His to Take (23 page)

The shower cut off. The glass door opened. A minute of silence later, he emerged with
a towel around his waist, skin bronzed and slick, big body tense, hazel eyes watchful.

His wet hair was slicked back from his face. Rivulets of water ran down his bulging
chest. He stood in the doorway, taking up all the space. Without meaning to, he sucked
the air from the room. Bailey’s mouth went dry. If she stared at him anymore and let
herself dwell on the shocking pleasure he’d given her, she was liable to do something
stupid, like throw herself at him again.

“Good night.” She forced herself to roll over and turn her back to him.

He’d leave the room soon enough, go back to his and give her some breathing space.

A moment later, she heard rustling cloth, then felt the mattress dip behind her. She
swiveled around to watch him—stark naked—climb into bed beside her. “What are you
doing?”

“Sleeping beside you. Tell me it’s okay to hold you.”

“You never ask, do you?”

A corner of his mouth climbed up in a crooked smile. “Not if I can help it.”

Bailey wanted to be angry with him, but it wasn’t his fault if he made love like a
god. Afterward, he’d tried to pry from her whatever had obviously upset her, so that
didn’t exactly make him a bad guy, either. If he scared her emotionally, that was
more her fault than his. His relationship with his family, while head-scratching to
her, was none of her business.

“You can hold me.” She gave in with a sigh.

Joaquin scooted over to her side of the bed and wrapped his arm around her. He nuzzled
her neck. His erection prodded her back. He felt so good—sexy, comforting, dominating,
protective. Kind of perfect to her.

“You’re . . .” She wriggled her butt against his cock.

“Hard?” he murmured in her ear. “You do that to me. I’m a grown man who can control
it. Usually. But I won’t touch you unless you ask me to.”

That seemed to be a theme with him. A part of her was tempted to turn in his arms,
throw her leg over his hip, and invite him inside her body again. Another part of
her knew she still needed time to process tonight—and any future implications it might
bring.

“Good night.”

“I’ve never seen the benefit of spending the night next to anyone. You’re making it
pretty obvious.” He kissed her neck, the lobe of her ear. “Night.”

*   *   *

COLD seeped into her. Bailey shivered as she looked out over the little farm she called
home. Fresh snow had fallen the night before, and everything seemed quiet. She hunched
down in her pink pajamas, wondering how long Daddy wanted her to stay outside in her
brother’s fort. Where was Mommy? She’d had her bath. Wasn’t it time for dinner?

She’d wanted to go back into the warmth of the house long ago, but her father had
sent her outside and told her to stay here, no matter what. But screams from inside
the house had sounded full of terror and pain. More loud noises had jarred her. The
air around paralyzed her with fear, especially after the bald man kicked in the back
door and ran inside. Since then, a man had been crying out in agony.

Bailey didn’t know what to do.

“Please, don’t,” the voice she’d been hearing shook and pleaded. Her father. He sounded
weak. In pain.

She started to climb out of the fort and run to him, then remembered her father’s
stern words.

Hide outside and be very quiet. Sing your song in your head. Stay there, no matter
what.

She hesitated. A shiver wracked her. Inside her fuzzy socks, her toes had gone numb.

Finally, she heard the squeaking of the back door. The stranger who had entered the
house earlier stepped outside, holding Daddy by the arm and dragging him along. Her
father wasn’t fighting, but tripping over his feet. In fact, he looked back at the
fort. Blood stained his cheek. Their eyes met, and he pinned her in place with a grim
stare.

When the stranger jerked on his arm again, he dragged Daddy to the car. She saw a
trail of blood in the snow. Her father was hurt. Was that man taking him to a doctor?
Where was Mommy? Her brother? Her sister?

The man shoved Daddy in a black car she’d never seen, then scanned the yard. Bailey
ducked and peeked at him from the cracks between two pieces of corrugated metal. The
stranger had mean, pale eyes. He looked angry.

Bailey bit her lip. What if he’d hurt Daddy?

Before she could decide what to do, the stranger flung himself in his car and drove
off. She watched the black car get smaller and smaller as it bumped down the dirt
road. Finally, it disappeared. She didn’t understand what had happened.

