Lace & Lead (novella) (13 page)

“Peirce?”

Those brown eyes were staring up at him, all her emotions laid out, clear as day. Gods, he needed to be inside her.

When her caress became needy, he lost his control. He flipped her to her stomach and pressed his weight down on top of her. “Trust me?”

She shivered at the rasp in his voice. “I trust you.”

He kissed his way down her spine, hands running over her, massaging her. He grasped her waist and lifted her to her knees. A quick motion and he had a pillow beneath her.

His fingers brushed over her core, dipping inside until she thought the sensations would become overwhelming. Not being able to see him or his expressions, to be focused solely on his touch and when it would come again, was intoxicating.

“You’re wet,” he murmured approvingly and she blushed. She couldn’t play coy with this man; her body had a mind of its own and right now, it craved him to fill the emptiness.

“Please,” she whimpered into the mattress.

She felt her entire body constrict when he pushed inside. Her moan of pleasure may have been muffled, but she could feel the rumble that left his chest. He teased her, pulling away just a bit and staying there until she arched her back and pressed against his hips. He coaxed her legs wider, her hips higher, and his hand returned to her, pushing her further still.

She couldn’t help it. The words slipped out as his thumb brushed over her again, his thrust so deep she could feel him in her bones. “Please, love—”

And when she called him that, his rhythm changed. His thrusts came faster, stronger. His fingers dug into her hips and she clawed at the sheets, desperate for release.

His breathing was ragged and every time she pushed back against him, he groaned and returned to her harder. The heat that had been building since he’d stripped off her clothes was now an inferno, liquid fire coursing through her veins. Nothing could make her world more perfect—

“Oh gods, Emma—I—dammit!” His fingers tightened on her waist, his voice terrified. “—love you—”

She was consumed. A living flame.

She felt his every pulse, echoed his heartbeat, knew he was whispering that to her over and over, a desperate confession.

He’d made her a phoenix.

Something was beeping insistently. Emmaline blinked, willing her eyes to focus despite too few hours of sleep. Peirce shifted beside her, his body curled over her protectively. After his admission last night, he hadn’t let her even an arms-length away from him.

She shifted and he opened his eyes blearily. “Good morning,” she whispered.

That rough countenance lightened when he smiled at her, a slow, knowing lift of the corner of his mouth. “It could be,” he responded, pulling her close for a kiss.

“We should get up.”

“Why?”

“Something’s been beeping for a while. It woke me up.”

That
got his attention. A swift kiss and he was out of the bed, throwing on pants and a shirt, moving toward the library. She shook her head in amusement and slipped into her new pants and soft shirt. “I’ll check the kitchen and see if there’s any food left,” she called down the hall to him. She shrugged when he didn’t respond. He was probably focused on something else.

Maybe after breakfast he could take her to the estate’s garage, show her more tricks. It would be the perfect way to keep their minds off her father’s insane plot. She’d never pegged him as a madman, but desperation and revenge could lead a man to strange decisions...

“We’ve got a problem.”

Peirce scowled as he dragged on the rest of his clothes, trying not to feel nauseous as Douglass’s image blurred and jumped all over the screen. He was in a Stallion, rolling toward the estate as quickly as possible with Kai. And Peirce didn’t know why. “What the hell do you mean, we’ve got a problem?”

“You told me to dig up what I could about Riecher.”

Peirce’s gut dropped.
Had he done something else down there, something Emma didn’t know about? Had someone found out about his death? Was she in danger?

Douglass continued, not realising Peirce was spiralling. “He went to the tour as a guest.”

“Of who? Emma’s father?”

“No. Richard Stone.”

“Stone?”

“Before Riecher’s death, he was listed on a shit-ton of the paperwork for Stone’s shell companies. He also had unlimited access to Stone’s highest priced brothels.”

The pieces clicked into place with grim clarity. “Oh, fuck.”

“It gets worse. A flag went up a few minutes ago; someone hacked into the estate’s security feeds. And a lot of chatter on the comm waves.”

He paused, hand at his ear, listening intently. “Hostiles in-bound. Get the hell out, sir.”

He was up, running toward the bedroom. She wasn’t there. He grabbed his gun, his knife and sprinted back down the hall, bellowing her name.

He’d made a grave error.

Chapter 10

“Emma!”

Dread was choking him, stopping the air from reaching his lungs.

“Emma!”

Why hadn’t he thought of that? He should have seen it coming!

“Gods, Emma! Where the fuck are you?”

