Die for Me (3 page)

“Nothing.” Marcus sat back into the pew and shrugged. “I don’t know anything. Since her
escape
,” he said, smiling with a knowing look in his eyes, “well, you can imagine why she wouldn’t contact me.”

Taigen processed the information slowly. “The man, what did he look like?”

“Blonde. Muscular. Mid-forties. Big-ass scar running down his face.”

The description wasn’t familiar, but he’d been out of the game for two years.

“One of Wren’s?” Marcus asked.

“No. He’d come for her himself if he had the chance.”

It wasn’t out of the question. Christian Wren would die to have his pet sociopath back and would break out of Pelican Bay to do it. His instincts flared to life. “How can I be sure this isn’t another one of your tricks? What do you get out of telling me this?” He saw the possibilities. Another promotion. Another metal to hang on his wall. Another life destroyed.

Agent Grant let his amusement escape in the form of a chuckle, but shrugged. “You think I’m lying?”

“I think you would do anything to see my sister again.”

“Do you know where she is?”

Taigen had been waiting for the cop to ask. He straightened, running his hands down the suit jacket as if to smooth out the wrinkles. “If I knew the answer to that, Agent Grant, I wouldn’t tell you.” He turned his back on the man who’d betrayed him and decided it was finally time to see another.

“What are you going to do?” Marcus called from behind.

With a smile, Taigen only turned his head slightly. “The last time I trusted you with information about me, you put my sister behind bars. I think I’ll play this one close to the vest if you don’t mind.”

* * *

“Torrhent, I told you. Five thousand dollars or no papers.”

A white-hot burn built in her chest, making its way into her cheeks. “You have no idea how much I went through just to pull three thousand together. Aaron, please. It’s all I have.”

The darkened pawnshop smelled musty, the dust trying its hardest to bring out her allergies, but Torrhent had to keep focused. She needed those papers.

He pushed medium-length blonde hair behind his ear in one quick motion. “You can’t
be
here. You know how much trouble I could get in?” Her only hope of changing her identity turned his back on her. “Come back when you have the rest.”

A shimmer of hope pushed her anger aside as he turned back to face her. He had to give her those papers. He had to help her save her life. Green eyes found hers and she tried to manage a smile.

Returning to his position against the counter, Aaron reached for her right hand. He shoved a scrap piece of paper into it, closing his fingers over hers. “Call this number. I’m sure you can work something out.”

Torrhent looked down at what turned out to be a business card. “What is this?”

“The easiest way for someone like you to make some cash. All he requires is for you to supply your own clothing.”

“Clothing?”

Aaron’s face flushed. “Yeah, you know. Clothing. Heels, dresses, all that stuff.”

His words slowly clicked into place with the way his eyes avoided hers. “You’re sending me to a
pimp
?” The anger flared again.

“What other choice do you have?” Aaron asked. His face turned cold from her tone.

“You want me to thank you?” Torrhent leaned closer to him, her gaze unwavering as the words left her mouth. “I am not a whore, and when I get the cash for my papers I’ll be looking for somebody else to make them.” She turned without another word. She would leave the pervert in his dingy, dank shop to suffer the consequences of her visit.

Air ripped through her lungs, the effort to inhale becoming harder with each try. Stumbling through the door, Torrhent took in as much of the warm air as she could to calm herself. The lights of the city dazzled her beyond words. She’d never been to Los Angeles before, though it was nothing compared to New York City. Pushing the homesickness down, she made her way down the street.

Now what?
Getting to LA, to Aaron, had been a goal for so long, she hadn’t even thought of what might happen if her plans didn’t work out. Failure wasn’t an option. She couldn’t stay out in the open for long with her mug shot plastered over every television in the country, but she had nowhere to go. She needed that money.

The streets were busy at nearly six in the evening. Skyscrapers protected her from the heat above, but drips of sweat made their way down her face and neck. People of all colors pushed their way through the crowds, waiting for buses, crossing the streets in a hurry. It reminded her of home. Torrhent forced her mind to focus. She needed a place to rest. Four days of walking, hitchhiking and looking over her shoulder pushed her toward a nearby street bench. It wasn’t much, but it would do the job better than an overpass.

Her legs were sore, her head ached and her skin burned. She closed her eyes for only a moment. She knew it would take more than sleep to chase her problems away.

* * *

“I never expected to see you again.”