Time seemed to last forever, and the cold finally forced her from her hiding spot.
Unwinding from her crouched position, she inched out of the fort and tiptoed to the
back door.

Inside, it was even more quiet. No TV, no laughter, no sounds of cooking.

She wandered from room to room, frowning at the red all over the walls, staining the
floor of the hall. As she stepped into her parents’ bedroom, she peeled off her socks,
then . . .

Everything faded. Then suddenly, she was running for the back door with her shirt
stained. Wind blew the portal wide, and she sprinted for the road in bare feet. Her
teeth chattered until a nice couple in a blue sedan found her. Bailey climbed inside
their warm car, rocking back and forth in confusion. She didn’t know what to say.

Bailey woke with a gasp.

She sat up. Hand pressed to her chest, breathing hard. Her heart thundered.

The nightmare she’d had all her life had come back to haunt her again. This time,
she’d seen visions that had never appeared before, like Viktor Aslanov. Never before
had she acknowledged him in her dream as
Daddy
.

She’d also never seen the stranger who’d made Viktor bleed before dragging him away,
which was clearly what her adult mind told her had happened. She knew the Russian
had been tortured, then eventually killed, his body dumped on the side of a road.

But somehow, the stranger who had taken him away looked familiar.

“Bailey?” Joaquin sat up beside her. “Did you dream?”

She nodded absently, trying to piece it all together. A sick feeling assailed her.
“Where is that photo?”

He wrapped an arm around her and eased her against his body. “Of McKeevy? On the nightstand.
I’ll get it.”

“No.” Lunging out of Joaquin’s embrace, she stood and turned on the nightstand lamp.
Just like in her dream, the air held a nip. Her feet felt frozen. Her hand shook as
she reached for the photo.

Yes, she’d definitely seen those mean, pale eyes.

Bailey trembled harder. She started to sweat.

Joaquin leapt to her side. “What is it? Tell me.”

“This man was in my dream. He never had been until tonight, but I saw him this time.
He barged into our house and dragged Viktor away.”

“Did he kill everyone else in the house first?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” It was all so fuzzy to her.

“What did he say when he broke in?”

“I wasn’t inside. In my dream, Viktor had sent me outside to hide in my brother’s
makeshift fort. He told me to stay there. But after this man dragged him away, I went
back inside.” Bailey shook her head, then blinked up at Joaquin. He represented protection
and comfort now. She needed those. “I’ve never had that part of the dream before.”

“Anything else new?”

“Not really.” She frowned. “There’s a bit of a blank spot in between me coming back
to the house and me running outside again, this time all covered in blood. I can’t
see that part.”

He wrapped her in his arms. “You’ve kept the memories locked away for years because
they’re traumatic. You’re starting to remember. Maybe seeing McKeevy’s face jarred
something? You’re sure it was him in your dream?”

“I’m sure. He was younger, a little less bald, but those cold eyes were the same.”

Joaquin kissed the top of her head, and she let his heat seep into her. “You’re shaking.”

“The dream has always scared me.” She looked up at him, big and strong, somehow her
anchor in this crazy, upside-down world she now inhabited. “This time, I’m terrified.”

“I know. Come back to bed.” He tried to take the photo from her grip.

“No. I need to think about this.”

She clutched the glossy picture of the man who had probably murdered her whole family.
On the surface, he didn’t look particularly evil or even remarkable. If she’d seen
him in person now, she probably would have thought he was a teacher or bank teller—some
occupation where he had to be polite. He wouldn’t like putting on a nice face and
would more than likely have cursed his students or customers in his head. But looking
at him now, assassin fit.

“We know he left Houston and headed north. We don’t know exactly where he is at the
moment, but we’re pretty sure where he will be on Saturday.”

“Callie and Sean’s wedding.” Bailey was afraid for her new friend.

He nodded. “I need to call them, tell them about this development. We knew McKeevy
was a member of LOSS and probably a threat. But to be ninety-nine percent sure he
killed your family and that he broke into your house in Houston, too . . . that’s
a game changer.”

“It’s the middle of the night,” she protested.

“I don’t care. This thing is coming to a head. I don’t know why he’s chosen now, after
all these years. But maybe, with some insight from Sean, I can figure it out.”

Bailey touched a hand up to his big shoulder. “Wait.”

