Against all odds delta s.., p.1
Against All Odds (Delta Shield Security), page 1
Other Titles by Brittney Sahin
Stand-Alones
Until You Can’t
The Story of Us
Falcon Falls Security
The Hunted One
The Broken One
The Guarded One
The Taken One
The Lost Letters: A Novella
The Wanted One
The Fallen One
The Wrecked One
Dublin Nights Series
On the Edge
On the Line
The Real Deal
The Inside Man
The Final Hour
Becoming Us
Someone Like You
My Every Breath
Hidden Truths Series
The Safe Bet
Beyond the Chase
The Hard Truth
Surviving the Fall
The Final Goodbye
Stealth Ops Series
Finding His Mark
Finding Justice
Finding the Fight
Finding Her Chance
Finding the Way Back
Chasing the Knight
Chasing Daylight
Chasing Fortune
Chasing Shadows
Chasing the Storm
Costa Family
Let Me Love You
Not Mine to Keep
The Art of You
The Best of Us
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Otherwise, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2025 by Brittney Sahin
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Montlake, Seattle
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ISBN-13: 9781662526756 (paperback)
ISBN-13: 9781662526749 (digital)
Cover design by Caroline Teagle Johnson
Cover image: © Francesco Carta fotografo
Contents
Chapter One: Seraphina
Chapter Two: Ryder
Chapter Three: Ryder
Chapter Four: Seraphina
Chapter Five: Ryder
Chapter Six: Ryder
Chapter Seven: Ryder
Chapter Eight: Seraphina
Chapter Nine: Ryder
Chapter Ten: Seraphina
Chapter Eleven: Seraphina
Chapter Twelve: Seraphina
Chapter Thirteen: Ryder
Chapter Fourteen: Seraphina
Chapter Fifteen: Ryder
Chapter Sixteen: Seraphina
Chapter Seventeen: Ryder
Chapter Eighteen: Ryder
Chapter Nineteen: Ryder
Chapter Twenty: Seraphina
Chapter Twenty-One: Seraphina
Chapter Twenty-Two: Ryder
Chapter Twenty-Three: Ryder
Chapter Twenty-Four: Seraphina
Chapter Twenty-Five: Seraphina
Chapter Twenty-Six: Ryder
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Ryder
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Seraphina
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Ryder
Chapter Thirty: Seraphina
Chapter Thirty-One: Ryder
Chapter Thirty-Two: Seraphina
Chapter Thirty-Three: Seraphina
Chapter Thirty-Four: Seraphina
Chapter Thirty-Five: Ryder
Chapter Thirty-Six: Ryder
Chapter Thirty-Seven: Ryder
Chapter Thirty-Eight: Ryder
Chapter Thirty-Nine: Ryder
Chapter Forty: Seraphina
Chapter Forty-One: Ryder
Chapter Forty-Two: Ryder
Chapter Forty-Three: Ryder
Chapter Forty-Four: Seraphina
Chapter Forty-Five: Seraphina
Chapter Forty-Six: Seraphina
Chapter Forty-Seven: Ryder
Chapter Forty-Eight: Ryder
Chapter Forty-Nine: Ryder
Chapter Fifty: Seraphina
Chapter Fifty-One: Ryder
Epilogue: Seraphina
Author’s Note
About the Author
Chapter One
Seraphina
Miami, Florida
After nine and a half months, I should’ve been used to the horror show that was my life. And yet, each day proved to be another disturbing glimpse into how the other half lived. Evil. The yin to good’s yang.
My boss had his dinner knife against a man’s throat while his guests partied downstairs. This was sadly just another Saturday for me. That didn’t change the fact I had no desire to sit in Ezra’s office and watch someone get tortured, even if the man was a criminal.
I quietly sat on the couch, wrapping up the request from Ezra to run some numbers. Ankles crossed, MacBook on my lap, I looked up, catching Wade checking me out. He was one of Ezra’s most trusted bodyguards, and any minute, Wade would take over the interrogation so my boss wouldn’t get blood on his suit. He had guests to entertain, after all.
I considered trying to hide the view of my cleavage from Wade, but if Ezra caught him gawking, it’d be his neck, and I wouldn’t mind seeing Wade on the other side of a knife for once.
To say I was off-limits to everyone with a pulse in Miami was an understatement. And why had my boss deemed me as such? Easy. Ezra wanted me. Rather desperately, in fact. His wife was the only reason I was safe from him making a move, but it still made him crazy that he couldn’t have me, so he ensured no one else could. That worked in my favor since I sure as hell didn’t want any of his colleagues or clients to come near me.
I rolled my eyes at Wade, hoping he got the message, then focused on my screen, my report now complete.
“Sir?” I spoke up, dying on the inside a little each time I had to call him that.