“I hear that a lot.” Taigen switched the plain black phone from one ear to the other, but the cord would only stretch so far. The glass separated him from the man who’d literally and figuratively imprisoned his sister, but Pelican Bay imprisoned him. It seemed a fair trade. “You know why I’m here?”

Christian Wren stared back at him for a moment, seeming to think over how much he should reveal.

He’d never thought he’d have to see those steel blue eyes again or the man who went with them. After all, Wren had been the one who’d used Adelaide to do his dirty work, forced her to live in her own private hell for sixteen years. “What do you know?”

Taigen’s former employer pushed shoulder-length brown hair out of his face. The orange jumpsuit did nothing for the man, washing him out and making him look much older than his thirty-five years. Prison obviously hadn’t been good.

Just as it should be
.

“The guy your pet ATF agent described sounds like Nicholas Chesnick. Works as a right-hand man for Isaac Rutler.”

The name pulled at Taigen’s memory, but he couldn’t place where he’d heard it before. “Why does Rutler sound familiar?”

“He’s part of an underground MMA ring, but more likely you recognize his name because his stepdaughter just escaped from prison. It’s all over the news.” Wren leaned back in the chair, straining the phone’s cord to its limits. He’d managed to keep in shape from the looks of it, but sorrow rested behind his gaze. The former CEO of Wren Industries, a weapons manufacturing giant, had changed. “Then again, you’ve been hiding under a rock since I was arrested. Afraid of what I might do to you, Taigen?”

Taigen ignored the last part. “Assuming Chesnick is only following orders from his boss, what does Rutler have to do with Adelaide?”

“Nothing.” Wren didn’t go on.

Taigen exhaled in exasperation. Isaac Rutler had a missing convicted daughter. Murder, the news had said. Personally, he found it hard to believe a woman her height and weight could manhandle a man the size of her victim, but he’d seen crazier things in his days. The only reason Rutler would track down Adelaide would be to kill his stepdaughter.
Shit
. Nobody deserved that fate. “Then why is he looking for her?”

“You know I don’t do anything out of the goodness of my heart. And what makes you think I’d want to help you after your little charade with Marcus?”

Siding with a cop against his employer, even to save Adelaide, obviously wouldn’t disappear like water under the bridge. If it hadn’t been for Wren’s demonic, corrupted love for his sister, none of this would have happened. ATF wouldn’t have been brought in after Wren ordered her to kill an undercover agent and his sister wouldn’t be on the run, never able to come home or to live a normal life. If only their father had protected her all those years ago, her mind wouldn’t have broken under pressure.

“What do you want?” Taigen asked. The moment he’d tried to avoid came upon them in silence. He didn’t have much to offer. In fact, with Adelaide missing, all he had was words.

“This isn’t exactly the way I planned to live out my life and I owe it all to you and that cop. So I’ll keep it simple: you want information? I have a favor to ask.” Wren leaned forward, resting his elbows on the counter.

“Tell me more about Rutler and I’ll think about it.”

Wren chuckled, his eyelids squinting around blue eyes. Taigen noticed wrinkles had developed around his mouth. “You helped an ATF agent take away everything I had in this world, including your sister. You really think I’m going to help you without cause? Come on, Taigen.” His face grew cold. “I trained you to be smarter than that.”

Both men stared straight into each other’s eyes. Taigen knew exactly what Wren wanted, but he wasn’t willing to let him have it.

Never.

Again.

“I can’t help you.” Taigen hung up the phone and stood. He’d already turned and started walking toward the exit when the fact he was out of leads hit him hard.
You can’t give in,
he told himself.
Don’t give in.

He knew Rutler’s name. The guy had even sent one of his minions to see Marcus. He had the ability to track down the associate on his own, get to Rutler that way. If only to find Adelaide’s location, he’d track them all down. He’d save others the fate of meeting her bloodthirsty desires, but from what Taigen had gathered, Rutler employed men just like him. Killers. Professionals. Careful, intelligent men. He couldn’t go against an army of hit men alone.

He glanced back over his shoulder. Wren hadn’t moved. From the look in his former employer’s eyes, Taigen surmised Wren knew he’d won.

He needed Wren whether he liked it or not.

His shoulders sank in defeat. Taking his seat again, he picked up the phone. “We want the same thing, Christian. You still love Adelaide. Just tell me what I want to know so I can protect her.”

