Surrender (7 page)

Grace gave herself more freedom with each passing week. Found herself risking herself when she shouldn’t have—picking up strange men in bars—and soon that became like a drug. Adele knew, of course, didn’t disapprove of Grace’s promiscuity, as long as she didn’t leave herself vulnerable to being found out by Powell.

“At first, I was only supposed to work the phones while Marnie was out on calls. It was the perfect job—and I felt like I was helping. And then I got restless, especially once Darius and Adele left. I’d expected to hear from them, at least once in a while. When I didn’t . . . I thought maybe it was for my own safety. Maybe it was for the best . . .” She stopped because she heard the catch in her own voice, turned away from Dare because he would see too much.

He already has.

Chapter Eleven

G
unner had
more private ta
ttoo appointments coming in, and so he left Avery upstairs, alone and restless. She nursed the beer he’d left for her as she stared out across the small balcony. She’d opened the French doors enough to hear the music floating in, noted the bar across the alleyway and decided that she’d be safe enough there.

It was time to try out her new look anyway. Cops didn’t lay in wait in college bars looking for America’s most wanted, and the assassins themselves wouldn’t make a move in the crowd.
If
there were more, and if they’d followed her.

She couldn’t handle being a prisoner any longer.

There was the small matter of the alleyway itself, but it appeared to be a nicely crowded pathway to the bar. She climbed down the fire escape easily after pulling on a tank top and sandals and followed the groups of laughing people.

The heat, the bodies, the music—all of it came together in one giant cacophonous swell that carried her into the bar with the rest of the revelers.

She wondered if it was always like this on weekends or if she’d just gotten lucky. Ordered a drink and swayed a little bit to the music. Turning down an offer to dance was easy enough the first time, but gradually the men began to get more persistent.

“Look, I just want to hang out here,” she told the guy who wouldn’t let go of her wrist. She finally pushed at his shoulder hard enough that he was momentarily stunned.

Defending herself was going to get old. She couldn’t draw so much attention to herself, and she would if she continued to kick this guy’s ass.

As she began to back away again, he lunged. And then he disappeared, replaced by a man who had a golden smile and an easy air, although she suspected there wasn’t anything truly easy about him.

He’d taken the man out without breaking stride. Eventually, the bouncers would pour the pest out onto the sidewalk, but for now, he weaved into the crowd.

“Thanks.”

“You were doing all right.”

“Then why’d you step in?” she called above the din.

“If you were gonna wrestle, I wanted it to be with me.” His grin disarmed her. The thought of being caught in his stronghold made her blood run warm. Two days in New Orleans and two men had given her this reaction; no one should come to this city without some kind of chaperone or chastity belt.

“You okay,
chère
?”

The man’s dialogue was authentic, came from deep inside, although there was no innocent southern farm-boy thing going on here by any stretch of the imagination.

He was blond, his hair longer than Gunner’s. His face held the scruff of several days’ worth of not shaving, and she rubbed her cheek against it lightly. He laughed, put an easy arm around her waist and bought her another shot. She accepted, told herself firmly that it was the last one. Of course, that didn’t count the famous hurricanes that were designed by their very nature to knock her flat on her ass.

“What’s your name?” she asked him finally.

“Does it really matter?” he murmured. She wanted to think it didn’t, but it did. It always would. She was a damned romantic, like her mom, no matter how she fought it, which was why she didn’t get involved. A few one-night stands were all she’d had over the past two years.

“If I said it did?” she asked, heard the husky want in her own voice.

“It’s Key.” He looked at her. “And you?”

“Avery.”

“Glad we got that out of the way.” His mouth came down on hers, and she melted into him. She’d had the perfect amount of alcohol, and the crowd seemed to swell around her like a protective hug. She was anonymous, and for the first time in months, she felt safe.

It felt good.

Key’s tongue teased her, and she wished she could go with him somewhere . . . anywhere, but that would be stupid and she’d already taken a chance tonight.

