Versions (The Blacklist Series Book 1) (6 page)

R
in zipped through a shower
, spending most of her time scrubbing the soles of her feet. She dressed in shorts and a billowy top before drying her hair, which never happened. But she’d rather join the guy in the morgue than have Nate even try to put his hands on her. It hadn’t been him in that horrifying place. Yet, he’d started this whole train rolling down a track she didn’t favor one little bit.

She slapped on make-up for something to do while she waited. Was this all worth it to get her mother back or was she stupid for even entertaining the idea that the woman still existed beyond some cooked-up bones? Rin tossed the hair dryer under the cabinet and smiled at the crash it made.

The thought of food bubbled her stomach. So, she stomped to the living room, flopped onto the sofa, and grabbed the Vogue from the coffee table. After twenty minutes of staring at the cover, a key sounded in the lock.

“Hey, babe.” Nate dragged his wide-load frame through the door as though he’d spent the day coaching an NFL training camp. The white salt of long-dried sweat rings stained his high school logo emblazoned T-shirt. His gym bag, which held who knew what, slumped his shoulders to one side.

Rin unfurled her legs from beneath her, sat straight, and gathered her courage. “Nope. Don’t babe me. Not ever again.”

Nate drew to an easy halt inside the door. He let the bag slide to the floor and tilted his head toward her with a palliative hand drawn, palm up. “What’d I do this time or forget to do? It’s not our anniversary, unless you do that half-anniversary bullshit. Then I missed it by a little. Babe.” He bit his cheek. “I’m sorry I forgot.”

“This isn’t about an anniversary, Nate.”

“Then wanna tell me what it
is
about?” He stretched his arms wide. “I’m at a loss.”

Rin stood more confidently than she had in a while. “Oh, you know what I’m talking about. You just didn’t know that I knew. But I’m not stupid. Not near as fucking senseless as you are.” She slammed the piece of paper she’d hidden in the magazine down on the wooden coffee table between them, and then she folded her arms.

He closed and locked the door. His deliberate movements zinged a chill up her spine. She shook it off. Almost there. Almost home free.

“What is it?” Nate asked before turning. He maintained a neutral mask, but the edges cracked in the bulging vein in his neck and the grinding of his jaw.

“Why don’t you ask your girlfriend?” Rin spat.

“I did.”

“Nope. Me,” she said, pointing at her chest, “not your girlfriend.” She made a deliberate show of peering at the paper. “Jen, on the other hand, has—skillfully from the sound of things—mastered that art.”

“Where’d you get that?” he barked.

“Wrong question,” she breathed through her teeth. “You need to ask, ‘How long do I have to get my shit out of your house before you give it to the homeless, Rin?’”

“I’m not cheating on you.” He spread his feet and hands in an I-have-nothing-to-hide gesture.

“Said every cheater in the history of cheaters.”

“Someone’s fucking with us. Trying to break us up.”

“Oh, Jen is fucking with you all right, shoving that note under the door, but she’s not screwing me and neither are you. Ever again. I’ll pack your stuff and leave it in the hallway tomorrow.” She stormed through the apartment, held her breath, and prayed he didn’t follow.

When she crossed the threshold of her bedroom she slammed the door and depressed the measly lock. Fists, high in the air, pumped as though she’d just performed on Broadway and killed it. Because Jen and all her slutty ways had bloomed in Rin’s mind in a moment of desperation. She needed Nate out of her life without him suspecting any ill-gained knowledge on her part.

She’d scribbled the note in bubbly girl-script she hadn’t employed since elementary school and hopped in the shower, hoping she got out before he arrived, but setting the stage for any eventuality.

The chorus of George Michael’s
Freedom
played in her head, which surprised her. She didn’t know her soul’s musical database stored anything like that.

Sleep seemed like the next step in her scheme. Despite the sun shining its orangey-red rays in the sky outside her window, the day’s events had drained her for anything else. Since the body incident, eating hit last on her list of things to do.

Nate’s concussive beating on the door jarred that thought right out of her head.
“Open the door, Rin. We need to talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. Please leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he growled.

“Tell that to the cops, dip-shit.”

Boom
! The wood frame splintered. Layers of paint gave way, becoming projectiles in the room. The door swung open, hit the wall, and bounded back again.

Rin sprinted for the closet, but a biting hand gnashed at her hip. She teetered off balance and careened into the bathroom countertop. A sharp pain seized her side. She gripped the faucet to stay upright, so differently than she had just yesterday.

Her heart beat in her throat, restricting her panted breaths. She grabbed the glass jar candle and heaved it with everything she had. Too damn bad she didn’t aim worth a damn. The thing sailed past Nate and thudded onto the floor three feet to his left without bothering to shatter.