“You can’t protect her this time.” Wren’s eyes lowered to the counter. “You aren’t the only one who wants her back.” His gaze found Taigen once again, urging him to understand.

The statement was a clue, one that set his nerves on fire. Dread sizzled beneath his skin and crawled up his throat. “They came here.” Taigen inhaled slowly, lining up the possibilities in his mind. “Because you know where she is.”

“Yes.”

“And you made a deal with them.” It wasn’t a question. His heart plummeted into his stomach, his voice rising in volume with every word as he stood again. “What did you tell them?”

“They promised I’d see her again, Taigen.” Wren’s gaze followed him as he rose and the guards closed in from behind, most likely sensing the anger coursing through Taigen’s veins. “What would you have done?”

“Damnit, Christian!” He slammed his fist into the counter. “She’s killing again. Tell me where she is.”

One of the guards wrapped their arms around him from behind and Taigen dropped the phone as they dragged him toward the exit. “Where is she?”

Chapter 3

Neon lights from across the street nearly blinded her when Torrhent woke.

She hadn’t eaten since the café and her body hated her for it. Opening her pack, she pushed her stolen supplies out of the way.

She didn’t have any food.

Only the bright lights of the club promised nourishment this late at night, and by reading the sign she surmised wallets would be wide open, too. Torrhent stood, pushing her pack farther up her shoulder, and dodged traffic toward the Promised Land.

She got in line with the rest of the club-goers and tried to wait patiently for her turn at the door. Her foot tapped against the cement sidewalk, her stomach wrenching with the smell of fries wafting outside. Targeting which patrons would add the most cash to her bundle, she wondered how much longer it would take before someone recognized her. God only knew how many people paid attention to the news.

Blood pounded in her ears, a headache shoving its way behind her eyes. Torrhent couldn’t get her paranoia under control, the weight of it holding her down. Only the distraction of a fight at the front of the line calmed her. She craned her neck to see what the problem was but was viciously pushed backward and into a wall of hardened flesh.

“Sorry.” Torrhent kept her head forward, unwilling to attract unwanted attention.

“You should watch where you’re going.”

That was the second time she’d been reminded since arriving in LA, but Torrhent wouldn’t allow herself to turn around to give him a piece of her mind. If she pretended she hadn’t heard him, he’d continue on with his night and she’d continue on with hers.

But the curiosity ate at her like a worm. It wanted her to turn around, just for a quick glance. There wasn’t any harm in that.

Of all the things someone could say, why did he use those exact words? Even his tone reminded Torrhent of the man she’d run into this morning.

She looked back over her shoulder, fighting against her instincts, and promptly snapped her eyes forward.

It was
him
.

No mistaking it. The tribal tattoos she’d noted earlier had practically burned themselves into her retinas and she’d recognize them anywhere. Over six feet tall with short, buzzed hair, Harrington reminded her of those Isaac employed.

Dangerous.

Suddenly, Torrhent felt in over her head. There were no coincidences in her world, especially since her escape from prison. Her body tensed, forcing cramps down her limbs. Running into the same man twice in one day, in Los Angeles no less, set her on edge and confirmed her instincts.

Isaac had sent someone to keep tabs on her.

Harrington was just like the men her stepfather employed. He had the same build, the same militaristic stance, and even the familiar dead look in his bright blue eyes. She imagined the men who’d killed her mother surveyed the people around them just as this man did.

“Haven’t I met you before?”

She shook her head without looking back at him and scoured the street for an exit.

He nudged his way into her vision and Torrhent tried to hide behind her shortened hair. It didn’t work.

“Earlier today. On Main.” She caught a glimpse of electric blue eyes as he stared down at her. “You ran into me then, too.”

“You’ve got me mixed up with someone else.” She checked out the line again, eager to get inside. Four people ahead of her. Harrington hadn’t made any threatening moves toward her or said anything suspicious, but invisible ants crawled up her arms and legs again, telling her to get as far from him as possible. Or was it closer?

While her instincts had always given her the right answer, this time they seemed to be playing some type of trick on her. The crawling sensation turned to warmth in the pit of her stomach, soothing. Almost as if she recognized him, Torrhent’s body tingled everywhere. She’d never experienced this type of reaction before and chanced another glance at him.

Harrington held her gaze for two full breaths. In that time, her mind wrapped around a single idea: he could solve her problem. Strong, determined and a bit scary, Harrington suddenly gave Torrhent hope she’d get her revenge.

