“I’m not fucking talking about cleaning staff or waitresses.” He knew exactly what I was asking.

  “Those are the only positions we employ women for,” Jacek argued.

  Jesus Christ. I threw a glance at Jagger, who was a notorious player. “You selling these girls?”

  Jagger smiled like I wasn’t about to pound his pretty-boy face in. “We’re not that kind of club. We don’t sell women. We don’t have to. They come to us. What they do at our club after they walk through the door is on them.”

  My jaw fucking grinding, my leg killing me, I stepped into Jagger’s personal space. “I’m going to ask you one more time. Which girls?”

  Missy stood and came to my left.

  Jarek flanked Jagger. “We don’t sell them. We’re not traffickers.”

  “Right.” Conlon smirked. “Not that I’m speaking from personal experience, but there’s plenty for sale at your club.”

  Jarek slid his empty stare toward Conlon. “You got something to say?”

  “I believe I just said it,” Conlon countered, stepping to my right.

  “Gentlemen,” Alpha interrupted. “We’re only looking for actionable intel. These women are suspected of having interaction with a person of interest, and all we what is information. If you recognize any of them, we’d like to speak to them.”

  Jagger snorted. “We’re not in the information business.”

  “We’re not involved,” Jacek stated definitively.

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” Echo muttered, stepping into the mix. “It’s fucking Kentworth we’re after. He took Romeo’s woman. You get any of these girls from Kentworth or not?”

  “Call me Romeo one more time,” I warned Echo. “See what happens.”

  The asshole spared me a glance. “As much as I want to bite on that or see the twin go head-to-head with triplets one, two and three, we all know we’re out of fucking time. I’m cutting to the chase.” He looked back at the Black brothers. “If any of you triple Js recognize these women as Kentworth specials, then speak the fuck up. Kentworth is in our sights, and he’s going down, one way or another. Personally, I hope my fist is involved. Either way, it’s happening. So if you’re in business with this piece of shit, or if you’ve got any of his girls, consider this your only warning.” Echo eyed each triplet. “Because I’m out of patience, and bad fucking shit goes down when that happens.”

  None of the triplets said a fucking word.

  “Right.” Conlon smirked. “Not involved.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “Well, that went swimmingly.” The fucker winked at me before affecting a serious expression. “Pun not intended, of course. I’m going to my office to make a few calls. I’ll let you know what I come up with.” He glanced at the triplets. “Blacks, always a pleasure.” Grabbing his laptop, Conlon walked out of the control room.

  Glaring at the brothers, Echo crossed his arms.

  November deleted the women’s faces from the screens and silently retreated to his setup in the corner.

  Trefor looked at Jacek and reiterated what Echo had said. “We’re going after Kentworth. Any intel your women have would be helpful. I’m asking on both a personal and professional level. AES isn’t the only agency after this operation. Once we move in, I can’t guarantee that your name will stay out of it.”

  Agency, operation, guarantee—I wanted to level every asshole in this room.

  “I appreciate the heads-up, but I can assure you none of the women in my purview have any intel on Kyle Kentworth,” Jacek replied.

  “Sure they fucking don’t,” Echo ground out.

  Jarek’s expressionless stare cut to Echo, but his jaw ticked.

  I aimed my next question at him. “What about Kentworth’s brother who ferries the women on his helo to Kentworth’s yacht? You going to deny they know anything about that too?”

  Jarek didn’t say shit.

  Jacek frowned. “We’re not involved with Kentworth, and I was unaware he had a brother.”

  Toeing the fucking line between Echo’s outright hostility and my own damn code of conduct, I glared at a man who sold sex for a living. “Everyone in this room knows exactly where your personal fortune comes from. Pretend all you want that you’re not involved, but know this. I’ve seen firsthand what Kentworth does to someone who crosses him. You better fucking pray you’re telling the truth.”

  “We’re leaving,” Jarek announced, turning toward the door.

  Jagger followed as Jacek glanced at Trefor. “If I knew anything, I’d tell you.”

  Alpha nodded. “Thanks for coming in.”