“Damn you, Rin.” His face reddened like a bull as he stalked her way. “If I have to, I’ll beat you into submission.”

“You’ll have to kill me,” she choked.

“I can do that too.” The cold glint in his eyes made so much sense in that moment. “You’ll be mine or you’ll be dead.”

She could take a beating, but she’d never received one from someone as big as Nate. One punch in the right place would end her. If she didn’t fight at least enough to get away, she’d die today.

His hand wound into her hair and he positioned her to face the mirror. “I want you to watch closely as I make this pretty face an ugly mess no man in his right mind would want.”

His other hand wound up for a punch. Rin readied her leg for a heel to the groin. He released, but impact never collided with her cheek. She heard it though, a resounding
whack
. But she didn't feel it. Instead her scalp seared as her head was yanked nearly off her shoulders. She stumbled back, but clung to the countertop.

Nate sailed back and slammed into the wall between the shower and closet. He snarled at something across the room, released what was left of her hair, and hopped up. “I knew you were behind it. I saw you for what you were yesterday. The only thing that saved your life was the crowd.”

Rin gripped her skull and cut her gaze toward the person he talked to. Luck stood, fists clenched, but otherwise completely cool-as-an-ice-cube, his gaze zeroed on Nate. It had been him at the morgue. The waiter’s get-up was gone, but the striking blue eyes, thick lips, and commendable physique remained.

“Actually, Rin’s much more cunning than you give her credit for. And I’ll die one day, but not by your hand.” Luck smiled, a cold, sinister mockery of the gesture’s natural intent.

Nate grabbed her shoulder. She tried to pry his hand off, but his grip only tightened. Rin rammed her knee into his rib and followed it with an upper-cut that jolted every bone in the extremity. He hardly grunted. His fat hand wrapped around her throat and he lifted.

“Just like you to take advantage of those unable to defend themselves,” Luck taunted. “When you get done screwing around, I’ll be happy to end you with my bare hands, Harlow.”

“Get in the shower and don’t come out until I’m done.” Nate shoved her toward the toilet without a glance in her direction.

Rin’s hand squeaked across the closed lid. She stumbled forward, catching herself before she flew headfirst into the shower stall. Behind her, the
thwack
of flesh meeting flesh clenched her stomach. Her head snapped around to see what the hell the two beasts were doing to each other. The room spun farther than she turned. She grabbed either side of the doorframe for several seconds before things came into grizzly focus.

Nate’s fists whaled Luck’s ribs with one deft blow after another. Only the top of the man’s floppy blond hair showed from his elbows-down, chin-low hunch. How much more could he take? Nate outweighed him by twenty or more pounds of bulky muscle. Talk about a non-rescue.

She ran to the closet, using the wall for balance, since Nate had knocked—or yanked—hers for a loop. On the bastard’s side of the closet she pulled his toolbox from a low shelf and flipped it open.

Her hand wrapped around the silicone end of a heavy hammer. The last time she used a common household item to pummel someone she’d almost traded her freedom for bars and an orange jumpsuit. She grabbed her revolting belly and stood with the heavy weight of the tool and broken promises. But she couldn’t let Nate, or Nathan, or whoever, kill the guy who’d saved her from a sure beating.

Luck’s head still hung low, but now he rocked almost imperceptibly from side to side. Deciding to aim for a less vital organ than the head, Rin stayed back and probed for the best plan of attack.

Like in the morgue when Luck had flipped the switch from light to dark, he did it again. He exploded from his crouch, hooked Nate’s forearm with his own, and yanked sky-high. His other hand landed a blow that snapped Nate’s neck back like a head-on collision. Luck disengaged, loosening his shoulders as he waited for the other man to recover.

Nate scrubbed his face and hopped back and forth on the balls of his feet. He took gentle forays into the strike zone, flinging a jab haphazardly. Rin covered her mouth with her hand. She had no love for Nate, not even when they dated, but pussy-footing about like that was going to cost him dearly. And as much as she’d like to see the fall-out, she’d hate it almost as much. What Luck lacked in bulk he more than made up for in cool calculation and precision enforcement. And the big guy—

A cluster of punches in and around the gut, best she could tell, shoved Nate out of the fight. Once. Twice. The third time he roared so loudly she jumped. Then he charged, shoulders forward, head down, for Luck’s torso. The lean stranger jumped. He cocked his elbow and then fired the point of his bone down straight onto the crown of Nate’s head.

Nate’s hefty frame hit the ground in an unconscious heap.

The whole tangle took less than a minute, but Rin would have sworn she’d watched it for an hour. Every strike and blow sealed in her brain on ultra slow motion.

Luck stepped over Nate and held out his hand.

“
C
an’t follow simple instructions
, can you?”

