It was three hours back to the compound where we’d been waiting for contact from the militia leader, Julian Oliver, for the past two weeks. Oliver wouldn’t contact us until tomorrow at the earliest about the barn, which meant we’d have dead time.
But I needed to get her out before Oliver saw her. The man was notorious with his thing for blondes, and Mia… Christ, even terrified and disheveled, she was beautiful. If he saw her, my options would shrink to nothing.
No need to worry about Oliver until I got her out of the current crisis. I turned my attention back to the three men staring at me.
“I want her.” I kept my voice casual, tilting my head.
“The fuck you mean,you want her?” Diesel’s scarred face twisted. “Since when do you keep witnesses breathing, Coop?”
Time to sell it. Time to save her life by destroying whatever was left of Ryan Cooper’s soul.
I let my eyes travel over Mia, slow and deliberate, cataloging her like merchandise. Starting at her shoes, up those long legs, lingering at her hips, her breasts, finally meeting her eyes with cold appraisal that made my stomach turn. She shrank back toward the door.
“Since they look like that.” I shifted my weight, letting my undercover persona slide fully into place like armor made of sleaze and violence. Thumbs hooked in my belt, casual arrogance in every line. “Been out here six weeks with you ugly bastards. Man’s got needs.”
“Hah!” Diesel barked. “Coop wants to wet his wick.”
I moved toward Mia with predator’s confidence, each step measured, eating up distance while giving her nowhere to run. She backed up until her shoulders hit the door. She was trying to reconcile the man approaching with the Ryan she’d known—the one who’d held her through her father’s death, who’d learned her grandmother’s soup recipe, who’d promised forever then vanished like smoke.
That Ryan was dead. Had to be, if Mia was going to live.
I wrapped my hand around her upper arm and yanked her against me hard. Her camera clattered to the floor, lens cap rolling away into shadows. She came up against my chest with enough force to drive the breath from her lungs.
“She’s not a witness if she’s mine.”
She trembled against me, every shake transmitting through where our bodies touched. Her scent—vanilla and jasmine and fear-sweat—filled my lungs. The familiar smell threatened to break through Coop’s armor, but I held the persona tight.
“Oliver won’t like loose ends,” Tommy ventured, his voice cracking slightly. Kid was trying to sound tough, but his inexperience showed in every word. “He’s real particular about operational security.”
“Oliver’ll just have to deal with it, boy.” I kept my voice bored, arrogant. “He needs someone who knows the difference between military-grade hardware and the knock-off shit dealers try to pass off. That’s why he’s brought me in, isn’t it? For my expertise. He wants that, he’s going to let me have some…perks.”
Snake still hadn’t moved his hand from his weapon. Those reptilian eyes dissected every move I made.
I slid my other hand up to Mia’s throat, thumb against her pulse point. Not enough to hurt, but it would look convincing from their position. Possessive. Controlling.
Her breath hitched—fear or recognition of a gesture that had meant something very different years ago. Those eyes searched my face for the man she’d known. For mercy. For hope.
I gave her nothing but cold blue steel. Killer’s eyes.
“Besides,” I said, letting my thumb stroke along her throat, feeling her swallow hard. “She tries to run, I’ll kill her myself. Won’t I, sweetheart?”
“Please.” Barely a whisper, threaded with tears she was fighting.
Diesel laughed. “Coop’s got himself a pet. Ain’t that sweet.”
“She screams, she dies.” Snake’s voice was flat as roadkill.
“Oh, she’ll scream.” I put enough suggestion into it to make Tommy shift and Diesel grin. “But not the kind that brings trouble.”
I bent to her ear, whispering where only she could hear, lips barely moving: “Car. Now. Don’t fight me.”
Then louder, letting my breath fan against her neck, I said, “You’re going to be real good for me, aren’t you, baby?”
I pushed her out the door, grip bruising-tight on her arm. Had to look rough. The marks would bloom purple by morning, and the thought sickened me.
Her camera lay on the floor—probably five grand worth of equipment. The kind she’d dreamed about when we were together.
I reached down and grabbed it, tossing it to Tommy. “Destroy that.”