  Jacek glanced at me. “Good luck.”

  I didn’t say shit as he followed his brothers out of the command room.

  “Triplets,” Echo muttered.

  Conlon walked back into the command room with his laptop. “I think I’ve got something.” He typed. “November, I’m sending it to you. Pull up this satellite image.”

  “Copy.” November nodded at the largest screen in the room as it populated with an aerial shot of undeveloped acreage with a road leading in to three structures, one of them distinctive.

  Conlon pointed at the largest building in the image. “Private hangar on a property in Indiantown in Palm Beach County. It’s registered under an inactive land development corporation as a hunting retreat.” Conlon rattled off the name. “November, I hit a wall tracking anything on the corporation.”

  “On it.” Head down, November started typing.

  Conlon looked at me. “There’s an old permit that was pulled for a house and storage building but nothing else. That’s definitely a hangar, and it’s large enough to house a Sikorsky. The property’s remote. Eight hundred and ninety acres that back up to over eighty thousand acres of protected wildlife preserves. With that much land, a helo coming and going wouldn’t draw much attention, if any. If I was looking to hide a private, unregistered bird, this is where I’d do it.”

  November stopped typing and looked up at me. “Three years ago, the same corporation bought a Sikorsky S-76D.”

  “Address,” I demanded.

  November recited it.

  “Missy, come.” Already aiming for the door, I nodded at Conlon and glanced at Echo.

  “Right behind you, Romeo.” Echo grabbed his M4. “Let’s go get that motherfucker.”

  Sailor

  Just like another sunrise a lifetime ago, early rays peeked over the horizon, but this time, I wasn’t hiding in a sea grape hammock. I was in a descending helicopter that was angling a precise landing on a yacht’s helo pad.

  My head still swimming, my body still heavy, I was barely able to force my fingers closed over a set of keys that were my only proof that the last few days had even happened. That, and an Aircast on my left foot.

  The helicopter touched down, and Kenny barked orders at his guards. “Get that bitch off my chopper.”

  The door was pushed open, and temperate early morning sea air blew in, telling me we were somewhere tropical, even though I couldn’t see anything but miles of ocean in every direction.

  A lone figure stood in the shadow of the upper deck as two guards unbuckled me and unceremoniously dumped me on the yacht.

  My limbs still weak from whatever drug they’d shot into my neck, I fell to the landing pad in a crumpled heap.

  Kenny glared at the lone figure on deck, then his guard shut the door, and the helicopter lifted back into the air.

  Wind whipping around me, I kept my face down until the rotating thump of the blades was a distant sound swallowed by ocean swells.

  Then I turned my head.

  Slow, like the predator he was, hands in the pockets of his custom-tailored suit pants, Kyle Kentworth walked across the deck and circled my prone position.

  Stopping in front of me, he dragged his eyes up my entire length from my Aircast to my cut cheek. Then he held my gaze and made me want to crawl out of my skin as he stared intently. “You fucked him.”

  Fear spidered across my skin, chilling me to the bone, but I didn’t deny it. “What do you want?”

  “What do I want?” Removing one hand from his pocket, he rubbed two fingers and his thumb over his jaw in a slow, rough motion meant to intimidate. “My girlfriend jumps off my yacht, fucks another man, gets three of my guards killed, breaks her promise to me, and now she wonders what I want?”

  Every muscle in my weak body froze. “I’m not your girlfriend.”

  His eyes briefly narrowed before he masked the reaction. “So you’re not denying you fucked the Marine?”

  Everything I had ever thought Kyle Kentworth was capable of was a complete sham. I knew he was cruel. I knew he had no respect for anything other than himself. But I never knew just how insane he was until this very moment. “You said on that balcony in Manhattan that you didn’t believe in love.” I hadn’t either. Not then. Not the kind of love I had been talking about. “Men who don’t believe in love don’t have girlfriends.”

  His laugh was sickening. “You’re so fucking naïve. Did you think I paid your rent for a year in advance because you were simply a fuck toy?” He snorted. “I can have my way with a dozen different women every night for free, Eve.”

