Dark Curves (Dangerous Curves Book 6) (2 page)

Chapter Two

Warren entered the clubhouse at ten to eight and followed the smell of coffee. He poured a huge mug of the stuff, ignored the milk and sugar. It was an unspoken rule that real men drank black coffee, and although he hated the bitter taste, he needed the caffeine. Badly.

He leaned against the wall, sipping his coffee, and surveyed the large main room. It was a disaster area, naturally, as it always was first thing in the morning. Broken glass and cigarette butts covered the floor, empty bottles and articles of women’s clothing were strewn around all over the damn place, and the women themselves were naked and draped over the furniture, passed out cold.

He averted his eyes from the miles of flesh on display, hoped hard that none of the girls had been forced the night before. Nobody had ever complained, but then again, this wasn’t the kind of place where a sexual assault claim would be taken all that seriously.

“Derby.”

Warren turned to the harsh voice behind him, nodded at Ace. The man looked rough, man, like he hadn’t slept, and was nursing a mammoth hangover to boot.

“Ace,” he replied.

Ace yawned, stretched, wandered over to the coffee machine. “Fuck,” he remarked. “Lisa wore me out last night.”

“Yeah?” Warren asked, not caring whatsoever, but he had to make polite conversation.

“Hell, yeah. That skank knows how to suck and fuck.”

Warren didn’t react to Ace’s chosen way to refer to Lisa. ‘Skank’ was the club equivalent of ‘chick’, and Warren had long ago learned to not so much as blink when he heard it used. He still despised it, though, and he fought down a sneer of contempt.

“Yeah, I’m sure she does,” he said now.

“Ummm-hmmm.” Ace blinked at him, his black eyes flat and dead in his rugged face. “You really should take her up on her offer next time, man. She’d rock your world, I fucking swear it.”

“Maybe,” Warren said in the most non-committal voice that he felt he could get away with.

“Anyway,” Ace said. “I have a job for you. It’s easy, but it’ll take a few days.”

Thrilled to be getting away from the topic of the club pass-arounds, Warren tilted his head at his President. “OK.”

“It’s in here,” Ace said.

Warren picked up his coffee, followed Ace in to one of the back rooms. It had obviously been used the night before: it reeked of sex and perfume. He slapped on his ‘I don’t give a flying fuck about anything’ face, glared around the room, trying to spot this mysterious ‘it’ that Ace had referred to. He saw nothing at all, and he stared at Ace, waiting for his instructions.

Just then, the second door swung open, and Joker stood there grinning at him.

“Hey, Derby,” he said.

“Joker,” Warren said. “How you doing?”

“Great.” He glanced over at Ace. “Now?”

“Yeah.”

Joker nodded, turned, went back in to the attached conference room. Silence, then a dragging sound.

Warren stood up straighter, every instinct in his body on red alert. Yeah, he knew
that
sound, knew it intimately. It was the sound of a person actively resisting being moved. His heart sank, though his face remained totally disinterested.

Joker reappeared now and sure enough, he was grappling with someone. Warren couldn’t see who it was, since their head was covered with a black hood, but he knew it was a woman – and not just because of the long, slim figure. She was sobbing, sobbing wildly, and his stomach clenched at the thought that she may be hurt. He saw that her hands were bound together, so tight that he saw bloody marks and purple bruises on her wrists. The sight of that damage on her pale skin kicked him in the chest, for some reason, before he took command of himself again.

“
Shut up
,” Joker hissed at her, giving her a shake. “Shut up or I fucking smack you.”

Right away, she went silent and slumped in his grasp, and Joker bodily dragged her the last few feet in to the room. He gave her a rough shove and down she went, landing on her hip on the floor.

She cried out, a sharp sound of pain and surprise, and Warren had to fight to keep his feet in place. No way he was making a move to help her, since it was clear that whoever she was, she was trouble. She was also his job, whatever the hell
that
meant, and after eight months, he knew better than to make any assumptions about anything.
Especially
a job.

Ace stepped forward and without a word, he tore the hood off her head. She cried out again, then shut her eyes against the light coming in through the window.

