Good Side of Sin (3 page)

“Very well. Try not to keep your squad waiting too long. They are waiting for your instructions, my dear.”

“
My
instructions? You mean…”

Isaiah nodded at my unspoken thought. “They are waiting for their squad leader to give the next orders.”

I swallowed hard, and then looked up to Troy’s smiling face. “You?” I whispered.

I looked down in confusion at his raised hand and the index finger that was extended, pointing directly at me.

“No, ma wee lassie,” Troy shook his head slowly as he chuckled. “They wait for ye.”

Well, crap!

The rapid clicking of the spokes on his
Diamondback Trace Sport Bike
was nearly drowned out by the city noise. Ethan pedaled faster, pushing his muscles past dangerous and into ‘failure mode’ as he glanced over his left shoulder at the black Mercedes that was swiftly gaining on him.

He’d thought he was only being paranoid at first, but after making several odd turns, and backtracking with the car sticking to his tail through the whole maze, it was clear it had to be Vincent De Luca’s boys.

His heart pounded against his ribcage at the thought of meeting up with them again. Losing the parcel in his backpack wasn’t an option. His main job would cut him loose if he got caught again, and he couldn’t afford to lose Carlos as an employer; another hospital stay would be the least of his worries.

The red light up ahead was his only chance at making it away alive, and even that wasn’t a guarantee. Knowing if he made one mistake he would end up in a coma—or worse, in a coffin—his bike wheels followed the white dashes between the waiting cars and didn’t slow as he crossed into the five lanes of oncoming traffic.

Horns blared and tires squealed, but Ethan kept his focus on what his next move should be. He blinked only once when he heard the sharp sound of metal impacting metal behind him, and then popped the wheels of his bike up on top of the hood of a Dodge-something-or-other, traveled quickly up the windshield, over the roof, down the back glass and barely touched the trunk before his tires connected with asphalt once again.

Ethan smiled and took the first alley to his left, so he could get back on his course, free of any tag-alongs.

Vinny’s boys knew him. They would find him again, but it wouldn’t be today.

***

Exhausted and completely out of breath, Ethan locked his bike up in the third level garage of Caesar’s Palace near the elevator, and then took the stairs to the room number that was scribbled on the piece of paper in his pocket.

He raised his knuckles and knocked six times, as instructed, and then waited for the suite door to open.

A dark-skinned bald guy, big as a mountain, opened the door wide enough to eye Ethan warily. Ethan knew there was a bright red dot on the center of his chest without even looking away from the expressionless eyes of the guy pointing the gun at him.

“You Trick?” the mountain grumbled, sounding as if he had just completed a marathon, though, by looking at him, Ethan knew that wouldn’t be possible. Other than having a few too many
Twinkies
and
Whoppers
in his day, he could tell the guy had asthma. Outrunning him wouldn’t be a problem, but the trigger-happy finger on the firing mechanism of the .45 caliber
Sig Sauer
could be.

Ethan nodded. “Yeah.”

“Anybody follow you?”

He thought briefly about the black Mercedes and shook his head. “My tracks are clean.”

Bald Guy gave him a disbelieving glare but opened the door anyway, allowing Ethan the chance to walk over the threshold, keeping the firearm trained on him all the while.

He caught a glance at the silencer attached and knew nobody would ever find his body if things went south with this job. These guys were professionals, like most of the people Ethan carried to for Carlos. Professionals to him meant only one thing: dangerous.

Ethan allowed Bald Guy to shove him farther into the grand suite. There wasn’t really anything he could do about it; he had to deliver the package if he wanted to pay the rent that was already three weeks overdue. He’d been in this situation more times than he cared to mention. It almost seemed automatic now, expected even.

Ethan went to remove the pack straps from his shoulders and froze when the cold metal of the business end of the gun touched the flat part above the bridge of his nose.

“I’m not armed,” Ethan said quickly, and then closed his eyes and sucked in a sharp breath when someone from behind him ripped the pack off his back. “I only have the product. I swear.”

