Page 27 of Every Last Breath

CIA code for fuck him, then fuck him over getting him to do her bidding?

Those scum suckers were master manipulators.

She’d sashayed from her bedroom, smelling of rose water. That sexy getup clinging to her curves had been an insane tease yanking his leashed gaze, drawing his body tight as a steel cable. But he’d done what he considered a sensational job not regressing into a devoted puppy drooling for her treats.

Nope. Never again.

Such bravado. A part of him craved her in the worst way, and he cursed the damned Pavlovian response.

Pure craziness to have touched her—hell, to get within ten feet of her. The woman was biological warfare incarnate, wreaking havoc on his common sense and self-control.

Shit. He hadn’t volunteered for this war. He’d been drafted and wasn’t even sure who the enemy was anymore.

Riding round the interstate loop, he had no idea where he was going until he exited on to Route 50, to Annapolis. Ilya had sold the family home in DC, no surprise. Their father had been shot on the front steps. What had stunned Cole speechless was that Ilya hadn’t taken the opportunity to legitimize the business. He’d propelled it to new illegal depths instead, adding arms trafficking to their list of sins. Everything Cole had sacrificed to keep his mother and brother safe, to free them from an illicit life under constant guard, had been wasted.

Cole rolled up in front his brother’s multimillion-dollar gated compound. It sprawled across several acres facing Whitehall Bay. He hit the intercom button.

“Yeah. What can I do for you?” said a voice he didn’t recognize.

Cole lifted the visor on his helmet. “Is Vitali up?”

Vitali had been the family’s head enforcer for as long as Cole could remember, and the only other person besides his mother and brother who knew he was alive. Ilya would never get rid of Vitali. The loyalty ran too deep.

“Yep. What’s it to you?”

“Tell him it’s Nikolai.” He all but choked on his real name. It’d been nine years since he’d referred to himself by it, and he felt like an impostor. The truth was he no longer belonged there. A part of him never had.

“Nikolai who?”

“Just tell him.” He rubbed his eyes, fatigue stinging his retinas.

On a subconscious level, he must revel in being tormented by Maddox. It’d brought him here, when not even the love for his mother had done that.

What were the long-shot odds the woman who’d upended his life by spilling secrets would become a damn spy? That bombshell had been worse than a boot heel to the groin.

Looking at it deeper, she might have the right skill set in spades. Her compassion endeared her to others—had won over his reticent father easily. Had Cole sharing secrets in the darkness between the sheets. And any good spy needed the ability to get others to confide.

She had book smarts to match street sense, was multilingual, and could handle herself. He’d made certain of the last one, teaching her devastating strikes, kicks, submission holds. She’d learned with the ease of a natural. Her fluid efficiency was impressive, but her ballistic speed and precision were her strengths.

No hesitation. A fighter’s heart. Fearless. And fierce.

Freaking CIA. He removed his helmet and spat the disgust from his mouth onto the driveway. Why couldn’t he hate her and be done for good?

Last night, he’d seen flashes of sorrow and regret in her. None of that emotion had burned through her tough-girl facade, but he’d sensed her heartache, the loneliness. He had recognized the second he’d wounded her, for the sake of closure. And hurting her, even to save himself…

Excruciating pain wrenched his chest, worse than a knife between the ribs. It was as though his feelings for Maddox were a thoroughbred stallion that had a broken leg. He had to find a way to put a bullet in its head and spare himself further misery.

“Who the fuck is this?” Vitali said in Russian over the intercom.

Looking up at the camera pointed at him, Cole pushed the hair from his face. A moment passed. The wrought iron gates swung open.

He put his helmet on and sped up the winding, tree-lined drive to the massive stone house.

Blood money had paid for the expansive grounds, the mansion, the sports cars parked to the side.

Men like his brother and father had built their wealth off the graves of others. Although Cole had never had a hand in the family business, he was accountable. He’d saved Ilya and given him a chance to spread more misery.

If he could help stop a bioweapon from killing innocent people, he had a responsibility. Maybe, just maybe, his karmic debt would be paid.