Ezra moved his ice-blue eyes off his target and to me. The man was the forty-year-old poster boy for if two perfect high-cheekboned celebrities had a baby. “You have an answer for me?”
“I do, and the numbers don’t add up. I triple-checked them.” Bad news for the man on his knees with the knife to his throat. “I forwarded the report to you.” I closed the laptop and stood.
Wade took note of my legs, because he seemed to have a death wish tonight.
“Mind if I step out and get some air?” Before I stab you both in the eyes with my high heels?
Ezra lowered the knife. “Since when does a little blood bother you?”
“It doesn’t.” Not anymore. You’ve made me numb to it. How messed up was that?
Numbness meant you didn’t feel anything. Anger was how you dodged the pain when numbness failed to prevent you from feeling it. And detachment, well, that was a result of living your life bouncing around between the two.
“You plan on telling me why you need that air? Or will you just keep staring at me with your tits hanging out of that dress for Wade to see?” Ezra’s voice was rough, scraping over my skin, nearly prying goose bumps free.
Did I need to remind him he had his assistant buy the dress with the demand I wear it tonight? I opted to bite my tongue over that. I had a job to keep and a neck I rather liked attached to my head. “I’m not feeling well.”
A harrumph I had no idea how to read was all he gave me. Fantastic. Now I had three jobs: accountant, party host, and mind reader.
Ezra’s attention returned to his friend, whom I’d now marked for death by verifying that the numbers were wrong. Lev Markovich may have known Ezra most of his life, but that didn’t change the fact that Ezra would make an example of him. For the last two weeks, Lev had been skimming money, underreporting earnings, and pocketing it for a rainy day.
One thing would always hold true: Numbers never lie. Not unless they were manipulated, at least, and I had no choice but to be honest if I didn’t want to end up at the bottom of the Atlantic myself.
Did I want Lev to die, even if he was a shit human being? I mean, maybe. Not for this reason, though. There were plenty of others that I believed warranted his death.
Ezra removed the gray tape from his soon-to-be-dead friend’s mouth in one quick movement, and Lev immediately barked out, “She’s lying. Setting me up.” He then switched over to speaking Russian, and dammit, I needed to understand what he was saying, especially if he was going to try to throw me under the bus.
My boss—and I used that term loosely—was born in Kyrgyzstan, same as Lev, but they both moved to the States when they were younger. Aside from English and being fluent in his native languages, Russian and Kyrgyz, Ezra also spoke another three. He may have been an evil asshole, but he was a smart and linguistically gifted one.
“You can leave,” Ezra told me, which I assumed meant he wasn’t falling for Lev’s bullshit. “Send Vanessa up here in your place. I’ll need someone to clean up the mess after.”
“Yes, of course. Thank you, sir.” I quickly extracted myself from the room bef
I bent over the railing, my mind racing in a hundred directions, worried Lev would become a new problem for me.
When the fresh air failed to soothe my soul and fill my lungs with oxygen, I opted for plan B. The bodice of my strapless red dress packed both my breasts and my ability to breathe inside it. I unzipped it halfway down my back, feeling immediate relief.
At the throat-clear behind me, followed by the, “You okay, ma’am?” in a deep voice, I lowered my hands to my sides.
My first inclination would’ve been to switch over into defense mode, but since when did evil “ma’am” me? Not unless this was the devil’s new game of seduction? Rope the innocent into submission with a raspy voice. Am I even still good? Did I qualify after nine months in evil’s lair?
“Miss?” Another peculiar word to hear from someone at one of Ezra’s parties, since he didn’t exactly mingle with the best of people.
“I didn’t realize anyone was out here.” Not supposed to be. “Needed air.”
“Opposed to the air inside?” There was a hint of humor to his tone, but I also realized he sounded closer to me, which meant I needed to zip up and face him. It was never a good idea to keep your back to a man in this house—you were bound to get stabbed in it.
“Yeah, the narcissists inside were using it all up. None left.” I had no idea how the insult would land. The pendulum could swing either way.
He laughed. A deep, rich one that fell over my body in a shockingly erotic way. That was unexpected, and an oddly pleasant reaction I had to shake off.
“Anyway.” I remembered my zipper and went back to work trying to get it up. The odds of success weren’t in my favor, given I’d needed Vanessa’s help earlier.
“I’d offer an assist, but that’d probably be out of line for me to do.” Well, this guy’s batting average with winning me over kept going up and up.
Had he wandered into the wrong house and bypassed security? There were always eight guards rotating the perimeter every half hour and two parked out front like the men outside Buckingham Palace, minus the scarlet tunics. So it was doubtful this mystery man had slipped by anyone.
“I’ve gone to war with zippers before. I’m good. There are worse enemies to have.” I finally remembered to speak. Bravo.
I had a habit of having conversations with myself, often forgetting no one else was privy to them. That was what happened when you had to play pretend for as long as I had. You couldn’t voice your real thoughts, or you’d wind up on the other side of cutlery.
