The Salvation of Vengeance (Wanted Men #2) (24 page)

After releasing the soft leather of Nika’s purse, Vincente continued his struggle to draw oxygen into his lungs, unable to get the dead look he’d put in her eyes out of his mind. The look on her precious face when he’d implied that she didn’t turn him on enough for him to want to have sex with her was burned into his brain.

What a vicious lie! If the damn woman turned him on any more, he’d be hanging upside down from the fucking ceiling with a pull chain attached to the back of his throat.

Yet she’d believed it. Believed she wasn’t desirable. How could that be? Did she not see a reflection when she looked into a mirror? How could she think that after what they’d just shared? Couldn’t she tell she’d owned him in that moment? That he’d put the distance there to protect her from him, not to hurt her?

God, the ecstasy on her face as she’d come for him. For him!

But he had to let her believe the foul mistruths, because as she’d lain there beneath him, climaxing so beautifully in his arms, he’d known beyond a shadow of a doubt that if he took her, made love to her fully, claimed her as his, he would never,
ever
, have the strength to let her go. And she deserved so much more than what he could offer. So he’d thrown the verbal stones hard enough to hurt. Maybe if she continued to look at him the way she had been for the past few minutes it would make denying this wild obsession he had with her a little easier. Because the last thing she needed was a suffocating I’m-keeping-you-under-lock-and-key-just-in-case-something-happens-to-you obsession in her bed. She deserved someone who would allow her the freedom to stretch her wings and fly to the heavens. Vincente could never give her that.

Feeling nauseous, he stepped away and looked down at the letter that had turned her into a ghost right in front of his eyes. What he saw left him shaking with rage.

Nollan had found her! That fucker had been close enough to slip her this note!

Why hadn’t she seemed afraid when she’d read the violent words? She’d paled, but that was it. Why hadn’t she looked terrified or alarmed? Like any other woman would have when reading something as disturbing as this.

Because she’d been living it for nearly a year. There was no telling how many times she’d been told this very same thing.

Vincente’s phone buzzed, and he snatched it from his pocket to scan the text. It was from Lorenzo. How the fuck had the guy gotten his number?

Number five was found this morning. Astoria. Damage to the bodies is escalating. FBI are in. Keep your ears open.

Holy shit.
Astoria was not small, but it wasn’t large either, and Nollan had killed in the vicinity. He’d been at the club last night. How else would he have written the note on one of their napkins and gotten it into Nika’s purse? And he’d clearly followed them back here. Was that why he’d done more damage to the victim’s body this time? Because he’d been angry that Nika hadn’t come home alone?

Could he have been tailing her all day yesterday? Had he seen Alesio and Vito doing the same and been too afraid to make a move?

Vincente’s blood ran cold, and he texted one question to Lorenzo. Needed to be sure. He had his answer within moments. The murder had been committed directly across the street, where the two suits he’d noted earlier had been gathering evidence.

Holy fuck.

His plan was suddenly shot to shit. Because no way in fucking hell was he letting Nika out of his sight when that bastard was this close. He couldn’t stay away from her now. Couldn’t turn her care over to one of the other guys. Not until he saw the life drain from Kevin Nollan’s body with his own eyes.

He focused and took in the obstinate tilt of Nika’s chin, a belligerent and . . . condescending? . . . expression was now on her face, one he’d never seen her wear before.

“You were going to walk out of here
without letting me see this
?” he suddenly roared, the volume of his voice escalating with every word. He grasped the vile note in his fist and waved it in her too-pale face.

“I’m right in front of you. There’s no need to shout. Give it back, please.”

The cold, so cold, tone wrenched him back from the brink of a total meltdown. He slowly lowered his arm, feeling a stab of panic when she observed him as if he were a coat of paint drying on the wall.

It was as though she didn’t see him anymore.

“Where were you going?”

She shrugged as if she didn’t have a care in the world. “Why would I tell you?” she asked in a reasonable tone that made him want to shake some sense into her.

“He was close, Red.” Did she not understand what that meant for her? “I know you’re upset right now, but with him onto you, you can’t honestly think I’ll let you leave here.”

She settled back on her heel and crossed her arms. “No, of course not. Which makes sense, since the privilege to decide what I do is reserved for everyone but me.”

He ignored that and went over to once again block her only exit. He hated to do it, but there was no other option. She was not going to put herself in harm’s way because of what was going on between them. He would restrain her if he had to.

Let her hate him like she hated Nollan. But dammit, let her stay alive!

Maybe he should tell her about the prostitutes. Scare her into wanting to stay with him.

No. He didn’t want her feeling responsible for those girls.

He knew what it was like to have death on your conscience, and he wouldn’t do that to her when she was so close to crumbling under all she was dealing with already.

“Silent treatment?” She shook her head as if disgusted. “Fine. But if I have to stay with you, I want a weapon.”

Vincente reared back, surprised at her capitulation—and outlandish demand. “What?” he barked incredulously.

“I don’t trust you. I want to be armed.”

He ignored the unexpected pang at hearing she didn’t trust him and narrowed his eyes at how easy that had been. “Just like that.”

“No, not just like that,” she spat. “In case you missed the bulletin, Vincente, I’ve had the shit beaten out of me enough in my life to know when to snap to attention. So instead of volunteering for a black-and-blue makeover from you, I’m giving in.”

