Two Cuts Darker Page 13

  “Whatever you think’s best.”

  Keeping her gaze steady on his, she probed the cut a bit harder, watching the way his eyes dilated. “You have a ton of scars. Maybe you should give up getting into so many fights if you lose so much.”

  “Who says I lose? I like the scars.”

  She pushed harder against the wound, pinching his skin and tugging on the tender area slightly. Just enough to make his lips part on a soft whisper of breath. “You like the pain.”

  “Yes.”

  She squeezed him harder, cracking the scab open. “The blood.”

  He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. She’d opened the wound again. The scent of his blood always stirred his baser instincts. “Absolutely. But be careful.”

  “Why?” She leaned close enough that her breath brushed over his shoulder. A caress, even if she hadn’t intended it to be. As starved for physical contact as he was, even a whisper of air could be a turn-on.

  “I get nasty when I bleed.”

  She laughed again and he shuddered. “I’m counting on it.”

  A deep voice in the hallway warned of her boss’s return. She leaned back and turned to put the first-aid kit away.

  “Yeah,” Lyons said into the phone as he opened the door. “We’re on it.”

  The way he looked at Vincent told him that Vlasenko wasn’t the only one getting watched now. There were eyes on him too. Who else would care that a long-lost CIA agent had suddenly reported in after three years? He bent down to untie the ropes, grimacing at how raw his skin felt. Just because she’d played a little with an insignificant wound. How the fuck were they going to pull off a pretend slave scenario that would convince Vlasenko they weren’t out to bring his whole operation to a screaming halt? Nobody expected him to lose his shit over a woman like this. Least of all him. So how to show just enough obsession and desire to make it believable...without eating every man’s face off for looking at her sideways?

  Lyons plopped a paper bag on the table. “Burgers from down the road. Pretty good. We stashed more bottles of water inside the ice machine to keep them cold.” He tossed an old-fashioned room key—that was actually a key—on the table too. “You’re in room 212 but we’ve got the whole place to ourselves. You got a phone on you?”

  Vincent pulled out his spare burner phone and entered in the number the man recited to him.

  “That’s my cell. Silva’s going to report back here in six hours. Mads, you’re off. Go to bed, and that’s an order. If you’re even thinking about pulling this off, you need to rest while you have the chance.”

  She nodded and stood, carefully avoiding Vincent. “Understood, boss.”

  He tore into the burger. Thankfully the man had brought back four. “These all for me?”

  “Yep. Figured you’d need the protein.” Lyons frowned at him. “Mads, did you change the bandage on his thigh?”

  “Yes, and I checked to make sure it wasn’t infected. So far, so good.”

  Vincent nodded, not bothering to stop eating. It was actually pretty good. Couldn’t beat a thick greasy burger when you were starving.

  “His side’s bleeding. Why didn’t you bandage it?”

  She paused at the door and glanced back at him over her shoulder. Her eyes gleamed, her lips curving into a smug smile. “Because he likes it that way.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Vincent

  Vincent stepped out of the tiny but clean bathroom and jerked to a halt. “What are you doing here?”

  Mads grinned at him from where she was seated on the bed. “Waiting for you to finish primping.”

  Thank God he’d bothered to wrap a towel around his waist. He crossed his arms and leaned a hip against the door frame. “Can I help you with something?”

  “We’re getting ready to go undercover together in a potentially dangerous and sexually charged atmosphere.”

  He lifted his eyebrows as if to say, “So? What’s your point?”

  “I figured a little practice would serve us well.”

  Surely she didn’t expect him to just drop his towel and hop into bed with her. “That depends on what you mean by practice.”

  She laughed softly and leaned back, bracing her palms on the mattress. “I’m just wondering what you had in mind for this reluctant slave girl gig. What’s going to convince Vlasenko that I’m not a threat?”

  “Oh, don’t get me wrong. You’re definitely a threat, and we want him to know it. But you need to be a threat to me, not to him.”