Key pulled her into a corner, away from the masses, where she could actually hear herself think, and then she looked into his face and realized that thinking was the last think she wanted to do.

Thinking was overrated. Highly so.

As if agreeing, he gave her another slow, sure kiss that tasted like the best of everything rolled into one. His hands held her waist, his stance still somehow protective, even as his body melded to hers in a slow dance of tumbling, riotous passion, as if the two of them were completely alone rather than in this crazy bar.

But that was the beauty of this place—for all intents and purposes, they
were
alone. And she stopped any last semblance of reason and let insanity win out for the time being.

Of course, it wasn’t long before she realized that Key had a gun and a knife. He could be military or a merc or a bounty hunter. Or a criminal.

None of the options were good. Did he recognize her? Was this all a setup?

She didn’t think he would need to do this much work to get her in hand. The fact that she’d literally been in his arms and technically still remained a free woman was comforting . . . and still she had to extricate—and fast.

But his touch—he held on to her like a parched man in the desert who’d found the fountain of life and wasn’t prepared to let go. In the private corner that had become theirs, she was trapped between his body and the wall in the most delicious way possible. And so she let herself go, wondering if she could orgasm from the kissing and light fondling alone.

She’d been trying for her entire life to figure out Darius’s hold on her mother—why she’d hated and loved this city and that man.

New Or
leans and her surroundings were the keys to everything. Avery needed to figure out how to unlock the puzzle, to make sure she never made the same mistakes her mother had made.

New Orleans could be the death of her—its rhythms seemed to be in time with her heartbeat, her soul, and that was seductive and wrong. Wrong, according to her mother, who’d thrown all caution to the wind here.

Avery could love it here, and somehow that was so very wrong. So was flirting, drinking and dancing, but she didn’t care. For the moment, she was normal.

“You’re adorable.”

“You’re seeing two of me, aren’t you?” she asked.

He waggled a finger at her and murmured something in what she assumed to be Cajun French.

“See, I don’t know what you’re saying. You might be telling me I’m the ugliest thing you’ve ever seen.”

“Yeah, that’s it, sugar.”

“So . . . what do you do?” she asked, and he held up his bottle of beer and pointed to it, asking her, “What do you do?”

“For tonight, the same thing.”

“And kissing me,” he said seriously.

“Do you live here?”

“In this bar?”

“In New Orleans.”

“Nah. Just passin’ through. On a road trip with my brother.”

“What’s that consist of?”

“Mainly looking for trouble. Tonight, I found her.” He pulled her close, and she looked into those hazel eyes and something tugged at her. He was happy tonight—that wasn’t a lie—but there was a sadness underlying his expression she couldn’t deny.

She guessed everyone had secrets. Sometimes, that was reassuring to know; other times, terrifying.

“What are you thinking about,
chère
?” The more he drank, the thicker his accent got, but he actually seemed to gain more control with each beer, each shot. In fact, he’d probably pass as sober even if given more than a passing glance, while she felt like she might tip sideways at the slightest push.

“You.”

He laughed. “Want to know all my secrets?”

“Something like that.”

“I’m an open book. So live a little—come home with me.”

“I can’t,” she told Key.

“Not gonna show me your tits?”

“You don’t have any beads.”

“I have something better than beads,” Key promised, and dammit, she believed him.

She wouldn’t bring him back to Gunner’s and she wasn’t going home with him, no matter how badly her body begged her to. And so after kissing him until she couldn’t breathe, she stroked his cheek and walked away.

“You’re really leaving me like this?” he called.

“Gives you something to look forward to,” she told him over her shoulder as she kept walking.

But Key wasn’t letting that happen. In seconds, he was on her again, kissing the back of her neck, luring her back in, and she knew she couldn’t—didn’t want to—resist. But right now that was all the same thing. “I’m not letting you run,” he told her.

“Where are you staying?”

“Just around the corner. You’re safe with me.”

