someone here to fill in for him
was top priority.

His boss answered on the first ring. “Gallagher.”

“We’re at my penthouse.”

“Sam already called. I don’t have anyone to send as backup,
Slade. We’re a small group.”

“What about Bodley? Sarver and Fortier can handle Dave.
Fortier has four brothers.”

“Bodley is still abroad.”

“Trouble?”

“Not sure yet. My gut tells me yes.”

Slade rubbed the back of his neck. More complications. Most
of the group was tied up in this mess. If Bodley needed assistance, they would
have to pull someone from Dave’s protective detail. They sure as hell weren’t
pulling him or Mercer off Alana.

“We’re secure here, but I can’t wait for Ross to make a
move. We need to eliminate him first.”

“What are you proposing?”

“I can find Ross, but you’ll have to replace me here.”

“I don’t do field work, Slade. Not anymore. You know that.
I’m the man behind the curtain. Period. Come up with a new plan.”

Frustrated, Slade dropped down onto a padded kitchen chair
and leaned an elbow on the stone table. He rubbed his gritty eyes. “I can’t be
a sitting duck, Gallagher.”

“There are no alternatives right now. Unless you leave the
doctor in Mercer’s care and go after him yourself.”

Remembering how Alana had reacted when he’d tried to leave
her on the helicopter, he said, “Not an option.”

“Mercer is good at what he does.”

“We’re all good. That’s not the issue.”

“Then what is?”

Too personal to talk about. “I’ll figure it out.”

Gallagher was silent. “Should I be concerned?”

“No.”

“You aren’t usually this involved.”

Slade remained silent. Gallagher was right. He didn’t get
involved. Not in the group’s personal lives, not in a job. Until now, he hadn’t
considered these men friends. But acquaintances didn’t put their lives on the
line for each other.

“This is different,” he admitted.

“Because of the doctor?”

“Yes.” Alana was the complication. In more ways than one.

“There’s nothing wrong with saving lives, Slade.”

“It prevented me from fulfilling a contract.”

Gallagher paused. “The client isn’t breathing down our
necks.”

“But he paid us to do a job.”

“And we’ll do it.”

If he could get his objectives screwed on straight and stop
allowing Alana to mess with his head. He’d never had trouble distancing himself
before. Why now? Why her?

“Let me work this on my end, see what I can do to free
Sarver.”

Slade hung up minutes later and set his phone on the table.
Leaning back in his chair, he closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath that
shot fire through his side. Bullet wound was healing, but still hurt like hell.
A reminder of all that had gone wrong. A reminder he needed to focus on the job
and not the incredibly sexy woman sleeping in his bed tonight.

Without him.

He would be where he should be. On the couch, protecting
her. Not making love to her until neither of them could remember their names.