  Eve. My skin crawled even hearing him say it. “I didn’t break my promise to you.”

  “Has it been twelve months?” He slid his hand back into the pocket of his pants.

  Remembering some of the things he used to keep in those pockets, panic threaded my breath. “You didn’t say twelve months. You said come on your yacht with you for a few months. That’s when I said I couldn’t afford to do that, and you offered to pay my rent in advance. I never asked for a year.”

  His tone turned insolent like it did right before he got mean. “I want what I paid for.”

  Fear coated every inch of my nerves, but I wasn’t the same woman who’d walked on this boat nine months ago. “Let me go.”

  “Go where?” he mocked, tipping his chin toward the endless ocean. “For a swim?”

  Every ounce of bravado I’d had when I got on Kenny’s helicopter was a memory so distant, the only hope I had left was that Roark was safe. Choosing not to play games with Kyle, I gave him the truth. “I would drown or be eaten by sharks if I did that.”

  Not bothering to confirm the ugly truth of my situation, he stared at me for a long moment. Then the side of him I thought I knew well, the side I used to crave so that I could escape—it came out, reminding me with ugly humiliation who I was.

  “Did he fuck you how you deserve?” Kyle’s gaze cut to my ankle. “Hard and rough?” He looked back at my mouth, my eyes. “Did he make you swallow? Force it down your throat? Twist your clit till you scream?” His voice deepened as he listed his own sick desires. “Beat you into submission how you like?”

  Disgrace threatened to drip down my face. “You like those things.”

  “Your wet cunt didn’t?” Taking a step toward me, he tilted his head. “I bet your pussy is dripping right now.” His gray eyes cut to my leggings. “How about I find out? Force you to your hands and knees, spank you raw, then shove three fingers in. Would you like that, you little traitorous bitch? Should I finger you till you come, then shove my cock so deep you remember who the fuck owns you?” he abruptly yelled before affecting his muted tone again. “Or am I not good enough for you now?” Taking one hand out of his pocket again, he made a sweeping gesture across the yacht. “Is all of this not good enough for you?”

  Terrified, I wanted to cry, but I also hated myself for getting on that helicopter. I was stupid. So, so stupid. I should’ve known he would’ve given orders to kill Brad. He or Kenny, it didn’t matter which. The end result was the same, and I should’ve known. “It was never about the money.”

  Immediately squatting and getting in my face, Kyle’s features twisted with anger. “Do you think you’re fucking special? Do you think every bitch who’s been on my cock, getting themselves off on my money and power, hasn’t said the same goddamn thing as they come all over me?”

  Biting my inner cheek, I told myself not to cry. Not from fear. Not from anger.

  Kyle liked tears.

  He got off on them.

  The more, the better.

  I would not cry. I would not cry.

  His breath blasted me as he yelled point-blank in my face. “I asked you a goddamn question!”

  Suddenly, it hit me.

  I hadn’t gone to my knees.

  I hadn’t even considered it.

  A week ago, I would’ve been begging him to hurt me, to forgive me. Worse, I would’ve wanted it. I would’ve wanted every twisted thing he could dish out because I’d felt I deserved it. I was responsible for Shane’s death. I blamed myself for leaving him that night, for not seeing all the times he was ill, for not realizing his episodes weren’t just him being tired.

  I was drowning in guilt.

  I still was.

  But a six-foot-five Marine didn’t blame me for my brother’s death. He didn’t even think I could have prevented it. His voice had music like Shane’s smile had a whole world of love.

  But Kyle, he knew what had happened to Shane. He’d beaten it out of me early on, but he’d never, not once, told me I wasn’t responsible. In fact, he’d played into it.

  He’d used it.

  On me.

  For nine months.

  Slow, like a rolling, deep ocean swell with the depth and conviction of its power, it washed over me.

  Hate.

  Unfiltered, unadulterated, consuming hatred.

  But not for myself.

  Inhaling, feeling Kyle’s assault on my ribs but not the pain, I knew what I had to do.

  Palming the keys, I dropped my gaze.