“Well, of course, unless you catch your fly on your . . . you know . . . That’d be a battle I wouldn’t want, if I were a guy,” I said when he remained so quiet I wondered if he’d abandoned me.
“Doesn’t sound pleasant, no.” The husky quality of his voice disturbed me because it was far too soothing. He was also distracting me from what had happened in Ezra’s office.
But also, since when did men at Ezra’s parties have sexy laughs or voices made of silk?
“So, I take it that means you’ve never been in that kind of battle.” Small talk truly was an art form, and I’d spent over nine months polishing up my skills. I’d never been the best at it before, but when you get thrown into the deep end of the pool, you learn to sink or swim.
“Not with a zipper, no.” He cleared his throat, and I read that as a polite request not to ask for a follow-up about what other battles he’d been in.
I let go of the zipper and clutched the front of my dress so it wouldn’t fall forward. “I’m going to have to ask you for help,” I relented.
“Wars are rarely fought alone.” The somberness in his tone caught me off guard, and I shuddered as he gently anchored one hand over my shoulder.
I closed my eyes, shocked to find myself enjoying his touch. Heat spread through my body, firing up my nerve endings, challenging the numbness I’d grown accustomed to.
“There. Victory,” he announced as I continued to try to wrap my head around the feeling of safety this faceless stranger provided.
“Something tells me the taste of victory is that much sweeter when it’s been a hard-fought battle,” I mused, letting go of my dress top. “If only zippers were our greatest problems, right?” There was a tug of pain in my chest at the truth I’d allowed to fall from my lips.
“I should let go of you now, I suppose.” Yet his hand remained on my skin like a brand that didn’t burn, and there I was, liking it.
Maybe I missed the touch of a man? Skin-to-skin contact with someone who didn’t make me cringe or cause my stomach to revolt. So I gave in, caving to the feelings, and whispered, “A few more seconds won’t hurt.” I kept my eyes closed, playing pretend for a bit longer as the pad of his thumb made small sweeping motions where he held me.
While numbers didn’t lie, neither did vibes. And even with my back to him, I could tell he had good ones. I’d sell myself on that idea, at least. Give myself one more minute.
When he finally let me go, I blinked back to reality, remembering an important detail that killed the moment I shouldn’t have been having in the first place. “No one is allowed on the third floor.”
“I apologize. I wasn’t aware.” His sexy, gravelly voice lured me into turning around.
When our eyes met, I realized the battle had only just begun. Forget the zipper. I was about to go to war with myself, unsure whether or not I should give in to the kind of temptation I thought I’d said goodbye to long ago, and for good reason.
My mystery man dragged his thumb along the underside of his chin while studying me with the same unmistakable desire he no doubt saw in my eyes. And not in the way Ezra and Wade looked at me. No, this was different. This was something more. It was as confusing as it was surreal.
He brought his knuckles over to his stubbled jawline next, swiping the back of his hand along his skin as if in a daze, further stoking the flames of this need taking hold of me.
This feeling, this . . . whatever it was happening to me, had me stepping closer when it should’ve sent me back.
Staring into his eyes made me realize I missed more than just the touch of a man. I missed my life B.E. Before Ezra.
My family.
My friends. (I only had two good ones, but that’d been enough for me.)
I missed laughing, too.
Hell, even crying during a movie.
“Who are you?” I needed a name. I needed to know who he was and how he was capable of cracking through my walls designed for self-preservation.
“Not sure how to answer that.” The small smile that settled on his lips felt genuine, but it was also powerful enough to continue doing what I’d thought was impossible: open up my heart.
These feelings were as dangerous as they were unexpected, and it took all my strength to try to redirect. To remind myself why I’d left my life behind. “Well, um, a friend or associate of Mr. Sokolov’s would know better than to come up to the third floor.”
“You’re right. I’m neither.” His honesty was the breath of fresh air I’d come outside for.
My bottom lip took asylum between my teeth as I waited for him to fill in the blanks I hadn’t asked for while I studied him. To investigate the way darkness didn’t blanket him like the other men I’d been around. Not that there was a halo above his head, either, but there sure as hell was something drawing me to him aside from his devastatingly good looks.
Based on the slight crinkles around his eyes and the few fine lines across his forehead, I’d guess he was in his mid- to late thirties. And speaking of those eyes . . .
They were the most beautiful shade of blue green I’d ever seen in person. They reminded me of the waters off the coast of Aruba.
His eyes also told a story of a man who really had seen his fair share of battles, and maybe that was why I felt connected to him. Maybe he had a tough past too, and so we could relate on some unspoken level.
He reached for my wrist, and a shaky exhalation escaped my lips at the feel of his hand on me. He held my arm between us and skimmed his finger along the phrase tattooed on the inside of my forearm.
