Grievous (Wanted Men Book 5) (2 page)

Yasmeen accepted some paper towel from the attendant. As she patted the water she’d just splash on her face, she surreptitiously looked over at two tall women washing their hands. The one who’d spoken had a gorgeous head of red hair and a face usually found in a cosmetics add. The black haired one had a baby bump and eyes so red-rimmed it was clear she’d been a personal friend of Markus’s. Even grief-stricken, she was stunning. “I still can’t believe this happened,” she murmured with a catch in her voice.

Feeling bad for her, Yasmeen finished up and left. When she reached her intended target, she put a light hand on a bicep that felt as if it was made of stone. “Excuse me, Sorin?”

Lucian’s bodyguard turned his head and looked down at her. She was a sleek five-nine, but he had to be somewhere closer to six-three or four. With his brown hair slicked back, and the full beard, she couldn’t help but think hipster lumberjack. A distant, unfriendly, living-in-a-cabin-one-wouldn’t-dare-approach lumberjack.

“Ms. Michaels.”

“Um, I have to get going.”

He motioned to someone for her coat, though how they would know which was hers she’d never know.

“Would you mind telling your—”

“Yasmeen.”

Her eyes fluttered, and she couldn’t stop the swift breath that pulled into her lungs when she heard that deep, accented voice. Trying to hide the reaction by clearing her throat, she turned to find Lucian behind her.
Jeeesus
, the man was beautiful. And that air of authority he wore that let all those he came into contact with know they were dealing with someone they should fear? Orgasmic. To a girl like her, who’d grown up in a place where strength reigned, the power this man so effortlessly wielded was an aphrodisiac.

But not even his king-of-the-jungle aura could hide his suffering today.

“Lucian,” she murmured as his presence wrapped around her, demanding a response she was helpless to deny. Standing around six-two-ish, and broad in the shoulders, he had hair the color of black coffee and amber eyes that made her think of warm whiskey. His skin had a smooth olive tone that reflected his Romanian heritage, and she’d yet to look at him without seeing a gothic castle in the back of her mind, the scene complete with a full moon and bats flying overhead.

The electric hum of aggression buzzing amid the grief hanging in the air affected her now the same way it had yesterday, and earlier at the church. She felt ill. She reached out to give his fingers a squeeze but didn’t offer any meaningless words, because really, how could they help? She simply wanted to let him know she could see he was hurting.

He looked down at the connection and then back up at her when she let go. “It appeared as though you were leaving us.”

She gripped her bag tighter. “Yes. I have to get to the gallery. I have a show—”

He brought his hand up to stroke his thumb down her throat. Her thoughts scattered. “Thank you for being here.” It was as if he hadn’t heard her talking. “Your presence was a balm.”

A balm? Who talked like that? It was no wonder her back-alley brain didn’t know what to make of him. The way he moved, the way he spoke; he was deliberate to the point of appearing austere, and most people responded to that by being cowed.

Two years ago, she’d responded to it by having hours-long sex with him the same night they’d met. Call her classy.

Uncomfortable with his intimate gesture in so public a place, or more specifically, her body’s reaction to it, she stepped back, just as an employee came forward with her coat. She didn’t care how he’d known which was hers anymore, she was just glad she was that much closer to getting out of there.

But before she could get her hands on the black poncho-style faux fur, Lucian had it and was holding it up for her to slip into. After she had switched her bag from hand to hand so she could slip her arms through the slits, Mr. Touchy-Feely turned her by the shoulders and brought the soft lapels together under her chin. He tightened his hold and pulled her up as his head came down. His warm lips landed on the swell of her cheek. She heard him inhale quietly, didn’t feel a kiss, and then he was releasing her and Sorin was coming up next to them with two small glasses. She hadn’t seen him leave.

Lucian took the crystal filled with an amber liquid that matched his eyes and handed her one. He held his up, and feeling obligated, she touched them together. The chime was pretty.