“You were in the military, weren’t you?”

Key gave her a small, slightly drunken smile and then placed a renewed interest in making sure she couldn’t resist him. And it took everything she had to do so. Granted, it took quite a while, until she was sure someone was going to tell them to get a room. They did little more than kiss, but every nerve in her body was on fire, the slow burn more arousing than fast sex could ever be.

“Gotta go, Key,” she told him. She was unsteady as she pushed away from him and walked away, out of the bar and his life, no doubt saving her from undeserved heartache.

And he let her.

Twenty minutes later, back at Gunner’s, she’d already showered to get Key’s scent off her. Her now short hair dried fast, and she lay there in the unfamiliar bed, the fan blowing on her, realizing she was still the same exact person after all.

What had she expected to change?

Chapter Twel
ve

M
aybe it was
for the best . . .

Maybe Darius and Adele had thought not contacting Grace again was for the best, but it had still hurt her. Dare read her unspoken thoughts before she turned away, and he cursed his father and S8 again for ruining yet another life in the course of saving it.

But Grace . . . she was her own worst enemy, and she had to know that. “You knew better but you put yourself in danger anyway.”

That made her turn back around. “I couldn’t sit back and do nothing. That first time, the girl—she was so young and scared, and I couldn’t reach Marnie. And I couldn’t just hang up the phone and leave someone in trouble like that. So I didn’t.” She paused, as if reliving it, and then she told him, “Once I started, I couldn’t stop. The rush of getting the job done—being able to finally do something instead of just sitting in a house doing paperwork or sneaking out to bars . . . I was finally able to live again.”

“That’s not living, Grace. You were trying to hurt yourself—like committing a slow form of suicide.”

She looked shaken. “That’s not true.”

“You broke all the rules. Darius and Adele told you to not leave the house—in exchange for working with Marnie, I’m betting she’d bring you groceries and anything else necessary, right?”

She nodded reluctantly. He knew how things worked, why Adele would set up this barter for Grace. Marnie would suspect that Grace was a battered woman in hiding. In actuality, it was the perfect plan, until Grace went rogue.

“You don’t understand.”

“Why the hell would you do that? Not listen? Put yourself in danger?”

“What do you care? If I followed directions, you might not have been able to find me.”

“No more contact with Marnie—you just had your last phone call.”

She blinked slowly, as if remembering she was still his kidnapping victim. Her eyes blazed, and if he’d realized anything in the short time they’d spent together, it was that an angry Grace gave all her cards away, and then some.

She tried hard to be icy, but her warmth broke through every time.

The problem was, either way he wanted her just as damned much.

“You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do,” Grace told Dare now, because even though he did indeed fill that role now, the fact that she actively resisted it was just as important.

Caged again. Was freedom even possible? Would it ever be?

She knew how to deal with being trapped only one way—and that was to fight by any means necessary. She’d done it before and she’d do it again.

Success or not, she’d have tried something.

“I think I do get to. Remember?” He held up the handcuffs, and she glared at him.

“What do you want from me?” she demanded. “I have no information to give you—I haven’t seen Rip in six years. So if you’re going to give me to him, do it. Do it now.”

“I will, as soon as you call him,” he said, calling her bluff.

“I don’t know how to get in touch with him.”

“But you’re going to play this out—and try to play me too? Like Esme would?”

“Don’t you talk about my mother,” she warned.

“Touchy subject? I’m betting you learned a hell of a lot from her.”

He knew. She forced herself to breathe, to tell herself that he didn’t know the whole truth. “I did.”

“Esme was able to con Powell—she must’ve been good.”

She had been—a grifter who’d perfected her fake psychic routine. She’d just happened to have a daughter whose gift was all too real. But Grace refused to do anything but nod.

Dare continued. “If all you’re looking for is danger and excitement, I can give that to you.”

“And I can give it right back to you,” she murmured as he moved toward her. This was what she was used to. This was how she’d kept herself alive without losing her mind. Giving up her body was easy—she’d learned that lesson the hard way.

