Raven (Kindred #1) (6 page)

But they weren’t that easily deterred and kept on coming toward her. When they blocked her route, she was forced to stop. Zara tried to side step, but the men moved in time with her attempts to dodge them.

“Don’t run away,” the one on the left said, while the other circled to cut off a rear escape. “We’re here with our boss. He’ll want to know who saw us.”

She didn’t want to panic; it was obvious that these assailants enjoyed seeing her squirm. If she screamed out or cried, they would get a kick out of her torment, which might trigger them into doing God knew what with her.

Suppressing her fear didn’t mean she was looking to provoke them, so she tried to allay their supposed concerns. “I don’t know who you are,” she said, but it was obvious they were some kind of security for Kahlil. Both were muscular and had a keenness about them that made her cautious. Bodyguards who had not gone with their protectee had to be edgy. Their decision to descend on her proved that they were itching to start trouble.

“What matters is that you’ve seen us,” the guy in front of her said. “And that poses a problem for our boss. We don’t like to be seen. That’s why we operate in the cloak of night.”

The guy behind her laughed. “The cloak of night, I like that,” he said. He was so close that his breath moved her hair at the crown of her head. She held her breath, with little choice except to remain in this sandwiched position.

Reminding herself of where she was, she found some of her gumption because it was ridiculous to suggest she’d done anything wrong when they were the ones here for some dark purpose. “If you’d stayed in your car, I wouldn’t have known you were here,” Zara said. At CI she was respected and dealt with awkward clients all the time, she couldn’t let them push her around here on home turf. “I’m important in this institution, so whatever you’re thinking about doing—”

A thick forearm came around her throat, forcing her to swallow her words as she was pinned to the man behind her. The one in front pulled out a switchblade and grazed the tip from the groove of her throat down to her cleavage.

Whispering his words, he was so close that he had to feel her trembling. “We’re going to make sure you stay quiet,” he said.

“How do you plan to do that?” she asked, the fog of each quivering pant moistened the air, but she held eye contact, determined not to be overcome by fear.

Resting a hand on his cohort’s shoulder, the man in front leaned in. “I’m going to show you what we can do. When we’re through with you, you won’t think about ratting us out. Your pretty head will be filled with so much horror that you’ll be scared to open those sugar lips ever again. Hope your boyfriend doesn’t come after me when you stop sucking his dick.”

Grabbing the back of her neck, he kept the knife in her cleavage and wrenched her forward, trying to force his mouth over hers. Adrenaline surged and Zara pursed her lips as she tried to twist away from the disgusting advance. Her attempts to shove him away only made him struggle to keep her close, using his partner as the wall to restrain her against. But she wouldn’t give in to this violation without a fight, she’d been standing up to strong, bullying men all of her life.

If she couldn’t get rid of the guy in front then a rear departure was needed. Knowing that they weren’t expecting her to, she reversed her fortune by reversing their roles. Using the man in front as her wall, she pushed, causing the one at her back to give out.

He recovered quickly, but their brief second of confusion gave her enough space to duck down and twist, to squeeze her body out from between them.

On her hands and knees, she tried to scramble away. One of them kicked her thigh then her ankle in a half-kick gone awry. Curling to protect herself, she fell onto her side in a roll, and tried to think.

Getting out of this wouldn’t be easy, she could go to the rear exit and maybe find a friend, or she could be running into a deserted alley, giving these men the perfect opportunity to do what they wanted with her. Going back upstairs would mean facing Grant and Kahlil, but that relied on the elevator arriving before these men caught up with her, which was unlikely.

The sound of a punch, then a thump put a stop to further assault. As her frightened thoughts sharpened, she unfurled her body to seek out the cause of her reprieve.

One of her attackers was flat on the ground. The second was engaged in hand-to-hand combat with a tall man, dressed in black wearing a hooded leather jacket.

They punched and kicked, but she was mesmerized by the slick movements of the man in the hood. Both were trained, that much was obvious from the way they blocked blows and weaved around each other. In comparison, there was something so easy about the way the hooded man moved, about the deftness of his maneuvers. The other guy seemed frazzled and overwhelmed, but the guy in the black hood was calculated, moving only just as much as he needed to.

After blocking a punch, the hooded man landed his own hit. When his opponent staggered sideways, he curved a strong leg around to take his victim off his feet onto his back on the concrete with such force that he didn’t get back up.

Both of her attackers were on the ground, groaning or twitching, so she knew they were alive, but they weren’t in any hurry to fight again. The hooded man stalked over to her and held out a hand.

Bewildered, she just gawped at the hand as she tried to get her thoughts straight. “Get up,” he said. All she could see was the stubble on his defined chin and jaw. She didn’t know who this crusader was and taking the hand of a man so capable could be a transformative decision.

Being vigilant instead of hasty, she stayed on the ground. Her weight-supporting hands and ass were getting cold on the asphalt because her skirt had ridden up during the tussle, but she couldn’t throw her lot in with a stranger who could be as dangerous as the men who had just attacked her.

Her hesitation was noted by the stranger. He raised his hand to the back of his head to tug his hood back a couple of inches, just enough that the shadow lifted from his eyes and she recognized the man from the taxi rear-view mirror staring back at her. Shock made her mouth drop open, she’d been in trouble and Raven had materialized to rescue her.

“Zara, come on,” he said.

The edge of impatience in his voice was probably attributable to the residual adrenaline in his bloodstream from the confrontation, except he displayed no indication that he was harried. Raven, it turned out was true to his word. He’d said he was going to protect her and he’d just saved her from a situation she’d never have been able to get out of on her own. Nothing bad had ever happened to her when Raven was around and he’d proved he was capable of keeping her safe.

