Nailed (Marked For Love #1) (12 page)

I was tired. Not lack-of-sleep tired, but the mental kind that ground you down under its heel. So tired that killing Wynn and going on the run actually sounded good!

"So what now?" he asked from behind me.

I let the door slide closed and sagged against it. "I'm supposed to go to work, and don't even think I'm going to apologize to you."

"I know this has been hard for you." He eased closer, his hands outstretched in a non-threatening manner that might appeal to a Rotweiller.

"I'm not a rabid dog; I'm an angry woman."  

"Why don't we take a day off?"

"Can we really afford a day off?"

"I suppose not," he glumly admitted. They only had a week left.

"Besides Tony and I have to do make-ready on 8-A, and I'm still mad at you."

"I know." He wrapped his arms around me, making me feel secure even though logic dictated he was the last person I should feel safe with. "I'm sorry. Why don't you let me go through your stuff—"

"No way. Not without me here. Why...don't you go cook or something?"

***

Yeah it was mean, talking to Wynn like that. I knew it was mean, but I just wanted him out of my apartment and away from me for a while. I wanted a chance to catch my breath.

I slacked through the day, doing as little painting as possible. I talked Tony into closing up early and was in the middle of faking my way through some yard work when a red sedan pulled into the visitor's parking lot, and a stranger climbed out.

He wasn't the type of man you could miss, and not just because most men in Cielo didn't wear suits unless they were going to a funeral or wedding—both of which meant a trip to church.

This man was going to neither.

The expensive suit, coupled with the power tie and lavender shirt was rather arresting, as was his height and broad shoulders. Something about him reminded me of Wynn, except colder. Much colder, calmer, more put together. The way he walked, like he owned the planet and everyone on it. Thin lipped, almost grim as he climbed the stairs and knocked on the door of Wynn's apartment.

A shiver worked its way down my spine. He was trouble in the worst way. Trouble I didn't need.

I pulled the brim of my ball cap lower over my eyes and waved to Tara who was lounging at the pool.  No amount of Wynn's good cooking or great sex could ease the sense of foreboding that nibbled at me from the inside out. I felt sick to my stomach, and I wanted to hide but there was no hiding from him. He was the kind of man who'd find you no matter what.

No matter where you ran, no matter where you hid—now I understood what Wynn meant.

"You okay, Bonnie?" Tara slipped her sunglasses off her nose, concern filled her deep brown eyes.

The taste of fear was so thick in my throat I couldn't speak, so I just shrugged. The sound of my name coming from the balcony mere seconds after he'd disappeared into Wynn's place nearly sent me out of my skin. I made Wynn call me a second time before I finally turned around on feet heavy with dread.

He motioned for me to join him, and judging from the look on his face, he wasn't any happier than I was about our visitor.

I pointed to my wrist, opting for the first excuse I could think of. "I'm still on the clock."

The stranger appeared behind Wynn, and it was all I could do to read his lips, "That her?"

I glanced at Tara again, taking assurance in her presence and the sound of music blaring from JoJo's office. There were too many witnesses for him to kill me.

Yet.

Chapter Eighteen

Wynn led John back inside, still trying to adjust to his brother's arrival, and more importantly, suss out why he'd come.

"Wynn, what the fuck do you think you're doing?" Even sitting on the flower couch from hell, John still looked as unruffled and put together as he probably had this morning when he'd gotten on that plane in Florida. His suit was unwrinkled, his shirt still immaculate, his tie still snug against his neck.

Six years older than Wynn, John had always been a bit larger than life, until they were adults, anyway. Now Wynn knew he was just a cold-blooded, unfeeling bastard, incapable of lying or of having a normal relationship. Which explained why he was probably Dad's favorite, despite a very short stint as an FBI agent that he'd never bothered to explain. John's one and only attempt to escape his destiny.

It wasn't right to dislike family, it wasn't
normal
to be afraid of your family, but if there was one person Wynn didn't want to cross, it was John. Dani was the only one capable of going head to head with John, just like she did their dad. "I'm doing exactly what Dad told me."

