BIG: (A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance) (6 page)

A scaffold of poles ran above the room, fitted with sliding cameras so every angle of an assault could be recorded from above—for debriefing purposes, she assumed. The walls were lined with some kind of soft but thin-looking impact foam, presumably so they could protect their ballistics results for later study.

There was a small, open window to her right, and a flimsy, portable-looking fold-out desk within kicking reach next to the monitors. There was nothing interesting on it other than a pile of papers and a couple pencils. Her pet ‘insurgent’ gave her a brief, nervous smile and leaned against the door, waiting.

While he fidgeted with his paintball gun, she slid around the post she was tied to and hooked a foot around the leg of the desk, pulling it a little closer. The ‘insurgent’ didn’t seem to notice or care, so she edged it closer still.

She wanted the pencil.

After all, she’d agreed to play hostage, but she hadn’t promised to be on her best behavior, had she? So while she was waiting for Ric and Arensen, she decided to see if she could stir up a little trouble.

She checked the monitors again and couldn’t see either of them. Then two of the three guys patrolling the perimeter fence went down in a spray of neon blue paint. The third pitched face-forward, his back yellow. Ric darted out from the concealment of her Kia and, on another camera, she saw two guys patrolling the compound roof stagger backward, also spattered with yellow. Arensen remained invisible but he picked off the man guarding the main door into the compound.

Annalesa smiled. So, they each had three, then.

Henrik stiffened, glancing out of the window into the corridor, and she managed to tip the little table until a few sheets of paper slid, pushing the pencil off. She sank down, hiding it under her knee.

“What you doing?” Henrik turned round sharply at the noise, speaking his guttural form of broken English

“Can I sit?” She smiled sweetly at him “Sorry, I should’ve taken you up on it when you offered me a chair.”

“Ja, ja—sit. Whatever.” Henrick was busy shuttling back and forth across the room, checking for movement along the corridor, on the monitors, and in the skylights.

Annalesa worked the pencil vertically between her knees and drove the point up into the knot between her wrists. It gave easily. She twisted her wrists until she could’ve pulled her hands out of the bonds without a problem, but she kept them where they were.

It was weirdly quiet outside.

She glanced at the monitors and saw an insurgent who’d tried skulking along the outside wall go down in a spray of blue.

Then the door exploded inwards and Annalesa screamed out loud.

Henrik staggered sideways as yellow paint blasted across his forehead, and then he took a blue blast to his ribs.

Ric cleared the room, unable to help grinning and dropping her a wink as Arensen pulled himself in through the little window. Annalesa registered the score as four kills each, but twisted around to look at Henrik, who leaned against the wall, nursing a nosebleed.

“Hey, I’m sorry—I aimed high.” Ric hunkered down to check the man’s eyes. “Didn’t mean to. You okay?”

Henrik muttered something in Norwegian and bent forward, putting his rifle down and his head between his knees.

“Scene’s not over,” Arensen barked. “You got Henrik first, so now we have four kills each. Which means there’s someone out there we missed.”

“Yeah, but this is supposed to be a demonstration exercise and I got Henrik in the face.” Ric had his hand on the back of the groggy kid’s neck as he looked around for something to stem the nosebleed.

Annalesa did the same, but there wasn’t anything. Then she remembered the hoodie tied around her waist.

“Ric, use my shirt,” she offered.

“You sure?”

“It’ll wash.” Annalesa heard the click in the same moment as Ric.

They both looked up to see Arensen pointing his rifle at Ric’s temple.

“Stand down, soldier.”

Ric put his rifle down and rose slowly from his crouch. Just as he was half-hunched, he rolled forward, Arensen’s rifle blasting paint over his head.

Ric hooked his legs between Arensen’s and pitched him sideways, snatching the rifle as his mentor struggled to regain his balance. He slid the rifle across the floor to the corner of the room and bounced on the balls of his feet as they squared up, drawing their knives.

Ric chuckled. “I suppose it takes a politician to be a turncoat.”

“Good lesson to learn now rather than later—
after
you’re CEO,” Arensen said. “Politicians are more dangerous than almost anyone—especially warrior politicians.”

Annalesa rolled her eyes.

