Elite Metal-ARE-epub (31 page)

No, no, no, no. There had to be a logical explanation for Beth to be here with that man. There had to be.

Please, sweet Jesus, let there be an explanation that made sense.

To Ant’s horror, Chesterfield committed the greatest of sins and slipped his hand down the front of Beth’s dress and began to fondle her right there on the dance floor. With each outraged heartbeat in Ant’s chest, his hands tightened into fists that were so tight, it was a miracle the bones of his knuckles didn’t burst through the skin.

Crowd or no crowd, it was time to interfere. He took one determined step in their direction when he saw Beth tense and pull away. Chesterfield pulled her back against his body, his face an angry mask as he spoke into her ear. Ant couldn’t make out the words, but they were definitely threatening, judging by the scared expression that crossed her face.

She said something in return and gestured with her head toward the hallway that led to the restrooms. Chesterfield’s gaze followed in that direction. He was silent for a moment before he nodded and let her go. She held up a finger, as if to indicate that she’d be right back, then fled the dance floor.

Ant hadn’t realized he had moved until he was close enough to smell the scent of her perfume as the door to the ladies’ room swung shut between them.

He placed his ear to the door, listening for sounds that would indicate there was anyone else inside the room, and let out a slow breath. After fifteen seconds of nothing, a toilet flushed and a lone set of high heels clicked across the tile. He used the sound of the water rushing through the tap to disguise the creak of the door as he entered.

Beth stood at the sink, pressing a wet paper towel to her cheeks as she sucked in her trembling lips. She looked so damned sad, his heart broke. If it weren’t for his vow to Elite Metal, he’d scoop her up and run out the back entrance through the kitchen in a nanosecond. Hell, if she shed one more tear, he was gonna do so anyway.

She dried her hands and turned in his direction. Before she had a chance to look up, he was on her, hugging her tight with his hand over her mouth.

“Don’t scream,” he said in the same tone of voice he would use to calm a frightened calf. “I’m not gonna hurt you, sunshine. Just don’t scream.”

Her blue eyes were wide with fright as she stared up at him, but as soon as he said “sunshine” she froze, and as slowly as a spring thaw the fear turned into disbelief. She sagged in his embrace as her gaze roamed over his face, taking in his shaggy hair and five-o’clock shadow.

The moment he slowly removed his hand, she stumbled back against the sink.

“Scott?” she whispered with confusion etched on her brow.

Damn. No one had called him that in a long time. Even before the mandated hiatus from the Marines, he’d always been Adamantium.

“Hey, sunshine.” He tried to smile, but there was too much emotion rioting inside him to force the muscles in his face to cooperate.

“I don’t understand.” Her breathing quickened and she looked around the room as if the dingy tile walls held the answers to her questions. “You’re dead.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “That was the idea.”

“I still don’t understand.”

He drew in a deep breath. “Scott Maguire is dead. My name is Adamantium.”

A surprised chuckle burst past her lips. “Adamantium? Are you serious?”

“Never been more serious in my life. No one is supposed to know I’m still alive.”

“Then why are you here? With me? In the women’s room?”

Now he was the one to bark in laughter. “Are you kidding me? Why the hell are you in a biker bar allowing a bookie to feel you up in front of God and everyone?”

All of the color leeched from her cheeks, and she closed her eyes on a groan. Strands of her blonde hair obscured her face as she shook her head. She wrapped her arms around her waist as if she were going to be sick.

“Beth. What’s going on?”

“No. No.” She threw her hands up as he reached out to touch her. “Stay back. You don’t know.”

“Then explain.”

“I don’t have to explain anything to you. You don’t own me.” Her eyes widened, and she giggled with a hint of hysteria. “Besides, you’re dead. I don’t owe explanations to a dead man.”

The barb struck him in the heart. Why didn’t she just piss on the wound as well?

“Tell me what’s going on.”

“I can’t.” The hysteria traveled from her voice to her eyes. “Just leave me alone.”

She tried to rush past him for the door. He caught her arm and pulled her into the curve of his body. God, it had been so long since he had felt her heat against him, his senses swam with the sensation.