And he’d grant her freedom.

She’d hold off long enough to get some food in her then work out the specifics. Already her mind sifted through dozens of possibilities and outcomes should she convince him to come back to New York with her.

Harrington released her gaze, brushing invisible dust from his T-shirt. “Regular old kismet. Do you make a habit of running into people or is it just clumsiness?”

Torrhent faced the front of the line in annoyance. She obviously couldn’t play ignorant anymore. He’d recognized her from earlier in the day, but probably not as the felon she’d been branded. “Maybe I was looking for you,” she whispered to herself.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing.” She snapped her mouth shut and mentally chastised herself. If she expected her plan to work, she had to play the part. She couldn’t give away her intentions. Vulnerable. She had to seem vulnerable for this to work. Didn’t men always want to be the knight in shining armor? She could give Harrington that chance, and by the time she was done with him he’d be putty in her hands and willing to fight for her cause. She deserved revenge and her mother deserved justice, and Isaac Rutler would pay for her death. One way or another, Torrhent would make sure of it.

“Are you applying for a job?” The guy’s voice sent chills down her tense muscles.

She wanted to bolt from the simmering guilt in her chest but couldn’t see a way out that wouldn’t draw attention. Her mother had always taught her to be honest, to trust people to do the right thing, but a lot of good that’d done her. Did she trust Isaac to save her? She pushed the thought away and swallowed the lump in her throat. The guilt went with it. For now. “No. Just hungry.”

“Hey!”

Torrhent turned to find it was her turn in line. They’d moved without her even noticing. Thoughts of the past and schemes in the present forced her to let her guard down. A half dozen faces stared at her and the weight of their combined gazes pushed heat into her face.

“ID,” the bouncer demanded and held out his hand. He was obviously a weightlifter, at least two hundred and eighty pounds of pure muscle. His black skin held a shimmer of sweat that reflected the neon lights of the club.

Torrhent fumbled for the fake ID in her pack, the one item she’d acquired back east, and handed it over.

He looked at it questioningly then back to her. “No.” The tone in his voice sounded accusatory. He motioned the man behind her forward.

“What?” The familiar heat of anger slithered beneath her skin, coalescing in the center of her chest. She’d never used the ID before, but had assurances it would work in most situations. And if it didn’t, she would make the seller pay if she ever got out of this mess.

“It’s fake. No ID, no admittance.” He reached for something behind the booth next to him.

Torrhent fumbled through a list of options in her mind. She couldn’t get picked up by the cops, not after everything she’d been through, not for some stupid mistake. Her heart pumped behind her ears, the only sound she heard through her heavy breathing. Her eyes darted for the quickest way out. Would Harrington follow? She still hadn’t discarded the possibility of him working for Isaac, and if that was the case, he wouldn’t let her out of his sight. There was only one way to find out if her plan even had a chance. She took one step out of line and a hand clamped down on her shoulder.

“She’s with me,” Harrington said. His leather jacket creaked close to her ears as he moved in, and he smelled intoxicatingly wonderful. A mixture of cinnamon and man flooded her senses, but her fear didn’t let her enjoy it.

He’d done exactly what Torrhent hoped he wouldn’t.

She pushed the hand off in frustration. Harrington worked for her stepfather, which meant he’d been paid a lot of money to find her. How in the hell would her charms stack up against Isaac’s cash? Men like Harrington did what they were paid to do, and she couldn’t match his salary, not even a tenth. “Don’t touch me.”

His hands raised in surrender as a small smile crawled across his face. “All right.”

Torrhent faced the bouncer again. If she didn’t keep her emotions in check, she’d give herself away. She couldn’t explain why Harrington was able to pull so many reactions from her, but right now she didn’t care. She needed to get inside. “I’m not here to watch. I’m here for a job.” The lie slipped from her tongue easily and that bothered her. She’d never been a good liar.

The bouncer shrugged, reaching for the velvet rope separating her from safety.

The overwhelming noise and darkness of the club made her step back toward the door. The unfamiliar territory of the strip club heightened her paranoia. Dark lights, lots of men, waitresses serving drinks with who-knows-what in them. She watched with pity as women stripped down to nothing but a pair of underwear onstage. Only one thing kept her from bolting: money. The men paying for their lap dances or watching the stage show discarded bills left and right and she wanted some of that action.