"She knows who you are and now, she knows who I am. Wynn, you know what that means?"

"It means shit! If you hadn't come here, she wouldn't know who you were. I didn't tell you to come here. You've only got yourself to blame for that. And if you have a problem with how I'm running things, go home!" He collapsed in the chair under the window, conscious of the sound of his neighbor's television being turned down.

No more yelling. He couldn't afford to raise the suspicions of his neighbors. He had enough trouble to deal with right here in front of him.

"I wouldn't have come if you hadn't made her sister disappear. You know what I have to do." His voice was as calm as if they were discussing whether to go out for ice cream after dinner or take in a movie.

Just like Wynn had mentioned, cold-blooded.

"You lay one hand on her and you'll answer to me."

"You're sleeping with her." He pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket and flipped it open.

"Put that away." Wynn leaned forward, elbows propped on his knees. He wouldn't allow John to call his dad. It'd be the end of him. It'd be the end of Julie, and he didn't want that either. In the worst way.

"Dad," John said, his phone programmed to recognize his voice and dial accordingly.

Wynn lunged, snatching the phone out of his brother's hand and racing for the kitchen. He hit the end button, hoping he'd cut it off before the call went through, then slipped the chip out of the back as John slammed into him. His brother had him in a headlock before he could react. His heart was pounding, trying to compensate for the sudden lack of oxygen as his fingers fumbled to get the chip down the disposal and flip the switch. He heard Julie's voice and the sound of running feet, then he could breathe. Julie and John hit the wall behind him so hard, it vibrated. Something fell off his neighbor's wall and crashed to the ground.

Wynn lunged forward and flipped on the garbage disposal, conscious of the sound of breaking dishes and his brother's grunts behind him. While the disposal struggled to chew up the tiny card, Wynn sucked in a few deep breaths and turned to see how much damage had been done. John now had Julie backed against the kitchen wall, his forearm pressed against her throat. Wynn grabbed the collar of his brother's expensive dress shirt and wrenched him toward the far corner of the kitchen then positioned himself between the two. "The last thing we need is another visit from the fucking cops. Now settle your shit down!"

John was doubled over in the corner, panting for breath, his narrow-eyed gaze on Wynn. "You really fucked this up, bro."

"Maybe so, maybe not, but I'm not letting you lay another hand on her."

"Or shoot me, or drive me to Mexico and sell me to a brothel," Julie said from behind him. Her hands were gentle as she patted his back. "I'll shut the front door before anyone comes snooping."

"You okay?" He shifted forward to let her by, maintaining his position between her and John.

She was pale, and moving slow. Her hands shook a bit but she managed a tiny smile. "I'm fine."

"Look at you!" John shook his head.

Wynn felt a hand grab his shoulder then went reeling forward. The wall and his long arm span saved him from ending up on his face on the living room floor. Only his desire to avoid another run in with the cops kept him from going after his brother. "You lay another hand on me and so help me God, I'll take
you
out to the desert and leave you there."

"You are totally pussed out! Some chick wraps her lips around your dick and you're ready to commit hara-kiri on the family name." Unruffled quickly turned to anger as John's face reddened. "Do you realize what's at stake here, Wynn? Do you have any clue why Dad sent
you
?"

"Because he knew I'd have a problem with this job."

"
This job
has a name," Julie said, joining them in the kitchen.

"
This job
has the reputation of our entire family on the line," John said softly. "Dad guaranteed you'd deliver where two other men failed.
You, Wynn
. No one else. And here you are fucking around with...her." He crossed his arms over his chest as if he could loom over her, intimidate her, even though he was actually a few inches shorter than Wynn.

"Want me to get your bat?" Wynn asked, pulling Julie against his side at the sound of her giggling.

Her small show of spunk filled him with a degree of pride nearly equal to the degree of protectiveness he felt toward her. God help him if he ever had to choose between the two of them, because it'd be a tough call.

"Now listen up!" Wynn took a step forward, cutting off John's view of Julie and jabbed him in the chest. "It's not
my
fault the family's rep is on the line. I'm not the one who swore this job would be done. We're not fucking Wally World, and we don't give fucking money back guarantees, John!"