The sound of a zipper unzipping, and then a soft rustling was heard in close proximity behind him, but he didn’t dare move or attempt to look at what he’d carried on his back for over nine and a half miles; it was none of his business and he liked to keep it that way.

“S’all here, boss,” the male voice said from behind him, the Italian accent thick enough Ethan could smell garlic in the air. Ethan let out a heavy breath in relief. He hadn’t ever delivered a package that wasn’t complete, but the worry was always there, in the back of his mind. He would be the one to take the wrath for someone else’s mistake if it ever did happen.

“That’s good,” Ethan heard a female voice say, the words barely above a whisper and extremely alluring.

He turned toward the low sound in interest and immediately saw stars and a bright flash of light in his vision as he was pummeled to the plush carpet. His knees suffered rug burn; he was sure of it, but that wasn’t the worst of it. He was positive he was going to need stitches from that pistol whipping. The warm blood mixed with his sweat and ran freely down his face.

Opening his good eye, he watched as crimson red stained the cappuccino color of the luxury carpet, and then a pair of designer heels stepped into his line of sight.

“Please, I—” Ethan said, and then stopped suddenly when he heard a soft knock at the door.
Should I scream for help?
he thought, but decided to stay quiet after the silencer nudged his temple.

“See who’s at the door,” Italian guy grumbled to the mountain, and, after a moment, the pressure left the side of Ethan’s head as the big guy walked away to see who their new company was.

“Who is it?” Ethan heard the asthmatic voice of bald guy say. Silence filled the room, and for a brief moment the only sound Ethan heard was the pounding of his heart.

“Room service,” a male voice finally responded.

“We didn’t call for any room service. Go away, asshole!”

Ethan dared to glance toward the door and watched as the mountain turned back to him with a scowl. Big guy took two steps, and then all hell broke loose as the steel door was blown inward clean off its hinges, knocking the bald guy to the ground, and then falling on top of his unconscious body.

Ethan’s eyes widened in horror and he dove in between the wall and the king size bed, and then scooted under it to get away from whatever had been strong enough to do that much damage. Turning his head, he locked eyes with two beautiful sapphires, and they seemed to be just as frightened as he was.

He felt for and retrieved the pocketknife in his front jeans’ pocket, just in case she decided to go all drug dealer crazy on him. Their gazes were suddenly torn apart and drawn to the agonizing screams of Italian guy.

From what Ethan could see, there was a man wearing a pair of really nice boots a few feet from the bed. After a few seconds, the screaming stopped and Italian guy was dropped to the floor at the man’s feet, his eyes open but unseeing.

“Oh, God,” the young woman whispered, and then slapped a hand over her mouth, those sapphire eyes shimmering with tears about to brim over as she stared at the dead man in horror. Ethan blinked a few times, confused by her emotions.
Surely a drug dealer, or whatever she was, wouldn’t get all choked up about a petty employee losing his life.

Ethan opened his mouth to say something, but she shook her head to keep him quiet.

“I’m DEA,” she mouthed, and then reached to her thigh, pulling back a small handgun gripped in her palm. She slowly moved her eyes back to the boots and dead guy, and so did Ethan, neither of them even daring to breathe.

Ethan was freaking out in his head, but surprisingly not from monster guy with nice boots, who had murdered everyone in the room besides the two people hiding under the bed. He was freaking out because the woman he had just carried drugs or money to, had just told him she was a damn Drug Enforcement Agent.
Shit!

Forcing himself to focus so he could maybe, possibly, get out of there without spending the rest of his life in a prison cell, Ethan looked back to the dead guy two feet in front of him. The guy in the nice boots stepped over his victim and slowly walked to Ethan’s backpack.

Ethan caught movement out of his good eye of sapphire eyes positioning the Glock in front of her, and then glanced back as the backpack fell to the floor, empty.

“Shit!” the woman swore under her breath, but her curse obviously wasn’t loud enough for the killer to hear, because he walked across the room and practically fell into a chair, seemingly exhausted and uncaring that he was still in a room where he had murdered two people.

Ethan and the female watched closely as the guy’s head fell between his knees, and then he covered his face with his hands and let out a vein-popping scream that could wake the dead. After several minutes of the guy doing nothing but breathing heavy, Ethan watched him slump sideways in the chair and close his eyes.