Damn it, man. Focus on the conversation at hand.

“Beth, are you in trouble? Whatever it is, I’ll get you out. Please, talk to me.”

“Leave me alone. Adamantium.” A sob lodged in her throat. “Forget you ever saw me. And I’ll never breathe a word of your existence to anyone. I promise. Just leave me alone. It’s better this way.”

When she shrugged off his touch, he let her go, though it pained him like a rusty blade through the gut to do so. He blew out a breath and ran his hand through his hair.

Fuck it, he hated that she was right. He should have never gone after her in the first place. Besides, what could he offer her? He had nothing. Not a home. Not a contact. Not even his real name. He was a ghost. Beth was nothing more than a distraction he wasn’t allowed.

And he still loved her.

After all these years. Even after all that he had done to fuck up both of their lives, he loved her. Now here she was within arm’s reach and clearly in trouble. Steele would shit bricks if he knew there was a civilian in the world who knew Scott Maguire was alive. If Ant were smart, he’d let Beth, the reminder of his former life, walk out the door without a second thought.

Yeah. Walk out the door on the arm of a bookie.

Fuck that.

He opened the restroom door, then quickly shut it again as he spotted Beth in the hall with Chesterfield looming over her. Ant cracked open the door and peeked out as he heard Beth explaining why she had taken so long. The bare-bulb light overhead created shadows on Chesterfield’s face that emphasized the sadistic light in his eyes and the valleys of his angular face, cementing Ant’s opinion that the man was pure evil.

Chesterfield smoothed his hand down the length of Beth’s hair before grabbing the back of her neck like one would do with a wayward dog.

“You’ve been pushing my limits tonight, Elizabeth. Makes me wonder if this is your way of begging for the bite of my belt on your ass. If you want a spanking, darling, you only have to say so.”

“No,” she choked out. “It’s just really hot and stuffy in here. Makes it hard to breathe. I’ll be good, Master.”

Master
? What the fuck?

Chesterfield smiled with a sadistic curl to his lips that made Ant snarl, then bent his head to run his tongue down the column of her neck. “I kind of want you to disobey me. But we have business to attend to first. Naches is ready to seal the deal, and your pretty mouth is gonna help set the ink. Go out there and let our new partner know how thankful we are for his business.”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s my girl.” He slapped her on the ass as she passed.

The smack didn’t even garner a flinch from Beth, but her gaze strayed to where Ant watched, eyeing the exchange with a stomach full of bile. She shook her head and then with a lift of her chin she walked back into the main section of the bar, Chesterfield on her heels.

When the hallway was clear, he left the restroom and walked right into Steele. Bolt and Platinum stood behind him with grim faces.

“Where’ve you been?” his CO asked and folded his arms across his massive chest.

“Had to piss. Do you want to know the color?” he shot back.

“God, no.” He shook his head. “Don’t be a freak. We’ve got to bug out. Poppy just called. A mission’s come in. She wants all of us there. Now.”

Fuck. He looked back to the corner table and stifled a groan. Beth was sitting on the track owner’s lap, laughing too loud and smiling too big as he fondled her breast over her dress.

“Sir, I’d like to respectfully decline this mission.”

Cobalt sputtered with laughter as Steele raised one dark brow in disbelief. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Get on your chop and let’s go.”

With his stomach in knots, Ant left the bar, praying to every god in existence that whatever mission awaited, his skill set wasn’t required. He had a mission of his own to tend to.

Chapter Two

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.” Adamantium lowered his binoculars and shook his head.

For a bookie with a reputation like Chesterfield’s, Ant had expected round-the-clock patrols, electric fences and security cameras posted every twenty feet. Minimum. Instead, his electronic sensors only picked up feeds from four cameras, and one guard each stood sentry at the front and back gates. Totally pathetic.

The research Ant gathered painted the image of a man who coveted possessions above all else. If you owed Chesterfield money, he’d take it sure as shooting, but he had a history of brokering deals for tangible possession that gathered equity in lieu of cash. He also had his fingers in several money laundering schemes, but all of the evidence to those activities was speculation. The man knew how to keep his nose mostly clean.

