Held Read online

  Steven's loud voice echoed down the stairwell as he guffawed with some of his upper echelon co-workers. Great. Scarlet groaned and sat up straight. The irritation built in her instantly. It wasn't just the inconsiderate volume; it was the frequency. He constantly butted himself into other people's spaces, acting like he owned the whole building and everyone in it. Maybe she could hide under the desk. She snorted. He'd probably find her anyway.

  He used to hit on every woman that walked through the door, but apparently, he'd had them all. At least, that was Scarlet's interpretation.

  Otherwise, she couldn't think of a reason he kept coming after her, other than she kept saying 'No.' She considered faking an irate customer call but didn't have time before his chiseled, attractive face popped around the corner. He flashed his million-watt smile at her as he knocked on her open door. She exhaled in irritation.

  “Evenin', Ms. Scarlet.” Scarlet rolled her eyes. Oh, how amusing, she'd never heard that one before.

  “Hello, Steven. Did you have a good day?”

  She was generally a polite person, so she couldn't in good conscious be mean and nasty. Even though she knew in her bones that he deserved it. Man-whores usually did. He straightened his tie and draped himself in her side chair.

  “Yes, I did! Thank you for asking. What time am I picking you up tonight?”

  She blinked in astonishment and shot out a short, humorless laugh.

  “Um, no time!”

  He leaned up in the chair and rested his elbows on her desk, staring straight into her eyes. She gulped.

  “You said you'd think about it.” He gave her a lazy smile. “And that's all I've done.” He winked and leaned back again.

  Irritation froze her solid. The audacity of this sleaze bucket was mind-boggling. She opened her mouth to speak but sucked in a short breath instead when he shot his hand across the desk and grabbed hers.

  “Tonight. Eight. Please?”

  He dragged his hand back and tucked it under his arm. What the hell was this guy smoking up there? She had thought cigarettes but—

  “Come on, Scarlet. Dinner. Just dinner. Let me take you somewhere fancy. Spoil you with food and wine. Then I'll take you home.”

  He smiled, and she chewed on her lip. She had to admit, that sounded like fun. Even if it was with him. Maybe she'd just use him to get some good food. She hadn't been out—with anyone—in ages. And since her Mediterranean savior decided they were a no-go, her schedule was pretty wide open. She pursed her lips. And if it was just dinner, she could eat something yummy and be back home in time to catch a rerun of Zombie Preppers 2.0. Just dinner, she could handle. He was mostly harmless, anyway. She squinted, and he raised his eyebrows.

  “One condition.”

  His face lit up, and she rolled her eyes, trying not to smile. He leaned forward and propped his arm up on her desk to rest his chin on his palm.

  “Name it, sweetheart.”

  She recoiled internally. She never liked it when men called her that.

  “Okay, now it's two.”

  He laughed and nodded. “Okay, name them.”

  “One: Don’t call me sweetheart. And Two: you can't smoke. At all. Starting right now. Otherwise, it's a no.”

  She smiled, quite pleased with herself and one hundred percent certain that would halt the whole thing. He pondered for a moment and then nodded again as he rose, putting his hands on his hips.

  “I can only agree to one of those terms . . . sweetheart.”

  She blinked several times. Well, shit. Then she had another brilliant idea. She'd just send him to the wrong address.

  “Don't you need to know where I live?”

  That lazy smile spread across his face, and he winked again.

  “My office vetted every employee in the building. I know where you live. See you at eight.”

  Well, that wasn't creepy. He strolled out of her office, down the short hall created by the outward-facing cubicles, and more than likely straight to the elevator. She stared at the space he once occupied, and a shudder ran down her spine. Why did he have to be equal parts skeeze-meister, annoying, and sexy? She groaned and hung her head in her hands. Saying no was so hard.

  “So. You, him, and nothing between you but a table, huh?”

  “Not funny. It's just dinner,” she mumbled.

  Scarlet dragged her gaze up to find Katelyn leaned against the door frame, holding her bag, smug grin in place. Scarlet wondered occasionally if the fact that she was off-limits due to being married bothered her. Every woman liked to feel pursued—to a point.