“So what—you’re a poor little lost girl—mean no harm? Need to be rescued?” he asked.

She hated characterizing herself that way. “I haven’t needed rescuing in a long time. Haven’t asked for it.”

“Right. Because you can take care of yourself. Run with the big boys. Take down men with your fists just like Esme used her body.”

She hated that he was right.

“Poor little rich girl, looking for some action,” he continued. “Is that what this is all about? You left the Powell estate and you got bored, and so you decided to play the great avenger.”

“That’s not the way it happened.”

“You had my father and Adele fooled, right? Had them take you away, pretended you’d play their game, but you couldn’t resist the danger. I get it—some people are born drawn to it, like a moth to a flame, getting just close enough to feel the burn.”

She wondered if he was talking about himself now. He moved closer, and she stood quickly, the chair creaking backward.

“Now you’re scared? I would think this is exactly what you want.” His voice teased, and she hated that he was right. The flare of fear was exactly what she needed. What she craved.

He smiled, backed away a little, leaning against the counter. But his eyes still traveled her body again, and she took advantage of that. She shoved him against the counter, tugged at his belt purposely. He took her wrists, pulled them to her sides as she struggled.

The sex would be angry . . . maybe even a little vicious. It would be exactly the way she wanted it to be. She felt that thrill when he forced a rough hand in her hair and took her mouth with his. She wanted it that way because it would mean another victory. She would make him hers, take this over. Then it wouldn’t matter that he’d kidnapped her.

When he finally fucked her, she would win and nothing else would matter. The familiar pattern would hold, and that would mean she was all right, that nothing could touch her or hurt her.

She would remain unbreakable, although she was secretly broken inside, all taped together so the pieces wouldn’t rattle and give her away.

“Kiss me,” he demanded.

“I don’t follow your orders.”

“You’ll love it if you do—I can promise you that.”

Would she? Probably. And that bothered her more than anything else. She wanted the control—needed it.

But making Dare think he had it? That would put her head back in the game. “Fine.”

She went up on her tiptoes; he bent his head to meet her halfway. The kiss was the start of the battleground for both of them. It was beyond good. She knew it would be.

As he kissed her literally stupid, at some point he surrendered her wrists. She wound her hands into his hair to keep him close. In return, he pressed against her so she could feel the hard swell of his arousal.

The game wasn’t working. Or maybe it was—on her. Pleasure flowed like white-hot sunshine through her body. She’d be on fire soon if she didn’t douse her desires. Had to bring this to a manageable level for herself and didn’t see a way clear to doing so if she remained in Dare’s embrace.

But his hands, oh, his hands roamed her body like he was following a map—or creating one. He noticed every nuance, every small jolt of pleasure she allowed to break through her expression.

If she could stay stoic, unmoving, cause him to lose his mind with her touches, that would be perfect.

There was lust on his face—his eyes were heavy lidded. But he had all the damned control, and he knew, goddamn him, he knew. He knew because he softened his kisses, his hold on her hair, her waist.

Would she be powerless against him? She’d wanted to think she’d learned her lessons so well that she could never repeat her mother’s patterns and fall for a man who wanted nothing more than to use her for his personal gain and leave her a dried-out husk.

You are your mother’s daughter.

But she’d absorbed enough of Rip’s ruthlessness to even that score, to balance her enough so that she felt she could be practical in all matters pertaining to love.

All that resolve fell away when Dare touched her for the first time. Now she had to make sure he didn’t know that.

If she had her way, he never would.

She pulled him tighter, wanted that dizzy, falling feeling to fade. But it wouldn’t. Instead it persisted until she was holding on to him to keep upright.

“You’re not like Esme, are you?” he murmured. “I can see it in your eyes when I mention her.”

“Now you’re psychic?” she asked without irony.