The room was stifling, scented with a mixture of sweat, cigarette smoke and alcohol. She could barely breathe. Torrhent made her way toward the bar through the dozens of small round tables, passing middle-aged men with suits and bald spots who reeked of alcohol. Her eyes lingered on the woman who’d taken the stage when she’d walked in, but she couldn’t judge her. Everybody did what they had to in order to survive.

She kept moving toward the bar. “What kind of food do you have?” she asked over the music and sat on one of the last available stools.

“Wings.” The bartender moved down to a paying customer a few stools over.

“I’ll have an order.” Torrhent wasn’t good at waiting, but her food arrived faster than at most fast-food joints. She ate while keeping her targets in sight and counted over ten possibilities.

The first target sat next to her at the bar, his attention diverted toward the dancer onstage. The lift was easier than most, his wallet located in the left pocket of his windbreaker. By the time she’d finished her first round of the club, she’d taken over a thousand dollars, all in singles. It wasn’t enough, but it helped.

As she began her second round of the club, Torrhent slowed as she passed a familiar face. Her gaze connected with Harrington’s and her breathing hitched. Filled with a combination of lust and warning, his eyes dared her to approach. For a fleeting instant, she actually believed she could turn him into her personal hit man, that he’d follow her every order and devote himself to her blindly.

Then his gaze hardened, focusing on its prey.

It set Torrhent on edge. If her stepfather wanted her so badly, he should have come himself.
You shouldn’t depend on others to do your dirty work, Isaac.
Leveling her chin parallel to the floor, she took two steps closer to Harrington and stopped directly in front of his table.
They might turn on you.
She’d made her decision. She’d lift one more wallet, but this time her future depended on getting caught.

It was dangerous, but possible. She’d have to play her part perfectly then gamble against every instinct in her body that Harrington would fall in line.

“What do you want now?” he asked when she didn’t move. With an arm relaxed against the back of the booth, he slowly sipped the drink in his hand, his eyes wandering across the club.

“I wanted to apologize. For running into you . . . twice.”

“Great.” He didn’t go on.

Torrhent studied him, taking in the way his hands shook as he lifted his glass. He avoided her gaze. She wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or the fact he’d been sent to kill her that made him jumpy. Maybe both. Not all the men her stepfather hired were professionals, especially when they would only be good for a one-time job. The possibility of getting back at Isaac in even the smallest way kept her in place, however. Harrington’s expertise didn’t matter. She only needed him to pull a trigger. “Buy me a drink?”

He chuckled sharply. “Aren’t you a little young?”

“Not at all.”

“Listen.” He set both of his elbows on the booth’s table, giving her a perfect view of his wallet in the back pocket of his jeans. “If you want to throw your life down the drain, be my guest.” His eyes connected with hers. “But don’t pull me into it.”

She froze in place, her hand half outstretched to rob him.

“John”—a woman, clearly one of the club’s dancers, waited for him to respond from the other side of the table—“are you ready?”

John?

A rebellious thought crossed Torrhent’s mind as Harrington shifted his attention toward the new arrival with a smile; she’d made a huge mistake. The dead eyes, the way he carried himself and even how he surveyed his surroundings had given her the impression of a hit man, but men like that didn’t keep arm candy on the side. In fact, they made sure nobody remembered their faces or names. Even the stupid ones knew better than to play with fire.

Snaking an arm around the dancer smiling up at him, he addressed Torrhent as they moved. “Catch you later.”

What the hell does that mean?
Torrhent had little time to think. Despite the hooker at his side, her instincts screamed at her that Harrington, or “John,” was exactly what she’d originally believed: a killer.

She’d set out to bring her mother justice and she couldn’t let an integral piece of her plan just walk away. He’d turned his back on her and started for the exit.

Torrhent pushed her way back toward the bar through a growing crowd of men and skin. Exhaustion weighed her down. She hadn’t showered in days and she was still a thousand dollars away from buying her papers, but damnit she’d see this to the end. Catching her breath at the bar, she eyed a thin version of Mr. T and spotted the piece of metal glinting under his jacket. Undercover cop. She smiled at him. “What’s your name?”

Brown eyes met hers. “Do I know you?”

“Only if you’d like to.” Coyly running her fingertips over the back of the man’s hand, Torrhent directed her gaze at Harrington’s back. He’d almost made it to the door. “Why don’t we take this back to my loft?” she asked. She straightened then sweetly pressed herself into his arms. “But maybe we can take care of business first?”