This Arensen character was clearly a first-rate teacher, but also had an element of melodramatic-wanker about him, too. Since they were paying zero attention to their hostage, she slipped her wrists out of her already loosened ropes and tugged Henrik’s rifle up into her lap. There were two paint cartridges in the chamber. Good.

She looked up to see Arensen backing Ric up against the wall of the video room, now pointing a sidearm in his face. Ric feinted left at lightning speed, yanking the gun down and twisting it out of Arensen’s grip. Arensen slashed at Ric’s forearm with the knife, leaving a smear of blue paint from the thick edge.

“That’s your brachial artery gone, Ryker. You’ve probably got a minute’s fight time left in you.”

“You said no sidearms.”

“I’d be a crappy instructor if I didn’t teach you that you can’t trust anyone, son. This is the gun business. Always have a contingency plan.”

Arensen grinned, dropped his paint-knife and lunged to the side of Ric’s body, sweeping an arm across his chest and his legs out from underneath him.

Ric landed with a grunt, and at that point, Annalesa decided she’d had enough of the amateur dramatics. She got to her feet, keeping the rifle trained on Arensen as he straddled Ric.

“Five kills!” Ric brought his hands up in a sharp blow, mimicking the breaking of Arensen’s neck with a light hold around it. “I win!”

“Look down.” Arensen smirked.

Annalesa saw a knife—a
real
knife—pointing at the bottom of Ric’s ribs. It was digging into his flak jacket, but as far as she was concerned, the mentor was getting into his role just a little bit too much.

“I told you,” Arensen said. “There’s no greater motivation than money.”

Annalesa squeezed the trigger and a round of pink paint exploded across Arensen’s flak jacket. The shock made him drop the knife and he stared dumbly down at the mess across his chest.

She met Ric’s eyes. At first he stared like he didn’t even know her, but then a huge grin curled across his face and he threw his head back, laughing.

“Holy hell, Leesa! You’re a badass!”

She just grinned and blew imaginary smoke away from the tip of the rifle.

“Congratulations, Miss LaFevre.” Arensen stood and saluted her. “You’d make somebody a very difficult hostage.”

He put a hand down to Ric to haul him off the floor and gave her the first full and sincere smile she’d seen. “I admit, I’m pleasantly surprised. I’m not often caught off-guard, but...”

“She totally blindsided us.” Ric slipped an arm around her waist and squeezed.

“Because he was only about five-feet away. Isn’t that what Scarlett O’Hara said?” Annalesa mimicked a thick, southern accent. “‘I can shoot straight if I don’t have to shoot too far’!”

“Guess neither of us won the bet.” Ric laughed.

“So you can both buy me dinner tonight,” Annalesa suggested with a returning smile, glancing at Arensen and then up at Ric. “But right now I’m going to let my courageous rescuer take me down to the range so he can show me how to really handle a gun.”

“I’m not sure you need the target practice,” Ric scoffed, glancing at the pink splatters all over Arensen’s flak jacket.

“A girl has to stay on top of her game.” She wiped a little bit of paint from Ric’s forearm with her fingertip. “Ugh. You’re filthy.”

“Guess it’s time to get cleaned up.” Ric smiled and helped Arensen reach down to pull up poor, still-bleeding Henrik. “I’m not about to keep
this
lady waiting...”

“Try not to lock your left elbow when you’re propping your gun-hand up... better. Good.” Ric rearranged her shoulders, loosening her up until she was less stiff. Actually, his presence made her spine straighten and her belly clench. She had to breathe and struggle to let his touch make her relax instead of tighten up in anticipation, but she managed.

When he was satisfied, he stood back again. “Now go.”

She squinted at the bullseye through the yellow protective shades—it was amazing how much they focused her vision—and squeezed the trigger a little more gently, landing a shot just outside the center circle.

Then she turned back to Ric with a grin and he did a slow, deliberate clap.

“Either you kept up your practice—or you’re a natural.”

“I think I’ll go for ‘natural’.” She held down the button to bring the target sheet back to the booth, trying not to look too smug, admiring Ric’s body in a tight grey t-shirt and faded jeans. Even looking at him in the most basic clothes made her want to tear them off him.