She knew the minute he called the others, the danger would only become more real.
She’d been living in a bubble these past few days. The last twenty-four hours had
almost felt as if she’d started a whole new life. But her past had collided with her
present. If she wanted a future, she had to bust out of her cocoon and meet this head-on.

Joaquin led her back to the bed and cuddled up beside her before he reached for his
phone. “It’s not quite four. I’ll wait an hour, but no more. My gut tells me that
time isn’t on our side. McKeevy is on the hunt.”

And because she knew what the sick killer had done to her father, seen what he had
probably done to the victims Joaquin had been trying to save, she couldn’t disagree.
His offer of an hour of peace sounded like utter bliss. But he was right. The price
of waiting now might be too steep.

“Never mind. Go ahead and call.”

Joaquin nodded and dialed Thorpe. Fifteen minutes later, he, Callie, and Sean entered
the club. Hunter and Logan were right behind him. Apparently, Axel had never left.

The group gathered in the main dungeon, still dressed in the trappings of Thorpe’s
party, as Joaquin explained Bailey’s dream to the others. As soon as he mentioned
the McKeevy connection, the room went dead silent.

“It’s a dream,” Hunter pointed out. “That doesn’t mean it’s true. Otherwise, Logan
would have giant Tootsie Pops licking him while he sings One Direction songs.”

“Hey!” Logan whapped his brother on the shoulder. “I would never sing shit from a
British boy band.”

“But we all know you’d be more than happy to be worshipped by lollipops,” Thorpe drawled.

“Can we focus?” Joaquin growled. “Everything that’s happened in Bailey’s dream before
now has been substantiated as fact.”

“But isn’t it possible the suggestion of this picture”—Thorpe held up the photo of
McKeevy—“somehow made her incorporate him into the dream?”

“Anything is possible,” Joaquin conceded with clenched teeth. “But—”

“The dream has always felt more like a memory,” Bailey cut in. “And I’ve always known
I was missing pieces. I still am. The whole middle just fades away from me. McKeevy
being there, though, fits.”

Joaquin nodded. “The torture is up McKeevy’s alley.”

“He didn’t employ his gruesome routine on any Aslanov but Viktor,” Sean pointed out.
“The rest of the family was simply shot.” He winced Bailey’s way. “Sorry.”

She shook her head. She mourned the loss of a family, but she didn’t remember them.

“Maybe he was in a hurry. Maybe he got interrupted. Maybe . . . we don’t know,” Joaquin
insisted. “It wouldn’t be the first time the asshole dusted someone without taking
them apart first.”

Bailey frowned. What was he talking about? Who? She made a mental note to ask Joaquin
later.

“The truth is, as soon as I saw the picture, I knew he was familiar and frightening.
I had no doubt I’d seen him, then my dream supplied the answer,” she told Sean. “I
know this all sounds insane, but I’m telling the truth.”

“It all fits,” Joaquin insisted. “LOSS has been seeking Aslanov’s research for about
fifteen years. If they thought the scientist himself had kept a copy, they would have
paid him a visit, threatened his family, and tortured him to extract its location.
They also would have hunted Callie, hoping she knew something, before they eliminated
that loose end. Only they could never find her until it was too late. That would have
really pissed them off, especially McKeevy.”

“I’ve been thinking . . . ” Sean scrubbed a hand down his face, then looked at Callie.
“I think we should postpone the wedding.”

She shook her head, her dark ponytail brushing her shoulders. “Those bastards have
defined my life for too long. I’m not letting them take my future away, too.”

“Lovely . . .”

“We can protect her.” Thorpe crossed his arms over his chest. “You’ll be right beside
her. I’ll be right beside you.”

“Tara and I are coming,” Logan swore. “I’ll help your guys secure the perimeter.”

“Unless Kata goes into labor, we’ll be there, too,” Hunter assured Sean. “I’ll do
everything I can to keep Callie safe. Hell, most of the Oracle team will be in the
pews, and you know Jack is a scary motherfucker when it comes to anyone threatening
women. We’ll lock the place down and use it as the perfect opportunity to catch McKeevy.”

“Hell, I’ve got an idea on how to capture him before Callie even walks down the aisle.
It won’t even disrupt the wedding,” Logan added.