“Peirce?”

He stumbled on the stairs, knees giving out with relief. There she was. Standing at the hall entrance that led down to the kitchen, looking at him like he was crazy.

Maybe he was.

“What’s wrong?” She took a step toward him and all he could think about was grabbing her and taking her upstairs and keeping her safe until Douglass and Kai were there to help him—

The world exploded.

The heavy wooden front door splintered, chunks flying through the entryway, one catching his temple and making his vision go pale and his head ring with an eerie hum. The front windows shattering as bullets slammed through them. Emma had thrown herself to the ground, covering her head and neck with her arms. Peirce ignored the wetness dripping down the side of his face, pulled out his gun, watched the doorway, crept toward Emma and focused on protecting her from whatever was coming.

A small group of men in body armour stormed the room, sweeping their assault rifles as entered. They were only looking at eye-level, were grouped tightly, exposing necks and heads because they couldn’t manoeuvre themselves any other way.

Fish in a fucking barrel
.

Five gentle squeezes on the trigger. The two in front went first, crumpling, then the two behind. The fifth actually figured out the shots were coming from
below
, but he was too slow to draw in time.

Peirce finished crawling to Emma, who was staring at the fallen men in shock. Her eyes widened and she reached out a shaking hand to the side of his head. “You’re hurt,” she whispered.

“Later,” he said, confirming her concern and grabbed an assault rifle off the nearest body. A quick check to ensure it wasn’t damaged. He pocketed a spare magazine and looked both ways down the hall.

“What do we do?” Emma asked quietly.

“We need to get you somewhere safe.”

“The tunnels?”

“They’ll know about them this time.”

“Upstairs?”

He contemplated it. “Kai and Douglass are on their way. I don’t know how long. And these bastards hacked the security feed. I’m not sure I could hold them from the room.”

She pursed her lips. “There aren’t a lot of safe places in the house if they have access to the cameras.”

“I know.”

“What about outbuildings? Barn? Garage? Root cellar?”

“Root cellar means we’re trapped. Barn isn’t too far.”

“Neither is the garage,” she pointed out, “and it has cars in it.”

Peirce nodded. He’d worked on the old farm equipment during his two weeks on the estate. He’d thought it would be useful to have the vehicles—outdated though they may be—up and running in case an emergency came up.

Good thing he’d planned ahead.

He could hear the sound of additional vehicles approaching the estate. There was only one road in, so if he timed it right, they could reach the garage through the gardens and miss the newest teams. Time to decide.

Emma was looking at him, her mouth tight, but clearly trusting of whatever he decided. He hated to do this, but it was the only way to make sure she’d live.

Peirce pressed the pistol into her hand. “Don’t shoot unless you have to,” he said curtly. “They’re wearing armour, so centre mass won’t help much.”

“Okay.”

“We’re going three rooms down that hall,” he gestured. She could see it in her head—out the lower office with its dual doors opening into the gardens. “Into the garden. Hug the nearest wall. They’re going to come for us, so we’ve got to move fast.”

“I will.”

His eyes flashed and he pressed a desperate kiss to her lips.
Funny, kissing me is what got him into this mess in the first place…

“Go,” he ordered. For the second time, she followed him without question, a hunched sprint down the hall. One door...two...three…a sharp turn and they were in the office. Peirce closed the door behind them, bolting it even though he must have known it wouldn’t do anything to stop men with guns.

He opened the doors to the garden carefully, staying low and taking in the scene. She couldn’t see anyone, but that didn’t mean her stomach wasn’t churning from fear and worry.

“Remember,” Peirce said evenly, “hug the wall.”

She nodded once, hoping she could keep it together. He ushered her out and she did as he ordered, pressing herself against the stone, praying no one had seen her. Peirce was there a half second later.

“Good girl,” he murmured, moving forward and checking over the top of the wall once. “Let’s go.”

They leapfrogged their way through the garden, keeping the stone wall between them and the men at the front of the house. At each break in the wall, each place where a gravel pathway interrupted their safe escape, Emma felt sick as she watched Peirce check before gesturing her ahead of him.

She could hear shouting from the house, crashes and shattering as the men razed it, but couldn’t bring herself to care. Her father had brought it on himself. It was a fitting end to his legacy.

They were almost to the garage. Her mouth went dry. A stretch of open ground. If the men near the house turned and looked down the gentle hill, she and Peirce would be spotted instantly. Judging by the wry grin on his face, he knew that too.