She sighed as the target trundled slowly towards them. “They need to speed these things up.”

“It’s on the to-do list—things to fix.” Ric leaned against the side of the booth, arms crossed. “I appreciated what you did back there, by the way.”

“I thought the knife was a little unnecessary.”

“He was right, though.” Ric shrugged. “I hadn’t made a contingency plan in my head for someone turning on me. Now, I’ve got one.”

She nodded, accepting his explanation, but she didn’t like the sound of it. Arensen was friendly enough to her after the simulation, even with all his posturing beforehand, to make her think he was genuine. Or, at least, mostly. Clearly, he cared for Ric, and had served as both a friend and mentor. But there was something about him.

Maybe she was just jealous. Which was silly but kind of true. They seemed close in a way that made her envious.

Or maybe… it was just the feeling that Arensen seemed to be teaching Ric more about distrust than he was teaching him to deal with people who turned out to be untrustworthy.

She did her best to hide them, but her mixed feelings must have shown on her face because Ric put a hand on her shoulder.

“Leesa, he’s a good guy,” he assured her softly. “He’s the one person in my life I’ve been able to go to for... hell, anything.”

She offered him another nod, a little smile, trying to hide her hurt feelings. Because it hadn’t been her. She hadn’t been the one person he could go to for... anything.

But that was her own damned fault, wasn’t it?

“I’m glad.” She put her hand over his, giving it a little squeeze.

“He was really impressed with you.” Ric grinned and dropped her a wink. “Asked why you didn’t go into law enforcement.”

She chuckled, pulling her target from the clip and replacing it with a new one. She pressed another button and the target sheet rolled back into place at the fifty-yard line.

“Did you tell him I don’t do confrontation well?”

“Yeah.” Ric snorted. “But he found that a little hard to swallow, considering you’d just blasted him in the chest.”

“He had it coming!” She reloaded the magazine in the borrowed Heimdall. It clicked neatly into place—a nice, smooth mechanism.

Ric’s eyes lit up. “You do that like you never took a break from it.”

“It’s not hard to look natural.” She smiled at the weapon “It’s a very good gun.”

“Why don’t you carry anymore?”

“You know how it is in Europe.”

“Yeah, yeah... royal subjects, not free citizens,” Ric grumbled, making a face. “That’s the reason Dad relocated headquarters here to Maine.”

“Royalty has bugger-all to do with it.” Annalesa scoffed. “There’s only a handful of countries with a monarchy, still, you know, and they’re all just figureheads. There’s just a big difference in the way we think about guns—it’s a cultural thing.”

“I guess.”

“And a legal one,” she reminded him. “You know, if I carried a gun in England or France or Holland, I’d have to carry paperwork with me everywhere. Not only that, but you know as well as I do—they have stricter standards when it comes to security. I’d have to put a safe in the wall of my apartment. Honestly, I guess I just don’t want everyone to think I’m a paranoid loony.”

Ric’s fair eyebrow cocked at that. “There’s nothing wrong with protecting yourself, Leesa.”

“I know,” she agreed, and she did. She’d grown up around guns and was very aware of the cultural differences. She didn’t judge one way right or the other wrong. “When in Rome, you know? Literally. Ha.”

Ric laughed at that.

“But you have to admit...” she went on. “Anyone I’ve ever needed to protect myself from, well... most weren’t the gun-carrying type.”

“No.” His face hardened. “Guys like Ryan are manipulative little cowards. He loved playing mind games. He made you forget everything and everyone but him. You didn’t get to keep your own hours, your own feelings—”

“I didn’t forget forever. Call it temporary insanity.” Annalesa put the gun aside, taking Ric’s hands out from their obdurate fold across his chest. “Do you know why?”

He shook his head, a hard set to his jaw. She longed to make it soften.

“Because
you
taught me I was worth protecting,” she told him. “I’m not perfect. I probably let things go on too long with... some people. Friends, boyfriends, whatever. But eventually, I did what needed doing. You taught me that I was worth looking after—so I started looking after myself.”

“Okay.” He didn’t pull his hands away, but he didn’t squeeze her fingers back, either. The look on his face was a cross between confusion and speculation. They stood in silence for a moment while he digested her words, then he let go, standing back.

