The Red Roots (5 page)

“Do you fear me?”

Isla shook her head. “Death showed me her wings. I fear nothing and no one.”

“Reed spoke of your strength.”

Kata skimmed the garage again and stepped closer to Isla. She smelled of citrus and mint. “Reed and I are not lovers, but we do share common interest.”

“And that would be?”

Kata lifted her gaze above Isla’s head focusing on the convex mirror. Her eyebrow arched. Full lips twitched. Her chest stilled. The posture was familiar to Isla.

Enemies approached.

A RUSH OF bullets pierced the air and Kata’s body. Shells bounced on the concrete and glass exploded around them. Fragments imbedded into Isla’s exposed skin. The back of her shoulder stung.

She crawled. She pleaded. She crawled. She cursed.

Under cars, on her belly, Isla wriggled away from the violence. Whoever took out Kata would come after her next. The exit was too far. Her best chance was to keep quiet and bargain with any deity listening that security would catch it on the cameras and come for her.

Isla’s purse slipped from her shoulder somewhere between Kata’s shot up body and the SUV she was hiding underneath. Her phone and .357 Magnum might as well be across the universe.

She heard voices—deep, throaty.

Tires screeched in the distance. More assassins coming most likely. Two wasn’t enough? Dread, as loud as the gunshots had roared, blasted in her mind. The lethal soldiers could be after Reed and rush the hotel. Innocent people would die if that happened.

Adrenaline numbed Isla’s pain. She searched for her bag. Left to right, right to left. Instead, she locked onto Kata lying in a pool of blood. Her eyes were open but from what Isla could tell, she was dead. Two sets of dark shoes stopped at the top of Kata’s head. One kicked her. She didn’t move.

Kata’s lifeless body jerked as another bullet was fired into her forehead. Isla bit down hard on her lip. She heard the tires screech again; this time they were closer than the last. A horn blared, drawing the killers toward the noise. Isla listened and hurried to find her purse while they were distracted. Staying low, she heard an engine growl. She peeked through a car’s shot out windows as a streak of silver bolted across the row, tires screeching again.

She was on the verge of losing her shit.

“Isla.”

She held her breath.

“Isla?”

She climbed clumsily to her feet. “Reed.”

He turned and weaved between cars as Isla trembled where she was. She thought she was moving but wasn’t. She thought she had said his name but she hadn’t. What was happening to her? Sharp tools of violence picked away at her brain leaving her afraid and vulnerable. Isla’s vision blinked out of focus.

Reed grabbed her by the forearms. Pain burst across her shoulder blades and all she could see was the bedroom with the neoclassical French wallpaper while her blood splattered on the peeling seam.

“You’re bleeding.” Reed’s brows pushed together. “Come on, we have to get out of here.”

Her feet dragged along the ground as he pulled her through the maze of bullet-riddled cars.
Did he say I’m bleeding?
Her thoughts lagged though opaque eyes. Nothing made sense. Everything made sense. Clarity was within her reach but still sneered and mocked her from a distance.

The sequence of their escape mingled with her hallucinations and reality. He helped Isla into the passenger seat and buckled her in. Reed slammed the door and jogged around the front of the car before slipping inside the driver side. He shifted the car and slammed on the gas. Isla slumped against the door and window.

“Stay awake, Isla. Don’t close your eyes.”

“I’m awake,” she muttered.

“Come on, don’t you dare close your eyes.”

“I . . .”

“Can you hear me? God damn it.”

I do. I love you.

I love you . . .

RONAN SLIPPED HIS shirt on.

“There is much wicked inside of you, Isla.” He smeared his toe through the drops of red on the floor. “The blood of Satan. Clean it up.”

Isla scaled the side of the bed. The sheet aided her as she hoisted her torn body onto the mattress. Each inhale scraped against her rib cage, the sting curved her spine.

Her eyes narrowed. Ronan ran his hand through his silvery hair. A swipe of her blood tinged his sideburn. He walked into the bathroom. She heard water running. Isla willed and pushed up.

Her body jerked as she stood with heavy limbs. She steadied herself. Isla locked onto the belt. She wasn’t a whore or a sinner. She wasn’t a vile creation from Satan. Ronan was. His defilement crept along her flesh. In her womb Isla carried purity. Beauty amongst the beasts, she’d believe nothing but.

Evil may have ravaged her body, but her soul was unscathed.

She fought the fight.

Ronan would never touch her again.

With careful fingers, she picked up the belt by the buckle and squeezed the metal. She wrapped the stained leather around her hand. Her open gashes flared with each binding of the belt against her skin.

Quiet slunk from the bathroom, as did Ronan. He wiped his hands on a towel. Isla cranked her fist back, stepped forward, and fired off the bound leather into his crotch and proceeded with an uppercut to his chin. He crumpled to the floor, groaning, yelling obscenities as blood dripped from his mouth. As the towel fell to his feet, Ronan stepped and slipped backward, shouting her name. With a thud, the back of his head collided with the sink before he landed on the tile.

Ronan stilled.

She waited and watched.

His chest rose and fell.