  “Ugh, five already?”

  “Yep, only three more hours until you turn into a humpkin,” Katelyn said, waggling her eyebrows.

  “Oh, my God Katelyn, that's GROSS! There's no way in hell I'm sleeping with that sack of slime!” She threw a pen at Katelyn, who ducked out of the door just in time, laughing maniacally. She called out to Scarlet over the partition wall.

  “I'll just wait by the elevator while you collect your dignity. Make sure you wrap it up tight and shove it deep in your purse. Or better yet, you could just leave it here.”

  Scarlet groaned loudly and laughed. She grabbed her stuff and scrambled after Katelyn, getting there just as the elevator doors slid open. They climbed in, and she leaned over to whisper in Scarlet's ear once the doors closed.

  “We'll seeee. I heard from Martha he's hung.”

  “Martha?! She's sixty-one! How does she know? Oh, my God, don't tell me. I don't want to know . . .but how does she—No. Nevermind.”

  Katelyn laughed and bumped her shoulder against Scarlet's. “I heard no such thing, oh ye of little scruples. I'm just messing with you.”

  Great. Thanks to Katelyn now all she could think about was Nick for some reason. Not that her brain needed any prompting, really.

  The doors slid open, and they marched to the exit, their heels clicking almost in sync. Scarlet froze at the door, but Katelyn turned to face her and smiled as she gently placed a hand on her shoulder.

  “Hey. Text me and let me know when he gets there. Text me when you know where you're going. Text me when he drops you off. Text me if you need me to come kick his ass at any point during the night. Basically, if I don't get a text from you every eleven minutes I'm coming in with a crowbar and a burlap sack.”

  Scarlet opened her arms and snagged her a warm hug, which was returned tightly. “I will. I'll be fine, don't worry. It's just dinner, no big deal. Then maybe he'll get off my case. I can handle myself.”

  Katelyn snorted but squeezed again before stepping back. “You'd better. Have . . . fun?” She shrugged and walked backward a few steps before she waved, whirled around, and headed to the overflow lot.

  Scarlet took a deep breath and glanced skyward as she offered a silent prayer for a tornado. Or for Nick to appear out of thin air and whisk her away. When neither happened, she blew the breath out and headed to the garage.

  Nick

  The only thing blood did to Nick now was annoy him. He scrubbed his jacket collar in the cold, soapy water as hard as he could manage, his hands aching. He pulled it out every so often to inspect it, then let it drop roughly after the twelfth failed attempt.

  “Another fucking jacket.”

  The blood was long gone. It was the death he couldn't wash out.

  He sat down hard on the edge of the tub and hung his head, working his jaw.

  He hadn't counted on the guy's buddy being scrappier than he looked. Still went down just the same. Only Nick was sure there'd be a few fewer teeth for the guy to brush tomorrow.

  He smirked, then frowned. At least he got to live. Not so for the actual target. This one bugged him a bit more than the others, though. This guy wasn't a thug or some skeeze. From all Nick could tell, he was just a normal guy. Looks could be deceiving but still, that one really rubbed him the wrong way.

  He shook his head and rubbed his face, stretching it out again. Thankfully, the pu
nch had been a bit weak, as punches go. He was pretty sure nothing would show up. But he had to come up with something witty to cover it up at work tomorrow, just in case, and hope none of the customers ragged him too hard about it.

  More than that, he really hoped that someone else didn't come in and see it. His heart skipped. It'd been six days. Not that he was in any way keeping track. Because there was no point. None.

  He blew out a slow breath.

  Six days since he decided it would be too dangerous for her to be anywhere near him and left her standing at the crosswalk. That made twice he'd left her alone somewhere, despite everything in him saying he should stay.

  Six days since her warm voice, distracting perfume, and satin skin threatened to drag him under the surface.

  Six days since he lusted so hard for her, he hadn’t slept that night.

  Six days since she confused the hell out of him, going out of her way to set a bag on the ground just to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. He smirked. What was that even about? The smirk melted back into a frown.