Rin Lee’s skinny arms hoisted into the air. Her pretty mouth was screwed into a grimace. The small-but-impressive muscles in her arms flexed and she tossed the hammer like a lumberjack did a hatchet. It arched high and wide, missing him by several feet. It bounced before somersaulting on the cushy bedding.

“Damn good thing you can’t aim either,” he goaded.

Her deep blue eyes lasered as if she’d like nothing more than to obliterate him with the glare.

“We need to go.” He offered his hand again, but the stubborn woman didn’t budge. “They gave him the kill order. When he doesn’t check in they’ll send backup.”

“You killed him?” The furrow in her brow appeared more surprised than forlorn.

“No, but he’ll be out for a while.”

He flicked his wrist to hurry her along. Desired effect unattained.

She cocked a hip and planted her hands on each lopsided one. “Who are you?”

“Luck.” He smiled.

“Seriously.” Her voice layered with a rumble.

“Doesn’t get more serious than that. Now, I’m going. You can come or stay. The choice is yours. If you stay though, you might want to get straight with the Lord.”

“How do I know you’re the good guy?” she huffed.

“Oh, I’m definitely not the good guy, but I won’t kill you or let anyone else off you either.”

“Where are we going? What’s going on? Why does the CI—”

Movement in the apartment above set him off. He lunged forward, grabbed her wrist, and towed her toward the bedroom door.

“I thought it was my choice.”

“Who the hell would choose to die? You don’t have some debilitating disease you’re keeping secret, do you?”

Her wrist twisted in his grip. “I need my shoes.”

“Women,” he breathed and released her.

She hustled to the closet. Three seconds later she exited with sandals, which were hardly shoes in his book, and a small duffle overflowing with clothes. In her golden-lace shorty-shorts, flowing white top, and sandals, she looked more Barbie than juvenile delinquent. And damn him to the underworld, his body reacted to her in both looks.

“We’re walking out of here casually. Two crazy kids on a first date. Not a hurry in the world. If I run though, you’d better keep up.”

“Ooh, I can’t wait until the second date. What are we going to do, mug a nun?”

“Come on.” He interlaced their fingers and headed for the front of the condo. “Your hands are freezing.” He chaffed them with his other hand.

“I’m sorry. Someone scared the life out of me in a fucking morgue.” As their shoes hit the sidewalk she whispered the last two words.

“Shhh.” He slowed and turned toward her. Wisps of her long white-blonde hair caught in the breeze. He stroked his fingers over her sharp jaw and glided them gently to her scalp. Her breath hitched on her parted lips, so thin he’d have to take extra care not to bruise them, if he ever kissed her—which he wouldn’t. “There’s a white truck half a block up. If they pursue, you better hold on tight.”

Success. He’d stunned her into silence and gotten a good look at the truck. The exterior gleamed with a squeaky clean shine. They should have flashed a neon, ‘Sup, we’re here’ sign above it.

When Nate had his fat hand around Rin’s throat Luck's heart had almost clamored out of his chest. The sight of the truck hardly ranked a quarter-beat increase. Two more steps brought them to the edge of the sidewalk and his bike. He pulled the extra helmet from the mesh netting at the back. “Trade you.”

“It was you at the nursing home.” She shoved the bag at his middle with extra force. “You almost ran me over.”

“Your definition of almost needs some work.” He secured the bag under the netting, climbed on, and started the engine. “Phone.” He patted his palm.

Rin, helmet already obscuring her face, kicked a leg over, and then smacked a case-less white iPhone onto his hand.

The bike could carry two, but it didn’t leave much room for modesty, which wasn’t an issue for him…but. Her inner thighs cupped his ass, scorching him through his jeans. Her small breasts plastered against his back. She wrapped both arms around his torso and clung with total abandon, not fear.

He tossed the phone into the road and took off like a shot in the opposite direction of the truck and the one-way traffic. The sleek device disintegrated under his wheels.

Rin poked him in the kidney, then her fingers tapped his abs. She held up one finger and then gestured it the other way. A smile tugged at his lips. He grabbed her hand, placed it on his chest, patted it, and then gunned the engine straight ahead.

He weaved and looped, backtracked, and did it again in a different pattern through DC, making certain no one followed him. Over the course of the ride Rin’s grip relaxed. She moved with him into the turns, their bodies in perfect sync and balance over the machine. By the time he turned onto the narrow alley on the north side of downtown DC and pressed the button for the single garage door, her fingers had mapped the entirety of his chest and abdomen. And he’d bet his bike she had no idea she’d been doing it. Otherwise, she’d have kept her hands still and not stoked desire that had no right to exist in the first place.

The garage door rumbled closed behind them. Luck crept past the inconspicuous sedan and parked next to the flashy ride in the skinny spot of the small garage reserved for the motorcycle. He shut off the engine, kicked the stand, and tugged off his helmet.