“To my dead brother.”

Balking, she had trouble swallowing the fiery liquor. Not because it was straight alcohol, but because it was as if, with his words, he’d wanted to twist the knife by being cruel. To himself.

He took her empty glass as she tried to hide a shudder because she really wasn’t accustomed to shooting expensive brandy. “Now you may leave. Sorin will take you down to the car. My driver is waiting.”

“Oh, no. That’s okay.” Warmth was spreading through her chest. She looked at the glasses he was handing off to a waiter and wondered how much money she’d just consumed. “I’ll get a cab.”

“It has already been taken care of,
draga
. My driver is waiting.” He nodded at Sorin, who took her elbow and led her away.

She wanted to look back. She wanted to repeat the offer she’d made yesterday, to remind him that if he needed company, all he had to do was call and she’d meet him for a drink or dinner. She wanted to go back and hug him until he felt better able to cope. She just wanted to touch him.

She did none of those things because she knew this was going to end the same way it had the last time. She wouldn’t see him again.

“You don’t have to walk me out,” she said to Sorin. She wouldn’t be upset by this, she vowed as she placed a hand over her tight chest. Not again. “I’ll get that cab. That way his car will be available when he’s ready to escape.”

“This is why you attempt to refuse his offer?” Sorin said without looking at her.

She shrugged. “I figure he’s going to want to get out of there sooner rather than later. If his car is in Queens, he’ll be stuck.” She hugged her coat around her as they took the curved staircase to the first floor. Blinking, she reached for the railing when the world tilted. Sorin took her arm, but it was for nothing because everything evened out again when they reached level ground. “Going by the look in his eyes, I don’t think that would be good for him right now. I hope he’s going to be okay. You’re with him all the time, right?”

“Yes.”

“I’m glad.”

She was the first to push out the doors, and she breathed deeply, gulping in the cold December air. Sorin took her elbow again, and rather than have the uniformed doorman wave for one of the bright yellow taxis passing by, he brought her to a sleek Bentley.

“We have the chopper on standby,” Sorin informed her. “So you can rest easy and travel in comfort.”

“Oh.” She blinked as her vision began to tunnel. “’Kay. Uh, yeah, that’s okay then. S’long as he’s covered.” Was she slurring?

Sorin didn’t say anything as he settled her into the luxurious rear seat of the car.

“Smells great in here.” She inhaled Lucian’s scent and tried to hide a shiver. She didn’t even care when his monster bodyguard leaned over to pull her seatbelt out so he could strap her in. Until she realized Sorin had leaned over to pull her seatbelt out so he could strap her in. “’Kay I’m good. Go take care of
him
. He needs…um, yeah, you go now. Don’ leave him alone, Sor’n. He’s…hurting.” She pushed two big mitts away and shooed the gruff bear out of her personal space.

It felt as if her brain was trying to do a front roll in her skull, and she was suddenly having a hell of a time keeping her eyes from sliding closed.

The last thing she felt was a gentle hand tipping her head to the side and tucking her cheek into a small pillow.

“Sor’n? What’s happ’ning?”

“Straight to the airport,” she could have sworn he said to the driver, but the ringing in her ears made it difficult to know for sure. Her shoulder was patted. “Rest now, Ms. Michaels.”

Because she had absolutely no choice in the matter, her consciousness slipped away, and she did as she was told.

♦ ♦ ♦

Lucian Fane shook another hand and nodded without hearing what the person said. But because he respected the investment banker, he waited until her back was to him before looking at the Patek Philippe on his wrist that he’d never again wear. Triggers were dealt with so they couldn’t dredge memories better left buried.

Up his head came. He wanted to leave. He
needed
to leave. Isaac would text when he reached La Guardia; then it would take Lucian less than twenty minutes to get to the jet via chopper. He didn’t want to wait. His fingers were itching, his groin already growing heavy, his gut rolling with anticipation. For what? To get his hands on her again. To sink into her body. To hear her moan and cry out as she broke apart and clamped down on whatever part of him he had inside her at that moment. He still remembered the silky tightness of that pussy he’d glutted himself on the one and only night he’d had her.