  Six days since he reaffirmed that he didn't deserve to be happy.

  He stood and stretched as he walked back into the living room. He fought to keep his gaze from swinging to the closed door on his left and succeeded that time. Not that it changed a damn thing; Annalise was still gone.

  He jerked open the freezer and grabbed two bags of mixed veggies before he deposited himself on the barstool. He draped one bag over his right knuckles and held the other on his jaw with his left hand, just in case.

  Before the cold could start working his pocket buzzed. He stiffened, and both bags fell to the floor as he snatched the phone out. UNKNOWN hovered above the notification, and he frowned.

  It was supposed to ring. He killed his target. The guy was dead, no question. White hot panic flooded him as he tapped the notification.

  SECOND TARGET.

  181ST BLOCK. REAR DOOR. 23 MINS.

  WHITE JACKET. BROWN HAIR.

  NO CALL TONIGHT.

  What the . . .That was the deal! His reply flew from his fingers too fast for him to process before he hit send.

  CALL NOW OR NO TARGET.

  He held his breath as he stared at the screen. That was stupid. He expected the worst. He had no leverage, and they knew it. He'd do what they asked. Whatever, however, and whenever.

  2 MINS.

  He exhaled fully and closed his eyes. They flew back open when the call came through. He couldn't hit accept fast enough.

  “ . . .Nick? They said I can't talk long. Are you okay? I miss you. They're still keeping me in this damn ware—”

  The cracking sound of a slap, followed by her scream boiled his blood, kicking his heart rate to high gear. Unfortunately, he'd heard that exact combination several times. She'd always been too headstrong. Her whimpering grew louder as she picked back up the phone. He just had to keep it together long enough to get through this call. Just a little longer.

  “Annalise, don't talk, just listen. I love you. They aren't going to hurt you for much longer, and when I find you, I'll kill every single one of them. That's a promise. Just . . .keep your head down and hold tight.”

  Her shaky breathing, followed by a muted “okay” was all he heard before the line went dead. He held the silent phone to his ear for a good twenty seconds more before he slammed it down on the counter and stormed across the room. He bellowed in frustration, storming straight to the end table. In one fluid motion, he snatched up a lamp and launched it against the closest wall, sending glass shards out like a dust cloud. He covered his face and stood there, powerless and alone.

  Very sickening and dangerous feelings to brew inside a man. Or anyone.

  The worst thing about this whole situation was that it was his fault. All of it. He should have been there. If he had just left work a little earlier . . . His chest ached as he sucked in air.

  And to top it all off, he was sure this jerk wad could easily have hired several better trained and better outfitted hitmen. Not to mention, there had to already be someone there making sure each target was on time. But for some reason, he enjoyed torturing Nick. And Annalise. And that enraged Nick beyond words. But he had come up with a plan after the last hit and was about to put it into action.

  He didn't even bother cleaning up the glass as he grabbed his gun again and stomped toward the door. The cleaning crew would just get a few extra bucks tomorrow. He jerked on a hoodie and slammed the door behind him, taking the stairs two at a time. A cabby dropped him two blocks away and waited, meter running. Nick ducked into a storefront and waited two minutes before walking back out and toward the address.

  The illustrious Spencer Price Hotel came into view, and his steps slowed. He thought that address sounded familiar. The towering, pristine building was completely out of place among the run down, old mill-town houses and shell businesses left over after the industry shift. It was a shining beacon, nestled there on the otherwise dirty street corner.

  Nick had no idea where their affluent clientele came from, but there was always a steady stream of expensive-looking people going and coming. Drawn like moths to the flame. On a breezy night, alcohol hung in the air. Tonight, though, it just smelled like death.

  Thoughts swirled in Nick’s head. His marks had definitely taken a turn for the concerning. They hadn't bothered him too much before when he could easily tell the hits were on less desirable people.

  But they were all still people. Important to remember that.

  He tucked his head in and crossed the street, then walked straight into the darkened side alley like he was supposed to be there. It was the best way to get away with things like that. If you looked shifty, chances are you were shifty. There was a stark contrast between the front of the building and his present spot. It was like the whole block was wearing a mask.