  “Sure, that makes sense. If we’re focused on each other, trying to kill each other, he won’t suspect that we’re working together.”

  Vincent sat down in the tacky hotel chair, careful to keep the towel closed. “If he starts to wonder why I brought you back, or who you might be, we’re done. We’ll both be dead.”

  “So we make a really good show.”

  He toyed with the hem, not meeting her gaze. “He has very specific rules. The quality women aren’t to be touched by the men. Just a few months ago, one of the guards got rowdy with a woman who kept trying to escape.”

  “What happened to him?”

  Vincent looked up at her a moment, letting her see the darkness in his eyes.

  “Ah,” she said, shaking her head. “Good. I hope you made him squeal like a pig before you killed him. What happened to the woman?”

  “Vlasenko had to keep her an extra few weeks to allow the bruises to heal. Then she was sold as usual.” He glanced up again and noted the tightness of her lips. She’d curled her fingers into fists. “I don’t know who bought her or where she is.”

  “I don’t care how important your mission is. I don’t see how anyone could sit by and allow women to be sold like that.”

  “You would rather shoot Vlasenko on sight.”

  “Hell yeah.”

  Her eyes were bright with her thirst for justice. He could use that to complete his own mission, but she’d be hard to rein in. She wanted to raise her sword high overhead and charge full steam ahead. Bringing Vlasenko down would make her happy—but that wasn’t why he was here. He needed more than a single bratva boss. He needed the silent partner with the real power. “How would that help anything?”

  She surged to her feet and paced the confines of the small room. “One less trafficker would be a win.”

  She prowled around the room like a pissed-off lioness, all lithe muscle and fearless strength. He tried not to think about those fine, powerful thighs wrapped around him, but had to clear his throat. “Not when his entire operation just passes to his second-in-command and they continue, business as usual.”

  “Who’s his second?”

  “His younger brother, Feliks. Or his son, Marko, as long as he isn’t the traitor. Even if they both fell, the bratva would continue. They might leave the Bahamas and even join a new organization, but killing a few leaders like Vlasenko isn’t going to stop the trade. They have too many powerful backers in the Russian government. Men with the power and money to provide them with arms, equipment and men anytime they need refueling.”

  “I hear what you’re saying. I do.” Pausing, she faced him. Her hands were relaxed now, but her eyes were still bright with intent. “But if I can save even one woman, then I count that as a victory.”

  In a way, he admired her conviction. However, he’d seen too many innocents crushed beneath the boots of men to cry for one he could have saved. Not when he hunted the man who commanded such atrocities in the first place at a much broader scale. “You have your mission. I have mine.”

  “So you won’t work with me?”

  “I never said that.”

  She walked closer and he couldn’t read the expression on her face. Her bright thirst for justice had darkened to something else that made her brown eyes gleam like warm
pools of chocolate. She laid her fingers on his left shoulder, playfully tracing the tats that curled down his arm. “You’ll use me to get what you want, as long as I don’t impede your mission.”

  “As you’ll use me to get you back in and buy you time to learn more about the buyers.”

  So strange, her fingers on his skin. Even stranger—he didn’t have a single weapon on him or even within reach. A critical error on his part. Not that he needed a weapon to kill. A gun or a knife would have made him feel less exposed.

  “We’ll have to perform for Vlasenko.” Her mouth twisted on his name, but her eyes remained locked on Vincent’s face. Searching, but for what? “I don’t have a problem fighting back. Do you have a problem forcing me?”

  His skin felt as if it’d dried and shriveled up, a size too small for his body. A smile would tear his face apart. “Yeah, I do.”

  “How far will we have to go?”

  He shook his head, unable to even envision the farce they’d have to pull off in order to avoid suspicion. Bad enough he’d have to pretend to force her, but in front of an audience too? How many of Vlasenko’s men would be there? Touching each other, intimately, with people watching and judging every tiny gesture and word...

  “Try it,” she whispered. “Touch me.”