If Mr. Ivy League thought his badass reputation alone would keep Ant from stealing Beth away, he was gonna be crying in his big, goose-feathered, satin-covered pillow come bedtime. In minutes, Beth was gonna be buckled safe in the Charger and on her way to freedom. Period.

The one-story estate sprawled across a flat one-acre spread in the middle of the poshest neighborhood in Austin. The entire property was surrounded by a six-foot-tall limestone fence with decorative arches gracing the top. The lush expanse of green lawn, and the Olympic-sized swimming pool in the backyard, was another reason to hate Chesterfield. Didn’t the fucker know they were in the middle of a drought?

The midday sun beat down on the blacktop, sending waves of heat shimmering off the surface. Even with the shade of an elm tree blocking most of the rays, the interior of the Charger where Ant sat was well over a hundred degrees. Unfortunately, sitting for hours in hot, cramped places was not an unusual situation for him to be in.

Once he had been trapped for over twenty hours in the air duct of a decrepit building housing a cell of Taliban operatives. The initial intel their team had received said the group wasn’t set to rendezvous with other terrorists cells at that location for two days, and that he’d have plenty of time to set up his surveillance equipment. Wrong. So instead of a quick in-and-out, he was forced to wait it out during the balmy Afghan spring until Cobalt and Steele blasted their way into the camp and got him out. If only they had learned then never to rely on intel brought in from outside sources.

He dumped the binoculars in the bag behind the passenger seat and stepped out into the sunlight. He strolled across the street and walked right up to the fence as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

At one in the afternoon, people were either at work, at the spa, or indulging in a secret rendezvous before collecting the kids from school, leaving the street deserted. In this neighborhood, the houses were secured behind fancy fences and well-manicured hedges, so no one would know he was even in the vicinity until he had his knee digging into their backs as he pressed ‘em faces first into the floor.

He withdrew a telescopic mirror from his backpack and double checked the activities happening on the other side of the wall. With no one in sight, he resettled the pack on his back and made a running leap for the wall, climbing up and over and dropping to the other side on silent feet. He ran toward the back of the house and peered into each window until he spotted Beth.

She stood on a foam mat in the middle of a workout room equipped with every type of exercise machine in existence. The melodic throb of a cello as it flirted with a clarinet filtered through the window as she moved from one yoga pose to another. With her hair up in a ponytail and dressed in a simple hoodie and stretchy pants, she almost looked like the Beth he remembered. Almost.

When did she get so skinny? There were many a night when he kept his mind, and hand, occupied by imagining her thick thighs wrapped around his waist and the soft cushion of her breasts digging into his chest as he lay on her. Where were her curves? What happened to the lush ripeness of the woman who enjoyed the occasional beer and the decadent sweetness of chocolate cake? The woman before him now looked as if she could use a sandwich, lots of them, not that there was anything wrong with that, but that woman was not his Beth.

As the song came to an end, he rapped on the window. She started with a surprised shriek and turned in his direction. Her eyes grew wide and filled with fear as she raced to the window.

“What are you doing?” The incredulousness in her question was muffled by the thick glass.

“Let me in, Beth.”

“Are you trying to get killed? Go away.”

“Let me in, Beth,” he repeated in the same calm tone as before.

She shook her head and stepped back.

“Let me in or I’ll break through this window.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” He saw her lips move.

He drew back his arm, fist clenched, ready to break through the glass with one punch.

“All right!” She threw up her hands. “Kitchen door.”

He nodded and kept his back to the side of the house as he made his way to the door. The sound of the lock clicked as it was disengaged and she opened the door in all of her indignant glory.

“If Brandon finds out you’re here, he’ll kill you where you stand. There are ten guys patrolling this place.”

“Sorry to disillusion you, sunshine, but there are only two guns for hire. One at the front gate and one in the back.
Brandon
is currently engaged in a meeting downtown that has moved locations to the Russian bathhouse for massages and cold plunges. He’ll be gone for at least another couple of hours.”