Gratitude made her snatch his hand, even though he was no longer offering it, and Zara scrambled up in preparation to run away with him. But when her weight landed on her feet, her legs gave way causing her to fall into his unyielding form.

His arm came around her ribs, beneath her arms, to hold her up. “What’s the problem?” he asked, keeping an eye on the men who were beginning to show signs of getting up.

“My ankle,” she said, keeping the weight off her injured leg. “I think I sprained it or—”

“We’ve got to get out of here,” he said, displaying no concern for her pain or interest in her explanation. Dipping to hook his arm under her legs, her feet didn’t touch the ground when he swept her out of the parking garage and into the dark lane outside.

This was a pedestrian access, so there weren’t meant to be vehicles parked here, there never had been before. But he dropped her onto the back of a monstrous black motorcycle that was standing up in the narrow space.

“Hold on to me,” he said, taking his seat up front and kicking the bike into gear.

Placing her hands on his sides, there was no time to tell him that she hadn’t done this before. He grabbed her wrists and forced them all the way around his torso, merging their bodies. Her instinct to withdraw was quashed when he revved the engine and roared forward. The momentum made her clamp her elbows and her knees into him and all thoughts of polite decorum went out the window.

The vibrations of the vehicle, and the heat that began to permeate, stimulated her. With the tumultuous emotions caused by this eventful night, she struggled to pinpoint the source of her blood pressure increase. It could come from fear, arousal, or maybe something else. The rush of wind as they wound through the streets loosened her hair but she didn’t let go of him, she didn’t decrease her grip for a second.

After becoming accustomed to the motion and the noise, she let her rigid muscles relax. Still holding on to him, she let herself breathe and rested her cheek on the leather at his back while trying to recall a time when she had felt so free. She came up blank. Given what she’d just been through, her exhilarated mood was quite a pronounced turnaround and it was all down to Raven and the security he provided her.

The streets whizzed by and although she recognized that their route would take them back to her apartment, she was almost sorry about the brevity of their trip. She’d never been on a motorcycle or had a man so solid and formidable between her thighs. For the first time in her life, she wondered what it would be to live a life free of all responsibility and throw caution to the wind, as Raven did.

He drove straight into the service alley at the rear of the building and pulled into a space between the dumpsters, then switched off the engine. In his same move of getting off the bike, he swept her up off her feet.

He didn’t blink, just carried her in his arms to the back door, and keyed in the private code to the security pad. She didn’t know how he knew it, but he didn’t hide his knowledge. Now that she thought about it, he hadn’t used a security code to get out of CI, divulging he had expertise beyond the physical.

Carrying her up the stairs to her apartment, she unlocked the door while still in his embrace. He took her inside, kicked the door shut, and carried her across the room, past the first column, to lie her on the couch.

Elevating her right leg, he seated himself perpendicular to her body, between her legs, and made no apology for squashing her left leg between his ass and the back of the couch or his presumption. He slipped off her shoe and touched her injured ankle.

The contact made her recoil. Without invitation, he strengthened his grip around her heel and tested her range of movement with his opposite hand. His thumb pushed into the delicate bones beneath her skin to move her ankle as he wanted it to move.

He was so sure, so unapologetic, so entitled. Such a show of brutish control proved his power; he could contort her any way he chose to and all she could do was comply. Yet, by assessing her injury, he was demonstrating some level of care about her wellbeing.

Each time they came into contact, she learned a little more about who he was. She might not have specifics, but his deeds spoke for him. He had never hurt her, despite his superior strength. Had never put her down, despite the hints of class behind his gruff exterior. He had a mission to protect her and tonight he’d proved he was a man of his word. 

The firm hold of his rough fingers rasped her smooth skin and her gratitude bloomed. Her feminine awareness was awakening too. Raven had saved her life and then taken her on an exhilarating ride through the city streets. Adrenaline, endorphins, hormones, they were all chemical and they were combining in her head, slinking down her spine, through her organs to tickle her enlivened skin.

It was dark, but she could see the line of his jaw and how his hair was mussed suggesting he never did more than finger comb it. The musky scent of him made her pelvis grow heavy and the whisper of butterflies in her stomach began to gain speed and mass.

He was touching her, exploring her injury, and didn’t reveal any signs he was as raw as she felt. With every second of contact, she grew more sensitive to his actions and her hips began to squirm.

Fearing he would sense her interest or that she might do something embarrassing like whimper, she sighed. “Stop it,” she said, tugging her foot away from him.

He caught her limb, pulled it back, and laid it on his lap. “You’ll have to elevate it and ice it,” he said. “Nothing’s broken, but it will probably swell, so take it easy for a few days.”

“I have to go to work. I can’t just sit on my ass doing nothing.”

With his focus still on her leg, he addressed it rather than her. His frown made her speculate. Was he pissed that he was here tending to her? Or was he a man with more on his mind than he was letting on?

“Grant will understand,” he said. “You haven’t taken a fucking sick day for three years.”

By now, she was getting used to him knowing everything about her and her life. Other, more relevant, questions plagued her, like why he had come to her aid and how he got into CI. She wanted to know if he knew Kahlil and what he and Grant were doing having a clandestine meeting, but at the same time, she didn’t want to betray Grant.

“I’m not taking a sick day,” she said, sitting up without removing her legs from around him. Taking time off might help her sore ankle, but sitting in her apartment alone would only exasperate her confusion and there would be no answers here after Raven left her. “I need to know, Raven, why were you at CI tonight? How did you know that I needed help?”

Still inspecting her leg, he sounded tired when he replied. “Both have the same answer… I’m watching.”