“Not even close. You are hiding something . . . or at least you think you are . . . but Esme would never put herself in the kind of danger you do—not without a payout.”

The payout for her wasn’t monetary, but it was there. She stared at him, uncertain what to do next, when the flash hit her like lightning. She half collapsed in Dare’s arms. Vaguely heard him urgently repeating her name.

Something was terribly wrong.

The feeling of dread continued to
course through Grace’s entire body—took her over completely, making her pulse race. She started to sweat and shake.

It was returning—a gift she didn’t want—and there was no denying it. It was so unwelcome. She had pushed it down for years. The last time she’d had a feeling like this, Rip had locked her in a room and she hadn’t seen daylight for a year.

To pass the time, she’d recited lyrics to some of her favorite songs over and over until they became a mantra. She’d forced herself not to feel.

Even when she’d had that slight tingling of her senses before Dare kidnapped her, she’d been able to convince herself that it was nothing but the intuition she’d developed over the years, a sixth sense S8 had helped her hone.

But she’d been wrong. She was starting to feel again. Just when she’d had the coldness, the hardening of her heart, down to a science, Dare and her gift forced her to feel.

She would resist both as long as it was humanly possible.

But this feeling—it wasn’t leaving—was enough to make her drop to her knees. Her skull seemed to be squeezed by a tightening band that threatened her sight and her sanity.

No pictures or flashes—nothing. But something was very, very wrong, and it was happening to someone she was close to.

There weren’t many she could think of.

“Dare,” she managed to croak.

“I’m here—I’ve got you,” he said. “What’s wrong?”

“A headache,” she lied.

“Come on, you need to sit down.” He half carried her to the chair, would’ve done so completely if not for her stupidly stubborn resistance.

“I’m fine. It must be the stress.”

“Looks like more than stress,” he said.

Telling him the truth now would make her far too vulnerable to Dare—and although Dare told her he planned on turning her over, she’d gotten the sense she could change his mind.

She closed her eyes, massaged her temples and tried to divine the feeling, tried to get it back, but everything had faded, leaving her exhausted and tense.

Outside, thunder rumbled and the rain came down harder than before. A phone began to ring—and immediately she knew what was happening. “There’s another phone in my bag—front pocket. It’s the phone I use for my job—a throwaway—and the only one who has the number is Marnie.” She heard herself babbling even as Dare grabbed the phone and handed it to her.

She put it on speaker when she picked up. The female voice on the other end didn’t wait for her to get out “hello” before she started screaming.

Marnie.

There was a scuffle and another scream, and then the phone went dead. Grace jumped up. “We have to go to her. Dare, you have to take me to Marnie’s house.”

She met his eyes and saw he believed her.
Thank God.
He went outside first, checked the area before coming back to usher her into the car.

She followed him out into the rain and into his truck. He threw her a blanket, which she pulled over herself. She was soaked again from that short walk, but she didn’t care. The most important thing was that they were headed to Marnie’s. She clutched the cell phone, continued attempting to call and getting only a busy signal in return.

That wasn’t a good sign. She stared at Dare’s profile in the darkness—his jaw was tight. “Breathe, Grace—we’ll get to her.”

“She’s already dead.”

He didn’t argue with that, didn’t try to give her false hope or ply her with platitudes. Was it Marcus who’d come back for Marnie, or someone else?

It was much different riding with him when she wasn’t bound, but she was even more frightened this time around.

“You’re on the right track,” she told him now. “It’s behind the old Barlow place.”

“I know where that is. Hang on,” he told her as they rounded the most dangerous bend in this part of the parish. The bridge would be partially covered with rising water. It never got bad enough that cars couldn’t pass over it, but you had to be careful or you’d lose your brakes and go careening off the side.

Dare drove like an old pro, like he knew this place intimately. Darius had mentioned that Dare had lived here from the age of twelve, and she could picture him as a young boy, heading out in the truck by himself, determined to find his way around.

She’d bet anything he hated b
eing lost as much as she did.