The belt unwound from her fist.

“You clean it up,” Isla gritted.

ISLA CRIED OUT as she jerked awake. Her shoulder pinched and throbbed. Isla blinked—slow—her focus on the fan as it whirled above her. She counted each rotation until the aching subsided, and she could shift her attention elsewhere.

Her throat was dry, and her lungs tight. Isla coughed. Her hand trailed up her stomach to her rib cage checking her injuries, which were tender. She concentrated on moving her legs.

Soft fabric brushed across her skin as she turned. The mattress sunk beneath her making it difficult to push up. She ignored the discomfort and worked her body higher against the pillows. Her fingers gripped the sides of the headboard.

The feelings she experienced reminded her of the day-after-aches from Ronan’s lashings; her body hung over from pangs of disgust.

Where was she? She remembered Kata, gunshots, sounds . . . Memories rushed around her mind but she wasn’t able to latch onto them.

Her eyes darted from the furthest corner of the khaki green wall to the fireplace to the snowy sheers. Crisp linens covered her. Isla pushed them down with her feet—her bare feet. Her shoes were gone, as were her jeans and shirt. Isla pulled at the rose frock around her. Her sense of urgency dawdled. To process her surroundings paralyzed Isla.

The doorknob clicked and spun, and a petite woman in dark scrubs pushed the door open. Lines bracketed her smile. She closed the door behind her.

“You’re finally awake. How do you feel?”

“Who are you? Where am I?”

“My name is Rosa, and you are at your father-in-law Ellis’ home.” She replied with a distinct Scandinavian dialect.

Isla jerked her head, which was not smart. “How long have I been here?”

“Reed brought you here two days ago. I clean you. Bandage your wound.”

“Is Reed still here?”

“Yes.”

Rosa walked through a doorway next to the fireplace and returned with a long black dress. She laid the garment across the bed.

“You will wear for dinner. Shower first.”

“Dinner?”

“Yes.”

Still dazed, Isla didn’t argue but walked into the marble shower. Various soaps were lined up. Stripping from her clothes, she was able to balance against the wall, but Rosa still insisted on helping.

When the hot water washed over her shoulder the pain was almost pleasurable. She must have injured it while dodging the bullets and flying shards of glass. Or perhaps she sliced it under one of the vehicles she crawled under. The water cascaded down her body.

Isla washed. Scrubbed. Washed. Rinsed.

She shut the water off. No matter how she bent or stretched, her muscles ached. Her mind was catching up to the present, like a shot of epinephrine had been inserted into her brain.

Jules.

With towel in hand, Rosa extended her arm. “Come, I help you dress.”

Isla was in an alternate universe or a different cosmic plane—while naked—but she accepted Rosa’s gesture anyway. She steadied herself. The pads of her feet anchored to the floor. Once Rosa saw her capability to stand without assistance, she stretched over to the counter. Isla concealed what she could with her hands. With a gentle smile Rosa handed her a lace bra and panties. Covered and fastened, Isla threaded her hands through the straps of the dress. Rosa gave a generous yank over Isla’s ample chest. The silk spilled down to her toes. The high leg split caused her to pull the fabric closed. Rosa swatted at her hands.

“Freyja.”

Isla opened her mouth to correct the woman but the bedroom door swept open.

“Isla?” Reed called out.

She turned to face him and in a breath she was raw, exposed of all safeguards. Rosa slid behind him and out the bedroom door closing it behind her. He walked toward her. Shades of purple and blue colored the skin beneath his stubble-covered chin.

When was it enough? When would she own up to her feelings? Did she want to break him because she was broken? It wasn’t right. He saved Isla after she punched him. What had she done? Acidity heated her gut. She was disgusted by her actions. Why did he love her?

Why?

His rich, cognac eyes gleamed against his all black suit ensemble. Reed’s dark textured spikes were styled in a conservative manner but with a rebel businessman edge. A twinge drifted across her hips. Looking at Reed made her feel loved. He protected and adored her, even with their distance. No matter how hard she shoved Reed away, he shoved right back with compassion.

Reed cupped her face. “You’ll be the death of me.”

“The feeling’s mutual.”

He pulled her closer. Warm lips pressed against Isla’s. She didn’t resist. His delicious mouth and tongue welcomed. Isla breathed him in and tasted Reed. She grabbed the front of his jacket, pulling him closer to deepen their kiss. Damn the consequences. Damn Ronan. She couldn’t turn back on what she felt for Reed. Her heart beat not just for her and Jules, but also for him—for all of them. Though foreign to Isla, her love was real. Real as the pain that clinched her chest at the thought of anything happening to him.

He pulled back slightly. “I never meant for you to get hurt.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Kata, the assassins, everything.”

“What is going on?” Isla tugged from his arms and moved her arm too fast. She cried out and reached over her shoulder. “Was I shot? Did you have me shot?”

With a puckered face Reed guided her to the bedroom’s sitting area. They sat down on the loveseat. She yanked on the dress holding the slit together. His lack of an answer cemented Isla’s accusation.

“You were never in any real danger.”