“I guess I need some time to, uh... get to know you again, because... Leesa, you... you’re different. Really different.”

“
I’m
different?” She laughed, and it sounded shaky, even to her, so she poked him in the center of his rock-hard chest to make her point. “
I’m
not the one who’s turned into some
alpha warrior! Look at you!”

“Everyone keeps saying that.”

“You have to admit, you’re different.” She blinked at him, trying to work out what he was thinking. “I mean, inside too, of course...”

“Maybe that’s why I’m having such a hard time with your change,” he said softly. “You look the same on the outside.”

“Should I have gained some weight?” She looked wryly down at her relatively slender frame and then back at him. “To prove I’m better now?”

“No.” He smirked at that. “It’s just... trust issues don’t go away overnight, Leesa.”

“Yes, I know, but—”

“You don’t know!” He shook his head and crossed his arms again, closing her off. “You’re the most trusting person I’ve ever known. You’d walk off with a terrorist if he put his gun away and smiled nice at you.”

“Now you’re just being a dick,” she snapped, keeping her gaze steady and working hard to keep the hurt from her voice. Being angry helped. “You finally living up to your nickname?”

“All right, let’s back up.” Ric wiped a hand down his face and gave a long, exhausted exhale. She’d expected him to get angry too, but instead he gave a rueful little laugh. “This conversation isn’t exactly going to plan.”

“You have a plan? You have to plan conversations with me now?”

She picked the gun up again and focused on the target. She felt Ric’s brooding presence behind her and found her hands trembling just as she squeezed the trigger, sending her shot wide—up and to the left.

“Damn it. I can never concentrate when you’re mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you.”

“Oh really?” She sniffed. “You’re talking about getting to know me again like... like I used to be some horrible person. And... I wasn’t. Was I, Ric?”

She tilted her face up to him, frowning, finally asking the question out loud.

“Put the gun down.” He nodded at it.

“Oh.” She blinked, putting the safety on and sliding the Heimdall onto the ledge of the booth. “Sorry.”

“Can we talk?” His brow furrowed. “I mean... for real?”

“Okay.” She tried not to sound too hesitant, although she was. He took her shooting glasses off and set them aside. “What about?”

“Ryan.” That look came back into his eyes, that flash of anger. “And what happened with your friends?”

“Oh... that.” She nodded her assent.

They had to talk about it eventually, she supposed. Elephants in the middle of the room had a way of making themselves known, one way or another. It was probably better to do it now, rather than later. And Ric seemed calm about it—or at least, his tone was light, and he wasn’t hammering away at her with accusations.

“Okay. I’m listening.” She gave him an encouraging smile, hoping he would start, because she didn’t have a clue where to begin.

“This is...” He took a breath and ran a hand over his head, hair still pulled back into an elastic band. “I guess this is just how I remember it. And I’m willing to admit, my perception might be... off. But I want you to hear my side, okay?”

“Okay.” She leaned against the side of the booth, preparing herself. She didn’t want to rehash any of this if she could avoid it—would have preferred pouring gasoline over her head and setting herself on fire—but if it helped him, she would.

“I showed up early at the game. That was my bad. And I know I never said that, so I’m saying it now. Maybe I was... jealous of Ryan.”

She tried not to let her surprise show on her face, but she was glad he wasn’t looking at her. His gaze was far away, on the target, but he was seeing through it. He was remembering, and that forced her to remember too.

“I guess, if I’m being honest—yeah, I was jealous. I didn’t like him.”

“You hadn’t even met him yet,” she reminded him softly.

“I didn’t like any of your boyfriends.” He glanced at her, just briefly, then looked away again.

“I know.”

“But Ryan... he was a special kind of mean.”

“I know.” She sighed.

Ryan was popular, one of the most popular boys in school at the time, and she had believed, somehow, that dating him would improve her status. And in a way, it had—but the cost had been too great. Totally not worth it.

“Besides, I could tell, Leesa, just by you—by the way you were acting after you started dating him. I know I hadn’t met him yet—and maybe that’s part of what I was doing, showing up early, finding you in the stands... I wanted to see for myself.”