  He took a deep breath and settled his hand on her waist, earning a derisive snort from her.

  “Really, Ghost?” she drawled mockingly. “That’s the best you can do?”

  He squeezed his fingers hard enough a small sound escaped her throat, but he didn’t move his hand. “Better?”

  She laughed and took a step closer, pressing against his thigh. It was all he could do not to shudder with the explosion of sensation rolling through his senses. Her scent, her laughter, the challenge burning in her dark eyes, her shining hair, the heat of her hand still roaming up and down his arm, the abrasion of denim on his thigh. “This really isn’t easy for you, is it?”

  “I haven’t touched anyone in years unless I’m killing them.”

  Her palm pressed more fully against him, sliding across his pecs to weigh heavily on his heart. “When were you with a woman last?”

  “I don’t remember.” He caught the flicker of doubt in her eyes. “I’m not exactly sexual, at least not in the way you’d expect. It’s been at least five years and most of my life before the prison camps is a foggy blur of gray that I don’t care to look at too deeply.”

  She straddled his thigh, making his eyes flare with alarm. Shaking her head, she laughed again. “It’s a good thing we have a little time to work out the details, because right now you wouldn’t be able to fool anyone.”

  He couldn’t worry about fooling anyone while struggling to get the crazed tiger back in its cage before someone died. “I told you this was a stupid idea.”

  “Why don’t you imagine killing me?”

  He involuntarily shoved her away from him, but she dropped an arm around his neck and refused to be budged.

  “You don’t have any weapons on you and I’m a trained law enforcement officer. I assure you that I’m pretty damned good at protecting myself. Let me see what you’ve got.”

  “Do you honestly think I’d need a weapon to kill you?”

  “No,” she whispered, pressing closer. “Show me.”

  He closed his eyes, fighting to keep his body under perfect control. Her breasts pressed against his chest. Even separated by her clothing, he could feel her body heat. She smelled so good. So clean and warm and tempting. Soft, luscious woman in his arms, but so incredibly strong too. He could almost convince himself that he wouldn’t break her if he dared touch her.

  A low growl trickled from his lips. It should have scared her. He wanted to scare her. Before it was too late. “This isn’t a good idea. I almost killed a woman last night. I’m still...raw.”

  “Tell me about it.” She didn’t pull away and her voice didn’t rise with alarm or disgust. Her hair brushed his neck, making him suck in a deep breath. “What happened?”

  “Vlasenko sent me in to clean a drug house invading his territory. It should have been a quick in-and-out. It was, until one of them managed to get a lucky shot on me.” He inhaled and let out the breath slowly, trying to center himself. “I lost control. One of the men was fucking a girl. I killed him, and then almost killed her too. A helpless girl, barely sixteen if she was lucky. I’m too dangerous. That’s why I haven’t even thought about a woman in years.”

  “I’m not a helpless sixteen-year-old, G.”

  His nickname sounded wrong on her lips. He met her gaze, surprised at the sultry gleam in her eyes. This wasn’t just a game for her. Or maybe it was, and that’s exactly the way she preferred it. “My real name is Vincent.”

  She lifted her fingers to his face, brushing her thumb over his lips. “Vincent. I like that. They call me Mads because I’m a little crazy once I get focused on something, but my real name is Madison. Have you not come in five years?”

  “I never said that.”

  “But you haven’t come with a woman.”

  He shook his head, watching her face.

  Leaning in, she dipped her head to his ear. Her breath flirted across his skin in a soft sigh. Then she bit his earlobe hard enough he sucked in a deep breath and locked his hands around her waist. “This is going to be a hell of a lot of fun.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Vincent

  “You are crazy,” Vincent said gruffly, trying to keep his emotions under wraps. Here he sat, naked except for a towel, with a beautiful woman in his lap. A laughing, teasing, brash woman who didn’t run for the door when he admitted the secret that twisted in his gut like a knife.