“Shut
up
,” Joker repeated. “Fuck, Ace, she’s been bawling for a fucking hour, man, and the Vegas boys said she cried like a bitch the whole drive down here. They got here an hour earlier just to get rid of her.”

The woman sobbed once more, and Joker took a menacing step towards her.

“I just said –” he growled, his arm raised to backhand her.

“Hold up,” Ace said, stopping Joker. “Nobody touches her. Kirk’s orders. He wants her unharmed until negotiations begin, in case we have to provide proof of life.”

At the mention of Kirk’s name, Joker backed up, and Warren quietly exhaled in relief. He was happy that beating a woman around didn’t appear to be in his job description, since he had no stomach for that at all.

Having said that, he wasn’t totally delighted that this woman somehow had ties to Kirk Jensen. Warren made a point of staying away from him as much as possible, and had managed to avoid so much as making direct eye contact with the man. But if this woman was on Kirk’s shit list, and Warren was involved with her in some way, then his luck had just run out. He stared at her now, his face as blank as he knew how to make it, giving away none of his annoyance and unease.

His first thought was that she wasn’t much to look at, although that was probably because she was a fucking mess. Her wavy blonde hair was pulled back in what might have been a bun once, but was now falling in straggles around her face and down her neck. Her mouth was bound, her lips gray around the cloth. She was wearing glasses, and they were almost falling off her little button nose.

Speaking of her nose, it was bright red, and so were her eyes, and if she’d had any makeup on, it was a distant memory. Her clothes were rumpled but even if they’d been fresh and pressed, they’d still have done nothing for her. She was in a massive knit sweater and loose black jeans, and if she had any curves hidden under there, he wouldn’t know it.

She stared up at the three men, and the look of terror on her face was heart-stopping. Warren didn’t like her looking at him like that, but no way he was about to say or do anything comforting. That wasn’t his place here.

“So,” Ace said. “
This
is your job, man.”

“What do I do with her?” Warren rasped, and she froze at his voice. He didn’t like
that
either; it was like she thought he’d be ripping her clothes off and forcing her to fuck him.

“Watch her,” Ace said. “You’re babysitting.”

“OK,” Warren said. “Here?”

“Nope. We have a place in the mountains all set up for you. The one we used after Blade got shot on that job.”

“Right. I remember it.”

“You go home and pack, yeah? We’ll throw her in the back of a cage, and you drive up and meet us at the cabin as soon as you can. I’ll fill you in there.” Ace ran a hand through his dark hair. “When this whole thing blows wide open, we’re all gonna be watched like crazy back here, so nobody will be able to get back up to you for at least a week. Maybe longer. We can’t risk being followed.”

“Do I need to bring some food?”

“Nah. You’re set for at least a month.”

“OK. Sure thing.” Warren shrugged, as if he was uncaring about any of this. “Anything specific I need to bring, then?”

“Your favorite brand of condom,” Joker said. “If you want to pass the time that way.”

Right away, she shuddered, fought down a small scream. She shot Joker a petrified glance, then slammed her bound hands over her mouth, jamming the gag in tighter.

“That’s right, bitch,” Joker said. “Stay quiet.”

Her eyes squeezed shut now, and Warren saw that she was still shaking. Despite his determination to not give a crap about this woman, he found himself softening, worrying. Wanting to offer her some comfort.

But how could he and he didn’t just mean because Ace and Joker were standing right there. Even if he were alone with her, he’d have no damn place soothing her fears, telling her that things would be OK. Not when he had no idea who she was, or what she was doing there, or what Jensen had planned for her. For all Warren knew, she
should
be terrified and crying and freaking out. Maybe she was right to be so afraid.

Maybe she was a dead woman walking.

So he just nodded, turned to go home and pack. Left her there.

Well, what the hell
else
was he going to do?

**

Three hours later, Warren shut and locked the door behind Ace and Joker. And there he was: all alone in a remote cabin, way up high in the Rocky Mountains, with a woman that he now knew to be Shay Alcott.

A woman that he now knew to be a hostage, a bargaining chip, a hopeful ace-in-the-hole. A messy, worrying, dangerous headache.

Goddammit
.