  Then slowly, with one weak, shaking arm, I pushed to a submissive kneeling position.

  For two determined beats of my heart, Kyle did nothing.

  Then he grunted, stood, and pivoted. “Get in the stateroom.”

  Roark

  Sitting in the driver’s seat of an AES Range Rover, Echo screwed a silencer onto his M4 before shoving extra magazines in his Kevlar vest. “Please fucking tell me that M16 is untraceable.”

  Putting my own silencer on the muzzle, I called him on his bullshit. “You said your crew would send in a sweep team after us.”

  Echo stopped what he was doing and looked at me. “First of all, it’s not my crew. Crucial fucking detail. It’s a third-party, AES contracted crew. Second, never trust anyone to clean up your shit.” He tipped his chin at my rifle. “If that’s registered, tell me now and we’ll swap you out.”

  As much as I hated the arrogant prick, I’d gotten used to him. “Nothing on me is traceable.”

  Smirking, he went back to checking his magazine. “Except your DNA and your bitch in the backseat, motherfucker.” He picked up his cell and dialed, putting it on speaker.

  I glanced at Missy. She thumped her tail.

  November answered on the first ring. “In position?”

  “You tell me, hacker boy.” Echo scanned the dense Florida-style forest all around us. “Our asses are so deep in these woods, I can’t see shit except mosquito breeding grounds all around us. Give me a sitrep.”

  “You’re five klicks north-northwest of the compound. Sending coordinates to your phone now. Satellite imagery had a helo landing in front of the hangar an hour ago, but as of last sweep it’s no longer parked in front. Heat signatures are showing three bodies in the main residence’s upstairs bedrooms, most likely sleeping, another in the security room downstairs, left of main entrance. Two more heat signatures are in the hangar. Those are the only ones moving around.”

  “Good copy. Send us both the screenshots of those heat signatures.” Echo glanced at me. “How fast are you on that leg?”

  “Fuck off.” I slid my own tactical vest over my head.

  Echo nodded and glanced at his watch before scanning our surroundings and speaking to November. “Send us an updated heat signature screenshot in twenty-five minutes, then on my command, cut their perimeter alarm and put their security feeds on a loop.”

  “That’ll give you five minutes to breach and clear the main house,” November warned.

  “Copy that.” Echo handed me an earpiece. “Switching to comms. Keep overwatch. Alert on any incoming tangos.” He checked his watch again. “Twenty-five starts now.”

  “Affirmative.” November hung up.

  Fitting my comm, I glanced at the coordinates and heat signature images November had sent one last time, then I pocketed my cell and grabbed the bolt cutters from behind my seat. “I’ll take down the guard in the security room, then head to the hangar. Hit the three upstairs, then meet me in the hangar. The pilot is the only one we leave breathing.” Until we got intel out of him, then the asshole was mine.

  “Copy that.” Echo shouldered his M4. “Time to make it rain.”

  We both got out of the SUV, Missy followed, and we quietly closed our doors.

  Fitting one arm of the bolt cutters through my belt and shouldering the strap on my M16, I gave Echo a directional hand signal.

  He nodded, then we were moving.

  Twenty minutes later, after trekking through thick vegetation and Florida humidity, we’d covered four and half of the klicks and had visual on the compound.

  Signaling for Echo to stop, I dropped to a crouch, and Missy sat on my left.

  Coming up on my right, Echo pointed at a concealed section of the electrified chain link fence with barbed wire on top that constituted the compound’s perimeter security and gave me the hand signal for wait.

  Tipping my chin in acknowledgement, I grabbed the bolt cutters.

  Echo sent November a text.

  We waited.

  Then Echo nodded.

  Before I cut the fence, I glanced at him and dropped my voice. “Three upstairs. Meet me in the hangar.”

  “Copy,” he whispered back, glancing at Missy. “She good?”

  “Yes.” I cut the fence.

  We all slipped through. I gave Missy the hand signal for heel. Then we were sprinting toward the main house with a canine on our six.

  The fucking idiots didn’t even have the front door locked or the door to the adjacent security room closed.

 

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