  “Absolutely.” Mads moved her mouth lower and nipped his throat hard enough to leave the indention of her teeth. “I like my men big, bad and dangerous. The more dangerous the better. Try to scare me, Vincent. Try to hurt me. I’ll show you what I’m capable of.”

  He wasn’t bleeding, so he couldn’t blame the quickening thud of his heart on anything but her. She was like a double drip of adrenaline. “You’ve got backup close by, right?”

  “We’re the only ones on this floor. Lyons is in a better suite of rooms on the first level, and Silva’s watching the cameras to make sure no one shows up invited again. It’s just you and me, babe.” She let out a husky laugh that felt like she’d run her nails down his spine. “You can be as loud as you want.”

  Not good. So not good. He closed his eyes and counted four in, four out, trying to regulate his breathing. He still had a vicious grip on her waist with his right hand. His left, his dominant hand, his killing hand...

  She rolled her shoulders, encouraging the tentative touch of his fingers on her nape. “We have to put on a good show. Our lives depend on it. I think the best way to do that is for you to pretend you’re trying to kill me rather than fuck me. You’ve got a woman in your lap flirting with you, Vincent. But you’re going to kill her. How do you restrain her? Show me.”

  Her last words vibrated her chest against his. A challenge, yet still a rumbling, sultry purr that sent his heartbeat up another notch. He thrust his fingers into her hair and jerked her head back, baring her throat in a hard arc.

  “Yeah, that’s good.” Her voice sounded strained beneath his grip, but she didn’t fight him. Yet. “Vlasenko expects me to be your slave. He’ll expect you to force me into pleasuring you.” She slid off his thigh, pushing his legs farther apart to make room for herself on her knees in front of him. “But I’ll tell you a little secret, Vincent. I’d love for you to force me to suck your cock.”

  His pulse throbbed like a jackhammer in his skull. “Not if Vlasenko’s watching.”

  Her fingers tugged on the towel and he twisted his fingers deeper in her hair, warning her to stop. Of course she didn’t. The towel fell down around his hips
.

  “Even if he’s watching. I don’t care. I’m going to be too busy tormenting you to worry about anyone else.”

  “It won’t work,” he replied hoarsely. Sweat burned his eyes, blurring her shining hair into a golden halo about her face. “Normal sex doesn’t arouse me.”

  “No?” She wrapped her fingers around his dick and he was suddenly aware of the heavy ache in his groin. “You feel pretty aroused to me. In fact, I think you’re going to come as soon as I wrap my lips around you.”

  “Maybe,” he admitted, gritting his teeth when her hair tickled his thighs. “But only because it’s been so long. Generally—”

  “Don’t tell me,” she broke in. “Show me.” When he hesitated, she growled. “You’re not going to scare me, Vincent.”

  Her words made him want to do exactly that—scare her. Scare her so bad that she’d abandon this crazy idea of sneaking back into Vlasenko’s bratva.

  Jerking her head up so she could see his face, he blanked his mind and focused completely on her. Just as he’d do if he was tracking his next mark. He leaned down, giving his hand a vicious twist in her hair to hold her steady, then gripped her chin with his other hand, straining her neck to the side. “No weapons. No hands. I think I’ll just use my teeth.”

  When his teeth closed on the side of her throat, he expected her to flinch, or maybe jab a finger into his eye. He had no doubt she would have struck—and viciously—if she’d been accosted by a stranger. Instead she tightened her grip on his dick, squeezing him hard enough that his breath rushed out against her skin. He felt her pulse with his tongue, a steady, rapid thump to match the frantic beat of her heart. Scraping his teeth back and forth across that throbbing pulse, he whispered, “Carotid. It wouldn’t take much effort for me to tear through your throat. So much blood.”

  He shuddered, his breath catching in his throat. He couldn’t breathe, as if she’d wrapped her fingers around his windpipe instead of his cock.

  “You like blood.” She purred without any condemnation or accusation. “That would definitely make this a good show.”