He went utterly still, astounded by her opinion of him. Of who she thought he was. Never in his life had he touched a woman in anger. Never. And he never would. For her to think that he could possibly do so with her?

Bile burned his throat, followed by an outrage the likes of which he’d never known. “I would never—”

“Yeah, yeah, blah, blah, blah, and heard it all before.” She waved her hand, dismissing him as she turned away with a flip of her hair to waltz into the main room. “Save it for someone who believes it,” she said over her shoulder. “Better yet, for someone desperate enough to listen to the bullshit guys like you actually believe when you spout it.”

He couldn’t move. Who the fuck was this chick bludgeoning his character? He stalked to her, turning her to face him with a gentle clamp on her slim wrist. Fuck, she was so breakable. How could she ever think he’d hurt her?

“Let’s get one thing straight right now. You can insult me, give me a shot on the chin, or kick me in the balls.” He came in close so he knew he had her undivided attention. “But I would never, under
any
circumstances, raise my hand to you.”

She yanked her wrist free and plunked down on the sofa. “Using your fists isn’t the only way to hurt someone, Vincente. Tell a girl she’s ugly or that her nose is too big, and she’ll never forget it. That hurts. Tell a guy he’s skinny rather than buff. He’s hurt. Tell someone they aren’t smart enough or good enough or that everything they do is wrong. They’re bleeding as you walk away. Most times a body will heal from a physical attack. A verbal one? Not so much.” She tapped her temple and glared up at him. “Our stupid brains don’t have to believe what the other person is saying wholeheartedly, but that doesn’t stop them from absorbing and tucking the damaging words away.” She stood and went over to look out the window, her back tense as she crossed her arms, the gesture defensive rather than aggressive. “And doesn’t the mind know just the right time to knock you back down with the memory just when you think you’re on steady ground? I want that gun I almost shot you with the other night. I put it back where Gabriel told me I could find it.”

She’d spoken as though she were giving a lesson, but it had been from the heart. Fucking Nollan. The physical damage he’d inflicted had been visible to every one of them. Fading now but visible.

What damage
couldn’t
they see?

“Nika—”

She held up a hand without turning. “Save it. I really don’t care to hear it.”

And she didn’t. The lack of interest was clear in her voice. “Wait here,” he said, trying not to make it an order. “I’ll get you your gun, and then we’ll go to the house to see Eva.” He’d feel better once they were there.

He made his way to the bedroom, Nollan’s note still clutched in his fist. He hit Maks’s number on his cell as he opened the safe to get the little SIG, back in its place as Nika had said. He’d have armed her himself had she not asked. If for some reason Nollan managed to put a bullet in Vincente’s neck, he had to give Nika the chance to take the fucker out before he could do any more damage to her than he’d already done.

Nollan had to die so Nika could be free. It was as simple as that.

Nika listened to Vincente’s footfalls and shook her head at the man’s naïveté, feeling nothing about obviously upsetting him with her assumption that he’d slap her around if given half the chance.

What man wouldn’t?
she thought scathingly.

After quietly popping up from the couch, she tiptoed to the door, wincing as the lock snapped when she turned it. Without waiting to see if he’d heard, she grabbed her bag and sprinted down the hall, half expecting him to come after her. She jammed her finger on the elevator button over and over and practically dove in when the car dinged open.

She didn’t give a damn about Kevin. She didn’t give a damn about Vincente.

She didn’t give a damn at all. She just wanted out.

Surprised to find herself still alone when she reached street level, she didn’t hesitate to throw her arm out to hail a passing cab. Sliding in, she gave the driver Eva’s address and then sat back in the sticky seat, her heart steady and cold as ice. Sure, she was following the plan and going to Vincente’s house. But she was doing so on her terms, not his.

Eva and Gabriel had been the only ones to truly understand her desperate need for independence—had been the only two who’d really respected her wishes. Maybe they’d be able to keep Kevin—and Vincente—the hell away from her.

Vincente hit the gas, still unable to believe she’d fucked off on him. How stupid was he to have not realized that’s what she intended to do?
Dammit.
He might as well have paid for the fucking cab the doorman had said she’d gotten into.

He weaved around a sweet-looking Ferrari that might as well have been sitting still, the old fart inside was going so slow.

He hit the speed dial for Eva’s cell.

“Hello?”

“Squirt. Did Nika call you?”

“Just now. What happened? Is she okay? She sounded weird.”

“Did she say where she was heading?”

“She’s coming here.”

Thank fuck.
“I’m on my way.”

He disconnected and got Caleb on the line next, telling him to come to the house. He filled him in on Nollan’s note and recent activities and was pretty sure he heard a bike start in the background before they even hung up.

Maks was home and on high alert, had probably filled Gabriel and the others in already. Once Nika passed through the front gate, she was not leaving again until Nollan was in the ground. Period.

The fact that she’d be protected in somewhat the same manner at the clubhouse was barely a passing thought. She would be, but not by him, and that was the only way he’d be able to concentrate on ending this, by having her behind the walls of Maks’s Fort Knox–level security system.

She hates you now
, Fan Boy accused, the sledgehammer in his hands coming down once more, making Vincente’s head throb.