After a few uncomfortable minutes of silence ticked by without the guy so much as swallowing, Ethan risked a chance at speaking. “I’m getting out of here,” he said, and then moved to leave the way he had come.

“Wait.” She grabbed his arm. “You hear that?”

Ethan stopped and listened, realizing that heavy feet pounded the floor of the corridor outside the open door, and, even though he wasn’t a gambling man, he would almost bet money the people in those boots were heading straight for them. “Yeah, I do. It’s probably the rest of the DEA coming to throw me in a cell for the rest of my life. I’m not staying to find out! If you’re gonna shoot me, then shoot me, but you’ll be the one taking the chance that ‘Serial Killer of the Year’ over there doesn’t wake up when you squeeze that trigger.”

She shook her head. “They don’t know I’m here—”

He shot her a disbelieving glance. “What do you mean they don’t know you’re here? Bullshit! I’m out.” He started to move again, and then realized the volume of soles on floor was too loud. They were too damn close. He wouldn’t be able to get away if he made his move now.
Double shit!

“Damn it!” He growled and pounded his fist on the carpet, then just let his forehead fall to the soft floor covering. He huffed, and then looked up at the guy that had just waltzed into the room, murdered two grown men, stole whatever was in the backpack and passed out in the chair. It just didn’t make any sense, he thought.

A comforting hand rested on his forearm and he glared over at her. “I can’t go to prison. My fa—” He cut his own words short as three more pairs of boots, all different in style, but all exceeding his price range for footwear, walked over the broken-down door of the suite and into the room.

Ethan didn’t move.

“Two this time, eh? I guess one of us needs to stay with him at all times,” one of the males said as he tossed the door off the bald guy as if it weighed no more than cardboard.

“Not me. Bastard has been a grizzly ever since he saved the angel and she went back to Heaven. I volunteer Lameria. She won’t care to lay his ass out if he gets physical. Or maybe that is exactly what he needs: someone to
lay
him. Certainly helps me control my urge when I feel like killing humans,” male number two stated, and then started laughing. His hands were all of a sudden in Ethan’s view, picking Italian Guy up off the carpet.

“Shut it, Fallis,” the third guy said. “He’s going through a tough time right now and nobody knows what the fuck is going on. It could be you or any of us next. We need to get this figured out, and we need to do it soon; these two make five in four days,” he said as he picked the guy up from the chair and effortlessly tossed him over his shoulder. “Poor bastard doesn’t remember a damn thing about any of it, either. C’mon, let’s get those two in the basement with the others and this one in the bed, far away from any trouble… or humans.”

“It figures I would get stuck carrying the big one.”

“It’s ’cause you’re the smallest and have more to prove, Damien,” Fallis retorted with a chuckle.

“I don’t have to prove anything to anybody. I know I’m good. And you’re only upset because, even though I’m smaller, you’ve yet to beat me at any strength contest.”

“Home!” the biggest male bellowed, and the two other males vanished from the room with their baggage. “Damn!” he growled, and stood there a moment longer with the killer on his shoulder, and then he just disappeared, too.

Ethan looked over at the female, expression somber. “No bodies, no product, no evidence, no suspect; case closed. I’m getting the hell out of here before they realize they dropped their keys or something and decide to come back.”

“Wait,” she said, but Ethan did not. He scooted out from under the bed and hurried out of the room.

Thoros sat up quickly and looked around his bedchambers for any threat. He couldn’t remember anything about the night before or how he had managed to end up in his bed, stripped of everything.

Have I brought a female home?
Sniffing the air around him let him know that nobody had shared his bed, though he could sense there was someone outside his door. His hands came up to cover his face and he rubbed at the fresh stubble, dreading the conversation that was about to happen. “Christ,” he muttered to himself, “what the hell did I do this time that I need a freaking babysitter now?”

He wanted to shout at whoever it was and tell him to mind his own damn business, but doing that wouldn’t fix anything and, he had to admit to himself, he was beginning to get really freaked out by the recent events.