"But you took the job."

"I had no choice." He raked his fingers through his hair. "Dad shoved it at me. I told him and I'll tell you, this job goes against everything I believe in. You might not have a code you live by, but I do."

"Code? You live by a code? You're a professional muscle, Wynn."

"I don't hurt normal people."

"I don't know whether to be insulted or not," Julie snorted. She held her hands up in surrender. "I've had enough for one day. I'm going home."

"I'm sorry about dinner," Wynn said. Hopefully she knew he was sorry for more than just dinner.

"It's okay." She gave him a smile that eased the constriction he hadn't even realized gripped his chest. "I'll grab something."

Once she was gone, he went after John again. Wynn grabbed two fresh plates from the cabinet and handed one to his brother. "Now, what do you know that I don't?" He filled one plate with meatloaf and roasted sweet potatoes, the collapsed at the table. "Help yourself."

"You're such a puss." John filled his own plate, dusted the remains of broken dishes from the second chair and sat.

"I'm a puss who's feeding you," he said around a bite of meatloaf. "And I don't hear you complaining about the food."

"Better than the airplane."

"Talk."

"I'm eating." He motioned to his plate with his fork, as if he were actually indignant.

"Fuck. Eat then, but don't think you're not going to talk when you're done.
And
clean up the mess you made." He nodded toward the broken dishes and glasses on the floor.

"You made it," he said, pointing his fork at Wynn.

"No, you did, when you showed up here unannounced."  In more ways than one.

Chapter Nineteen

I paced my apartment a while, occasionally rubbing my throat, which was tender and probably slightly bruised. I hadn't looked though. I was afraid of what I'd see.

Why was John here? And what did his presence mean? Had someone raised the stakes? Put a price on my head, or Karen and Kevin's? If the fight was any indication, Wynn wasn't happy to see him either, which meant nothing good would come of him being here.

Clyde sat on the back of the couch, his head slowly swaying back and forth every time I changed directions until he finally collapsed in a heap and rolled on his back. I finally gave in and sat beside him, slowly rubbing his belly. His fur was soft, and almost reassuring under my fingers, as I sat there debating whether or not to run again.

Fighting Wynn was one thing, but fighting a killer was a whole 'nother matter, and even to myself I wouldn't confess the terror I'd felt when John had pinned me against the kitchen wall. My sense of self-preservation insisted that John was exactly what Wynn had said he was. I hung my head, scrubbing my scalp and growling in frustration over the entire mess.

When the knock finally came at the door, I expected to see Wynn standing on the other side, not Tara, holding a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels Black Label.

She took advantage of my shock and pushed her way in, heading straight for the kitchen and riffling through cabinets until she found two leftover cups from the Speedie-Mart where Brad parked his truck. Speaking of which, he'd be at Darcy's tonight.  

"So who's the suit?" She rejoined me in the living room, sitting on the couch beside Clyde.

She poured the amber liquid in both glasses until they were a third of the way full. Clyde stretched and rolled his head back, exposing his neck for her to scratch.

"He's not someone you want to mess with, Tara," I sighed, joining her on the couch.

"Even I'm not dumb enough to mess with that, honey." She nudged a glass toward me.

"Sorry." I accepted it and swallowed a huge mouthful, wincing when the whiskey hit my empty stomach like a train on fire.

"You know, most of us are here for a reason."

"I know." I totally caught her drift. I wasn't the only one in hiding.

"I killed my ex old man—"

My lack of a reaction was disturbingly
not
disturbing. I sagged against the cushions, the cup clutched in my hands. "Do I want to hear this?"

She studied me for a minute, all serious-like, then shrugged. "Of course you do. He was some big-time drug dealer, or at least he
thought
he was. He hit me. I didn't like being hit, so he didn't do it too many times before I shoved a knife between his ribs."

"Ever hear of self-defense—"

"I was nineteen, and besides I took ten grand. Even that asshole had a boss, and drug dealers don't like it when you steal from them."