Warren sighed, turned to face her. This whole time, she’d been sitting on the sofa bound and gagged. As Ace had filled him in, Warren had studied her closely, watching her reactions. She’d look stunned as what was going on had become clear to her, then she had started to cry again, without making a sound. Her shoulders had shaken, though, and he’d felt her terror from six feet away.

He approached her now, and she pushed herself against the sofa back. He stood over her, and she stared down at the floor, avoiding his gaze.

“Hey,” he said, his deep voice coming out way harsher than he’d intended. She flinched as though he’d struck her, and he cleared his throat. “Hey.”

She nodded to acknowledge him, but didn’t look away from her feet.

“Eyes up here.”

Slowly, reluctantly, she lifted her chin. Her eyes focused on his throat, still not meeting his cold, hard stare.

“No,” he snapped. “Up
here
.”

She jumped, raised her chin a bit more. And suddenly, Warren was staring in to the most amazing eyes that he’d ever seen. They were the strangest color, actually. Light and clear, but not mint-green and most definitely not emerald-green. They had a glow to them, a light that seemed to shine from within this woman. They looked… pure, somehow.

For some insane reason, the words ‘sea foam green’ popped in to his head. He wasn’t sure what color that even
was
, or where the hell he’d have picked it up in his life – but it was all he could think about now.

He stiffened his resolve, scowled at her. His moment of weakness had passed and he was back in control.

“If I untie and ungag you, will you behave yourself?” he snarled.

She backed up a bit and nodded. He reached in to his jeans pocket, pulled out his knife. Those incredible eyes widened in panic when he flicked it open and when he reached for her hands, she gave a muffled cry, moved away again.

“Stop,” he said, making sure the warning in that single word was unmissable. “Or I’ll toss you downstairs like this. No fucking problem for me, girl.”

It came to him that he should probably be casually referring to her as ‘bitch’ or even the despised ‘skank’, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. No matter what he’d done in public since leaving Kentucky, Warren still had
some
lines that he refused to cross in private. ‘Girl’ was as far as he was willing to go when degrading a woman to her face.

She was frozen with uncertainty and he waited. Finally, she extended her hands to him, still holding his gaze. The helplessness of the gesture kicked him in the chest, hard, and he scowled again, not liking the stark, sharp fear that he saw in those eyes.

In two quick movements, he sliced the ropes off her delicate wrists, now glaring at the blood and bruises that he saw there. As soon as she was free, she pushed her glasses up her nose, then tucked her hands in to her massive sweater and crossed her arms across her chest. It was a defensive position, but it also looked like she was giving herself a hug. Warren didn’t like that she felt the need to protect herself from him,
or
that she was trying to soothe herself as he stood over her.

Having her afraid would make things better, no doubt about that… but for reasons that he was starting to wonder about, he didn’t
want
her to be afraid of him. Not even if it made his job easier.

“Now the gag,” he said gruffly. “No damn screaming.”

She shook her head and he reached out. She shut her eyes as his hands approached her face, like she couldn’t bear the sight of him being so close.

He surprised himself when he so slowly, so gently, so damn carefully, moved the dirty rag out from between her lips. Then he reached around her neck, untied the knots without so much as touching her, let the material drop to her lap.

Shay took a deep breath, then another one. Warren watched her lick her lips, and realized that she’d been without food or water for hours. How many hours, he wondered. God, maybe as many as fourteen.
That
was no damn good: the last thing he needed was her passing out on him from hunger or dehydration.

Abruptly, without a word, he spun around, stalked over to the kitchen. He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, put it on the island.

“C’mere,” he said roughly. “Drink.”

Shay hesitated, still hugging herself.

“
Come. Here
.” His voice was pure steel now. “Don’t make me come over there and get you, girl. You won’t like it if that happens.”

She gave a small gasp, stumbled to her feet. He watched as she swayed for a few seconds, and he had the uneasy thought that she’d pass out almost for certain. God knows, she’d been through a lot and if she felt dizzy or faint, he wouldn’t be surprised.

Shay gritted her teeth and seemed to give herself a mental shake. Her first steps were slow, but at least they were steady. She walked across the living room, came in to the kitchen. She stopped about five feet away from him, regarding him warily.