Kicking It

Kicking It Page 33

I’m officially in a tight spot, I thought, wishing I’d gotten more of Luc’s lecture on evasive maneuvers before this particular crisis had begun.

“You were oblivious,” she said, stepping in front of me again, this time holding a feathered hair clip in her hand. She moved forward and pushed it into my hair, scraping my scalp in the process.

“I bet you didn’t even know that I loved Violet.”

I worked to concentrate against the pain. “Violet? You two . . . ?

“Were in love,” she said. “Not that you’d notice, busy as you were flirting and whoring with every man you could find. Another reason why you have this coming.”

I guess Iris hadn’t thought much of my life choices.

“I’m sorry she died, Iris. But I didn’t know she was alive. I didn’t know anyone else was alive. I thought everyone was dead. We were best friends. Do you really think I wouldn’t have come back for you if I’d known? That I wouldn’t have helped you out of there?”

She looked momentarily confused, and I thought I was getting through to her. But the haze of trauma and madness settled upon her eyes again.

She leaned forward. “You. Are. Lying. Everything that happened to me is your fault. It has to be.”

And there it was. She wanted someone to blame, even if there wasn’t cause for it. Even if she could understand what had actually occurred.

She’d gotten me here, and there was no doubt she intended to end the story tonight. But I needed time. Time to come up with a plan, and time to get free.

“You paid Danny?” I asked, trying to keep her busy while I struggled against the binding on my wrists. I could feel the plastic slicing into my skin, but pain was irrelevant. Survival was the only thing that mattered.

“Danny O’Hare’s a right son of a bitch,” she said, spitting onto the floor beside me. “He doesn’t much care what happened in the bar that night—the past is past to him—but he’s always willing to take a coin. So he found me a man, and that man did a deed. It took every last penny I’d scrimped and saved to make him take on the task, powerful as you are now. But it was worth it, wasn’t it? Because here you are.”

She moved closer, and I saw the glint of steel in her hand. A handgun, 9mm. I had little doubt she would empty it into my body, and that would probably be only the beginning of her plans for me.

Unfortunately, vampire strength notwithstanding, my restraints weren’t budging.

I’d been a vampire a long time, and I’d faced death before. I hadn’t often regretted much. But now, this time, I regretted. I’m sorry, Luc, I silently thought, sending the words across miles, as if he could hear me. I’m sorry I pushed you away. I love you. I love you more than anything.

The tears began to fall in earnest, but I wasn’t a coward. I looked up at Iris, met her gaze head-on.

Her hand shook, and she pointed the gun at me. “And now we’ll be even,” she said.

Shots rang out like explosions, and I instinctively braced for impact.

But I felt nothing.

Shocked to the core, I looked down. Spots of blood appeared on Iris’s dress, and she fell to her knees, clutching her stomach.

“Lindsey?”

That was Luc’s voice.

Dear God, it was Luc. He was here. He’d come for me.

He appeared behind her, in his uniform of jeans and boots, and when the gun clattered to the floor, he kicked it away and out of her reach.

“Jesus, Linds!” Luc raced to me, cupping my face in his hands and pressing his lips to mine. He pulled a bandanna from his pocket and dabbed at what I assumed was blood on my face. “You like to cut it close.”

At the same time, four men in black suits walked calmly inside. The one in front, who had a long, severe face and was reholstering the gun that had floored Iris, nodded at Luc. They picked her up, more gently than I might have, and began to escort her out of the room.

“Who was that?” I asked, perplexed, as Luc worked the manacles and zip ties.

“New York’s sup department. They have that business tied down.”

“Have them check the Green Clare, find Danny,” I said. “Ensure this is done. That Rachel’s safe.”

“Guys?” Luc said.

“On it,” said the long-faced man.

I looked down at Luc on his knees beside me, and could hardly fathom the fact that he was here, how lucky I was that he’d come, that I had a second chance, that I was alive.

But my brain did not pass those thoughts on to my mouth, which was still playing good ol’ commitment-phobic Lindsey. “I told you not to come!”

“Yes, you did,” Luc said. “I ignored you.”

“You shouldn’t have.”

“In which case, you’d be full of bullet holes, which I do not find attractive in a woman.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “How did you find me?”