He was keeping her for a while. Taking her from her life. Without her knowledge or permission.

As his gaze strayed to Markus’s picture, his agony struggled, trying to find a way around his rage. It wanted to ravage him some more. It would endlessly tear him apart if it got in. But there was no break. No weakness in the brittle shell now protecting him. There was only the solid, impenetrable force that would carry him forward. Guilt and shame no longer existed. The demons now in residence had banished such foolishness.

He looked away from that beautiful face he would miss forever and focused on what he was able to feel. Rage and lust. As one did its best to blacken his heart completely, the other caused the type of hunger he imagined addicts dealt with. A hunger that would not die until it was fed. And he would feed it. Sparing Yasmeen Michaels was no longer something he had any interest in doing. Chivalry was indeed dead. He didn’t care that she would take his attention from issues more important than sinking into a willing body. He certainly didn’t care about proving he was disciplined enough to resist her allure. He had. For two years. But every man had a weakness. His was an orphaned girl who’d grown up in a dilapidated neighborhood, surrounded by poverty and crime, yet now appeared regal enough to rule a nation.

If anything had come from this experience, it was the reminder to follow his instincts and do what he wanted in
every
area of his life, not just business. To take what he wanted when he wanted it because chances were it wouldn’t be there when he needed it most. How embarrassingly cliché.

He scanned the room. Why were these people afforded the privilege of living? How fucking dare they continue to interact with one another, smiling, laughing? Breathing. He should gut them. Openly murder the unsuspecting innocents. Watch the light die in their eyes as the blood spilled from their bodies…

Blood that would never be as precious as that which now stained the floor of a parking garage on Front Street. The stain had formed less than forty-eight hours ago, from a bullet wound delivered by a Russian man born with no sense of self-preservation. That was the only explanation that made sense. Why else would Sergei Pivchenko have used Markus as a pawn in a failed attempt to start a war within the organized crime world Lucian currently ruled?

Where is he?

I wish I knew
, he answered internally, speaking with the demons that now writhed and twisted in their efforts to escape the hold he had on them. They were growing stronger every day Lucian had to wait to deliver his vengeance. If he gave them free reign, it would be catastrophic.

He felt Sorin settle just behind him.

“Are you sure you do not want to change your mind about this?” His private guard’s question was spoken in Romanian.

As Sorin would no doubt expect, Lucian didn’t respond to the inquiry. “Did you get everything?”

“Yes. The items on your list were acquired and are already onboard. I have to say; the gesture was a thoughtful one but it will not make up for what you are doing to her.”

“I am not interested in making anything up to anyone.” Lucian’s phone vibrated with a text.

We’re approaching the tarmac. Should I settle her onboard?

The tension in his shoulders eased as he replied.

Yes. Is she comfortable?

Sleeping peacefully.

He looked across the room and nodded at his pilot who was waiting by the door.

I will be there shortly.

He sent the text and put the phone in his pocket as Vincente Romani approached with the one who’d put some life into his dark eyes. Not a soul knew, but the underboss of the Moretti crime family was one of Lucian’s favorite people. Because he was an extension of his boss? Lucian looked across to see Gabriel Moretti talking with a member of the Tarasov organization. Sergei Pivchenko was theirs. Or he had been until recently. His uncle was the Pakhan of the organization. A powerful man Lucian had always held in high esteem.

How would Vasily Tarasov feel if one of Lucian’s men strode over and shot Maksim Kirov in the head? How would the Russian leader feel if the gunman then turned the gun on Gabriel, his son-in-law? Then Dmitri, his private guard. Then Alekzander, his beloved nephew. How about Vasily’s daughter? How would he feel if her life was taken, along with the new life she carried?