He bowed his head and stood, avoiding the architectural beam that jutted over the space. “Watch your head.”

“What?” Rin yanked off her helmet. With a sassy shake, her hair fanned in all directions before settling in neat lines about her shoulders…and breasts.

Damn it.

He coughed and pointed. “The concrete buttress. Watch your head.”

She chewed the inside of her cheek and gave a nod.

Luck retrieved her bag and started for the stairs. Her flat sandals scuttled across the floor and then thumped on the metal steps quick enough to keep pace. The opaque glass lining the staircase gave off the only light, which dwindled with the sun. At the top of the second flight he hooked a right through a large rusted cargo door.

“What are we doing in a haunted building?”

“Scaring everyone else away, I hope.” He stopped at the door and ushered her into the room with both hands.

“One freaky, pitch black room a day is my quota, thanks.” She stalled at the threshold.

“This is supposed to be a vacant building. Light kinda’ gives it away.”

“You may have bat-vision, but I don’t.”

He tugged her forward by the wrist and immediately regretting touching her again. His entire body roared with awareness. Two deep breaths stemmed the worst of it. But man. He placed her hand on his shoulder…as far away from his groin as he could get her touch. “Follow my steps and you won’t trip over any corpses.”

“Not funny.” Her hot breath tickled his ear.

He shoved at the heavy rolling door. The metal groaned and slowly gave under the force. The thing should have skied into place with the amount of times he’d opened and closed it over the last year. They walked along with the oversized sliding door that made him think of old world castles and city gates.

The narrower the gap the darker the room became. The darker the room, the closer Rin’s body came to his own. Her palm splayed over his lat and worked its way up his collar. When the metal latch
clanged
into place her grip tightened on his shirt, constricting the fabric around his neck. That he could live with. The feel of her cool fingers at his nape, he could not.

This animalistic attraction—his hard-on—were not in the job description.

Luck cleared the distance to the breaker in three quick strides, more than ready to be away from her. He flipped the lever and the lights flickered to a dull glow.

“Yeah, this isn’t creepy at all.”

“Give it a minute.”

“I’ve given you about all the minutes I can without answers,” she snapped. “Where are we?”

“DC.” The sodium bulbs’ brightness grew in slow degrees, alighting Rin’s eyes, high cheekbones, and petite nose. He pried her hand from his collar and stepped back.

“Is this where you live?”

“For now.”

Her hands tensed to blades. “Who are you?” A warning rasp layered her voice.

“I’ve told you. Luck.”

“Fuck Luck. I need a little more to go on than that.” She fisted a hank of hair and tugged at the roots. “Why do I even ask? It’s not like I’d know the truth if it slapped me in the face. I didn’t even know Nate was…anything more than…”

“My name is Damien Luck, not that it matters. I’m nobody to anybody. And anyone who ever knew me called me No Luck.”

Rin rubbed her lips together, tilted her head, and contemplated him. She swallowed and deliberated some more. “You’re apparently something to me.”

“Your watchdog.”

“Why’d people call you No Luck?”

The need to slink into the shadows niggled. Anger at the unwanted feelings helped shrug off the past. No more hiding. These days he faced his fears head on. “It’s a sob story neither of us have the time or inclination for.”

“Fine. Then tell me what the fuck is going on.”

“I have some questions for you. When I warned you not to ask questions, why couldn’t you listen? Why couldn’t you just let it ride for a few months?”

Rage narrow Rin’s eyes to black slits in the dim room. “A few months? Screw you. Why don’t you go fuck someone for a month who’s only there for reconnaissance?”

“I have.”

“Well, I like a good bang as much as the next person—”

“I’d say you like it more,” he spat, unable to stop himself.

Rin coiled on him like a viper. “I’m not a vindictive whore. And you’re right, you’re nothing to me.”

She ran like she’d run for her life before. Knees up and shoulders back, her arms swung in rapid pendulums. Rin rammed against the metal. The tinny repercussion made its round in the large room. Her slender hands encompassed the latch. A grunt sounded her efforts, while the veins in her arms swelled to the surface of her pale porcelain skin. She shoved in the opposite direction, but neither move freed the door.

Careful not to touch her, Luck bracketed her body with his hands. Her shoulders expanded on deep breaths. Her head bowed, resting against the corroded surface. For more than a minute she evened out her breathing in the half-huddled position.

He wasn’t dumb enough to think she was anywhere near done. He guessed she was trying to work an escape in her wily little mind. Only she’d figure out there was only one scenario in which she’d live to see the end.

“Son of a bitch.” She kicked the door and turned on him. “I hate you.”

“Good. There’s no room for love or even a good tumble in this cluster.”