“Your phone. I added GPS, remember? Jeff helped me do the tracking. He is unusually good at tracking.”

Jeff Christopher was a friend of the House, and an employee of Merit’s grandfather, who’d previously been city’s supernatural ombudsman.

I heard a series of snaps, and my wrists were free, sending fierce pain through my shoulders. When my feet were unchained, I put a hand on Luc to stand up.

“Um, no,” he said, leaning down and lifting me into his arms. I wrapped my arms around his neck.

“You’re actually going to carry me?”

“Without a doubt, Lindsey Rose.” He looked at me, his face furrowed with concern. “You’re all right?”

“I’ll manage,” I said, but tears still spilled. “I thought she was dead, Luc. I thought they were all dead. I never would have left—”

“Hush,” he said. “Hush. Of course you wouldn’t have left them. You’d have done everything you could to help them, to get them out of there alive. Even as young as you were. And even before my skilled tutelage.”

“You’re ruining this lovely moment.”

He laughed, just a little. “Come on, Rose. Let’s get you a bath. You smell like a walking gin and tonic.”

“I could use a gin and tonic.”

“I can make that happen.”

—

This time the hotel was considerably nicer. We skipped the Rookery for the Plaza, a present from Ethan and Merit to speed my recovery. I recouped in the shower, washing away blood and grime and gin.

When I emerged from the locker room–sized bathroom, my wounds already healing, I found Luc across the room, standing in front of a table and eating chocolate-covered strawberries from a silver tray.

I wore the only pajamas I’d packed, a lacy tank top and short set in a pale peach silk. Luc put down the paper and met my gaze.

The atmosphere was awkward, at best.

“I pushed you away,” I said.

“You did,” he carefully answered.

“You came anyway.”

He ran a hand through his curls. “I can’t shake you, Linds. As much as you push me away, I can’t shake you. I don’t want to shake you. I want you—all of you. If I can’t have that, then I don’t know . . .”

It didn’t matter that he didn’t know.

I knew enough for both of us.

I ran to him, jumped into his waiting arms, and wrapped my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck. And then I kissed him like I might never have another chance.

“Don’t you ever . . . leave me . . . again,” I demanded between kisses.

“You told me to leave you,” he pointed out, between pulling me harder against his growing—and impressive—erection and nipping at my lips.

The kiss deepened, grew breathless. It wasn’t just love. It was need.

Tears slipped from my eyes with the realization—no, the admission—of how much I needed him, how much he centered me, how much better I was when we were together.

“I love you,” I said, pulling back and putting my hands on his cheeks, making him look at me and see the emotion reflected in my face.

And I felt it from him, too, magnified and illuminated. Not just because he loved me, but because—fully and finally—he trusted that I loved him back and that his heart was as safe in my hands as mine was in his.

He looked utterly awed. “Christ, Lindsey. I love you, too.”

We looked at each other for a moment, until his eyes dropped to my lips and we attacked each other again. I gripped handfuls of his hair, tugging until his throat rumbled in a growl, sending white-hot heat through my body. Luc fixed his mouth on mine—sucking, biting, tasting—and maneuvered my body until my back was against the wall and the friction between us had me on the edge of a brutal orgasm.

Without warning, it burst across my body like fire, and I called out his name with a shuddering moan.

“Yes,” he said. “I want more of you.”

My body still wrapped around his, he moved back to the bed and lay me down upon it. My clothing was gone in a flash. His quickly followed, and then his body was atop mine, hot and hungry and hard for me.

He cupped my breast in his hand, teasing and inciting me again, challenging me to go further. “More,” he said.

“I don’t have any more.” My voice sounded love-drunk, spent.

“Liar.”

I hadn’t been lying, but he made a liar of me. With a single, powerful thrust, he emptied me of doubt, his skilled hips proving that he could play my body like a virtuoso.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, watching as his eyes silvered and fangs descended, and arched my neck to offer him the truest gift a vampire could offer.

Blood.

He pierced, sending another wave of pleasure through me, groaning at my neck with the pleasure of it. His body moved faster, his hands still at my body—testing, teasing, lifting—until with a final, single groan he destroyed both of us.

Some seconds later, he collapsed beside me, but intertwined our fingers.

When my breathing returned to normal, I glanced at him. “How do we do it? How do we keep this safe?”