  He checked his watch and got into position. One minute to spare. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall.

  He had gotten a tiny piece of the puzzle tonight. She was in a warehouse. There wasn't much he could do with that yet, but maybe soon. Scarlet popped into his head for some reason, and his eyes flew open. Then he scowled. The last thing he needed right then was a beautiful distraction.

  The door opened without fanfare and out stepped an impeccably dressed older man. With brown hair. Wearing a white jacket. Nick pointed the gun at the man's head.

  “Who wants you dead?” He growled, breaking his silent death routine.

  The man stopped moving but didn't turn around or appear to be concerned in any way. “Who doesn't?” His response was eerily calm.

  Not the answer he was expecting in the slightest. Or the voice, as it was a tad on the feminine side. Nick readjusted his grip. The man chose to continue, giving Nick mixed emotions.

  “If I had to hazard a guess, it would be my direct rival. He's trying to take over my territory, and my business. In fact, the only reason I'm standing here now is he texted that he wanted to discuss an agreement. I can assume by your presence that was a ruse.” He took a long breath. “Are you the one to kill me?”

  “I don't have a choice,” Nick muttered.

  The man nodded and raised his hands in surrender.

  “I understand. I can then assume he's got significant leverage over you, and I'm sorry to hear that. You can be sure he's holding whoever it is in one of his buildings in this city, even though he owns several in Bridgeford, as well. Know that I fully understand the importance of family. I wish I could be of more help.”

  Nick swallowed hard and shook his head.

  “What's his name?”

  “He calls himself The Wolf.”

  Nick cocked the gun.

  “Might I make a final request? I believe I know what they call you, but would you be so kind as to do it in the heart instead? I'd like an open casket funeral.”

  Nick sucked in a short breath. He had always struggled to keep thoughts about the families left behin
d at bay, but he was rarely successful. Hearing it said out loud and so matter of fact was difficult. Just another reason to hate himself. He fought the stinging tear that threatened to fall and cleared his throat.

  “Yeah.”

  The man exhaled and nodded.

  “Thank you. Good luck.”

  Nick took a step closer and aimed the gun, frowning as he pulled the trigger. He really didn't have a choice. A puff of air from the barrel was the only sound as the man collapsed on the ground. This blood bothered him almost as much as Scarlet's.

  He roughly wiped his nose and pocketed his gun as he exited the alley. That one sucked. He headed in the opposite direction of the cab before he crossed the street and doubled back.

  That one sucked, hard. But that was the most precious and priceless information he'd ever received in his life. And he planned to make the most of it. Though, he realized as he paid the cabby and headed home on foot instead, it wasn't priceless.

  It carried the highest price. A man's life.

  Scarlet

  Scarlet stepped into her heels and smiled at her reflection. The off-the-shoulder dress she chose was a tad snug, but perfectly showed off her still angry scar. Hopefully that would remind Steven that she should be off-limits since she was still healing. Even though she was mostly fine, he didn't need to know that. Her eyes lit up with the brilliant idea to play up the pain a bit. That would for sure seal the 'it's not happening' deal.

  She perched on the arm of her couch and tapped her heel against the hardwood floor. Maybe he wouldn’t show up. She scoffed. Fat chance. She had just finished typing to Katelyn when she heard the doorbell followed by three short raps. The text made a whoosh noise as she hit ‘send’, and Scarlet stood slowly, squaring her shoulders. Just dinner. She winced at the mild twinge and remembered to let it be a little limper. She was so impressed with herself.

  “One sec.”

  She tapped across the floor and unlatched the locks. One beat and she swung open the door. There he was: leaned against the door frame, oozing arrogance and, unfortunately, sex appeal. He wore an obviously expensive suit, sans tie. The top two buttons of his crisp white shirt were undone, and the color popped against the tan of his skin and the deep blue of the jacket fabric. She fought the reaction in her body and took an obvious sniff of the air, turning her mouth down appreciatively.